a placeless world

I fancy myself a jack of most trades.

Most, I say, because I can't really play basketball or crochet. But I'm generally good at most things I try.

A few months back I changed out the alternator in my car. I was really proud that I got the damned thing out and a new one in all by my lonesome, even though it later turned out that it wasn't the reason my car wouldn't start after all.

Rather than a confidence boosted, that really should have been a hint. But I suppose that, as a consequence of being generally good at most things I try, I'm slow to figure out that which I'm not good at. (Through college, I fancied myself a pretty solid basketball player even as I was picked last every time I played — in co-ed games, no less.)

I wish — oh how I wish — I'd realized just a bit earlier that I'm simply not a car guy.

No need to make this a long tale, it's simply not one.

My wife's car leaks oil. Not a lot, but enough that our mechanic said we should keep an eye on it. So when the oil lamp went on a few weeks ago, I filled 'er up. And when my parents were in town last week and we were all going to go to the mountains, I put in a little extra for comfort.

We hadn't made it five blocks when the car started clunking and smoking.

Turns out that there is an internationally recognized best practice for putting oil in your engine: You check the dipstick, add a quart, then check again. Everybody at my work knew this.

But somehow, I never learned this trick. I thought that you were supposed to fill up the tank until you could see the oil by looking down into the filler hole. Yes, I've put 8 quarts of oil in my wife's car in two weeks.

Yes, the damage was extensive. Yes, I'm simply a jack of some trades.

Good news is, she's not too angry. In fact, she really likes her brand new Honda Civic.