Mid-Life Crisis

So you know that the Cap'n wants my car. Or more generally, he wants something sexier than a Volvo. He is a pilot, and pilots have certain unique needs. One is watches. Most of them very large. I cannot tell you how many watches that my husband has gone through in the last twenty-five years, and what is he wearing now? A self-winding Hamilton that he bought before we were married. Oh, the others are around. I learned early not to buy him nice watches, because he likes to take them apart, so many of the other are around, disassembled, in drawers and on trays, in various parts of the house.

So, he has been looking for a Jaguar XJS for some months, maybe years. He says there comes a time in a man's life that he needs twelve cylinders. I told him that between my six and his six, he already has twelve. Evidently that doesn't count.

Last weekend, we went to visit an1985 gray XJS HE in a neighboring town. It was owned by a former Jaguar mechanic, who had kept the thing in really very good shape, replacing parts with OEM parts; even the muffler is a British Leyland and not a Midas. It had not been driven in five years, but it had been started and moved weekly. It had no tags, it had no inspection stickers, it had no insurance. And the Cap'n loved it.

So, he bought it, and delivered it to his trusty mechanic José, and took the afternoon off for tagging and registration and such. He hopes to drive it to work later this week.

This is the kind of car that I used to call the "sorry about your penis" sort of car. I suppose I will have to stop doing that.

We are now a two-Jaguar family. The cost of both cars put together does not equal five figures. The Cap'n's philosophy is that when buying a car, one may either pay a bank or pay a mechanic. He prefers paying the mechanic.

Bat Mitzvah

My brilliant niece was called to Torah as Bat Mitzvah last weekend.

All the relatives, goyische and not, all showed up.

She had two great-aunts and great-uncles named Jack. She has two aunts named Ellen, two aunts named Carol.

But only one has a good ship.

She was brilliant, and magnificent in her torah portion, and in the haftorah as well. Her mother was brilliant for the half-second of blessing that she got through before losing her breath, her voice and her tears. Her father was appropriately amusing.

The party afterwards was a blast, and we were honored to light one of her candles on her cake.

Just to demonstrate what a good patient I am, I offer evidence that I did a Ventavis treatment just after dancing a hora.

To further demonstrate what a good patient I am, I had my annual right heart cath the week before we left, and my pulmonary artery pressure is down by two-thirds what it was at diagnosis! Still nearly twice what it should be, but way, way better than it was a couple of years ago!

We drove to the occasion in the mighty Jaguar. The Cap'n again lusted for it. He cannot have her, however. We navigated home using the kewl little Bluetooth GPS receiver that beams our position into the phone, which then actually gives us oral directions from a lovely feminine voice I've chosen to call Genevieve GPS. The Cap'n argues less with Genevieve's directions than he does mine.