Gang aft a-gley (often go awry)
Robert Burns from " To a Mouse, 1786"
This afternoon, Sunday, we left around noon to drive north to the Knife River Indian Village National Historic Site. The sun shone brightly with only a slight breeze, the temperature reached the mid-50's, and we wanted to get out once more in case winter sets in abruptly to cramp our style. Besides, our new car which possesses a few luxury items is a pleasure to drive.
Duane, our friendly car salesman, said expect that the "check tire pressure" warning light might come on sometimes, and, sure enough, there for the first time it lit up just outside of Center. Knowing that a Tesoro station lay not too far ahead, I thought we'd just drive up to the air hose and top the pressure off. Unfortunately, the problem was more: someplace we punctured that tire and it was going flat. I inquired inside if they could fix a tire, but no, it was a typical convenience store. Only one thing left to do: take the flat off, put on that poor excuse of a spare, and drive back home.
About a year ago, Sears had a good sale on hydraulic floor jacks, and I bought three of them, one for me and one for each of my boys. Wouldn't you know, that nice jack never got put into the new car's trunk, so I got to jack it up with another poor excuse for factory equipment, the scissor jack.
Our trip to the Knife River Village, a site I have never visited, still remains to be completed. I will have to wait to see how the story of my trip up there ends, just like I had to wait until the last line of this limerick poem by R. Avakian to see how it ends.
There once was a maid from Madras
Who possessed a magnificent ass.
Neither round nor pink,
As some might think,
It was gray, had long ears and ate grass.
