Stop Thief!

I've made it official: the thieves stopped my blog. That's a convenient but false explanation for the lack of blogging over the past week.

The folks who took my car, took only my car, not anything else. Well, the stereo deck in my car, but nothing else. Why didn't they steal the lucrative airbags? Or if they lacked that know-how, they could have jacked the battery? They probably just needed a ride somewhere and decided on the stereo as a parting gift. Thankfully, for me, these were not pros who would have stripped Hernandez (yes, that is his name) down to his carcass.

They left a present for me: a cosmetics bag with a driver's license, a bottle of water and a lighter. The amazingly prompt Seattle police sent an officer with an evidence bag to squirrel away the stuff, to my delight. How often do you get to say "evidence bag" in your everyday life?

After a few weeks in the shop (damage to the ignition column), H will be good as used. The car's eleven years old and in good shape. I would have been disappointed to have to replace him. We've seen a lot of good miles together.
I am very lucky to have it back, relatively undamaged and untarnished. My goal was to drive Hernandez another 100,000 miles and the game is afoot.

You might note a lack of anger or histrionics in general over the missing car. Just didn't happen. For some reason, my innerds were willing to stick to the manual during this process.

First, I believed that I had just misparked the car. I dreaded the razzing about this more than having my car stolen. There, a tiny window on my warped perspective. When the police left a message on my machine saying that they found the car, near my house, I clutched until she said that the car was undrivable. YES! That's what I wanted to hear!

Second, after I filed the report, I believed the claim that most cars were recovered in a few days. Okay, I'll wait a few days until I start to think about not having my car back. Just as I was thinking I should consider renting a car, I got the recovery call.

When I walked the two blocks to inspect the car (thoughtful of the thieves to park in Zone 4: no parking ticket!), I was happy to have Hernandez back. My greatest emotional reaction came when I was the cigarette lighter: did those creeps smoke in my car? Whew, don't think so.

My vast readership has noted that I've been blogless (Oh, Doctor!) for a while now. I am so easily untracked and that is far more upsetting than amateurs joyriding in my car. That is a loss that I have a serious quarrel with. I've been working on working, interviewing, outlining the project with Norm and did I mention the cats?

Every life has tribulation (that sounds grand) and even the cats aren't enough to pin my inconsistency on. The problem is my own internal traffic cop. The guy who, when the traffic signals get knocked out or overwhelmed, makes sure that there are few backups and every vehicle gets to where it needs to go with efficiency. The sharp whistle, the crisp hand signal generate an authority and discipline that most of us welcome. Having someone sort out the traffic snarl is necessary. My guy wigs out in some situations. When there is more than one car. When the cars are all Roll Royces. When my ex-wife is revving her engine. When Nuns are using the crosswalk.

He and I have been in training, making progress. On light days, his gestures and decisions are fluid, balletic. On heavy days, he is a work in progress.

I am a bit embarrassed to leverage my experience with the excellent Seattle Police into a lesson for myself. But I'll take them where I can. Turns out the theives didn't stop the blog, I did. My own internal traffic guy jammed me up. But the reports are that traffic is again flowing along all major arteries.

I faultered on traffic management and I wanted to blame the thieves for my shortcomings. But I can rightfully and gladly blame the thieves about my car. But I seem to have learned that there are alternate routes.