On a Wing and a Prayer

Dad gave us his white 1999 four-door Chevrolet Cavalier. Figgy was about four when he bought it, and he drove it over to our house often, for weeknight dinners, birthday cakes, holidays or to pick Figgy up at preschool and walk her home. It is slung low to the ground; when you open the door, you're practically sitting in the parking lot.

We've had it for a few weeks now, but already the automatic window on the driver's side is stuck in open position. And being as supremely organized and streamlined as we are, it's been days already and will probably be days more until either H. or I figure out where to get it fixed. I did check the owner's manual in the glove box [Dad is so organized, he saved everything important] and it doesn't say anything about how to unfreeze the windows.

I'm going to be one of those people who drives around with Saran wrap over her car window, I joked to Figgy.

I'm going to be one of those people who won't ride in your car, she replied.

I currently have a big white Radio Shack bag over the window frame. I put it in position and then close the door, to keep it in place. I did feel shabby this evening, leaving Montclair High School after back-to-school night.

Speaking of Dad, saw him today--Sis and Don were at Van Dyk, too. He took some steps with a helper supporting him on each side. It felt almost like watching a baby's first steps. I love that Dad. Julius and Tiffany were holding him up, and I loved Tiffany's words when Dad said, That's it. I have to stop.

Don't quit. Never quit, she said. They wanted him to make it to the end of the carpet.

I have to take a breather. To sidestep falling apart. Have been neglecting self-care. Bubble bath awaits.