I don’t wake up every morning and make sure the sink plumbing is functioning properly.
I assume when the water drains it will follow a network of pipes away from my kitchen. Same goes for the porcelain stool, TV remote, door hinges, etc.
But stuff stops working all the time, reminding me of how calm my universe was when everything was at least putting along with some semblance of normalcy.
Then I remember things like price and function.
Until my fishing rod broke while reeling in a chrome-colored Coho salmon last summer, I forgot how much they cost.
Until my nose is plugged, I forget how cool double-nostril breathing really is.
Stuff vanishes too, some inconsequential.
Where the heck did my Nintendo go? What about my “Hugs Not Drugs” t-shirt?
Some have a bit more importance, but vaporize similarly.
I rarely check to see where all my math skills went. After years of torture I thought all that would be embedded and stay with me, but I have done an incredible job of drowning all that nonsense deep into my ocean of memory.
So, I really can’t pin down when exactly I lost lug nut No. 5 on the rear passenger side. All I know is that last week, after I returned from an 828-mile round-trip road trip to Oceanside, I noticed it had vanished during a routine car wash.
How do you lose a lug nut?
It was either put in place by a machine or double-armed grip. It wasn’t a loose piece of paper, or cargo that flew out of the bed at a high speed. This sucker was anchored by inches of dizzying loops inside what could be a lethal projectile.
That’s what the loops are for, to keep the nut taught, and my wheel participating in the group effort of guided motion.
There had been a theft, mistake or revolt.
Before I could contemplate a solution, I pondered what happened. It’s like when the TV remote stops working. It takes repeated pressing, hitting and questions about the quality of the expensive TV before the simple realization that the bunny died and I need a new pair of double A’s comes to mind.
As for my lug nut, I was baffled. I had no timeline, and that was almost disturbing.
Did it fly off as I swooshed down the Valley side of the grapevine, possibly embedding itself in the side of a hill, or cow? Did some dude come out of the bushes in Tulare while I went inside for more trail mix and coffee, and only get one-fifth of the way into jacking my tires?
Maybe it was something simple, like it wasn’t replaced after I took my truck in for its occasional checkup, which meant I’d been a lug low for about a month.
There was a good chance, then, that when I was stuck in traffic in downtown L.A., someone looked over and laughed.
Well, no, I was the only motorist on the freeway that wasn’t on the cell phone, so it’s likely that no one noticed.
I can’t really blame them, for the not noticing part at least. After all, neither did I.
To contact Jeff Lund, e-mail aklund21@gmail.com.
I assume when the water drains it will follow a network of pipes away from my kitchen. Same goes for the porcelain stool, TV remote, door hinges, etc.
But stuff stops working all the time, reminding me of how calm my universe was when everything was at least putting along with some semblance of normalcy.
Then I remember things like price and function.
Until my fishing rod broke while reeling in a chrome-colored Coho salmon last summer, I forgot how much they cost.
Until my nose is plugged, I forget how cool double-nostril breathing really is.
Stuff vanishes too, some inconsequential.
Where the heck did my Nintendo go? What about my “Hugs Not Drugs” t-shirt?
Some have a bit more importance, but vaporize similarly.
I rarely check to see where all my math skills went. After years of torture I thought all that would be embedded and stay with me, but I have done an incredible job of drowning all that nonsense deep into my ocean of memory.
So, I really can’t pin down when exactly I lost lug nut No. 5 on the rear passenger side. All I know is that last week, after I returned from an 828-mile round-trip road trip to Oceanside, I noticed it had vanished during a routine car wash.
How do you lose a lug nut?
It was either put in place by a machine or double-armed grip. It wasn’t a loose piece of paper, or cargo that flew out of the bed at a high speed. This sucker was anchored by inches of dizzying loops inside what could be a lethal projectile.
That’s what the loops are for, to keep the nut taught, and my wheel participating in the group effort of guided motion.
There had been a theft, mistake or revolt.
Before I could contemplate a solution, I pondered what happened. It’s like when the TV remote stops working. It takes repeated pressing, hitting and questions about the quality of the expensive TV before the simple realization that the bunny died and I need a new pair of double A’s comes to mind.
As for my lug nut, I was baffled. I had no timeline, and that was almost disturbing.
Did it fly off as I swooshed down the Valley side of the grapevine, possibly embedding itself in the side of a hill, or cow? Did some dude come out of the bushes in Tulare while I went inside for more trail mix and coffee, and only get one-fifth of the way into jacking my tires?
Maybe it was something simple, like it wasn’t replaced after I took my truck in for its occasional checkup, which meant I’d been a lug low for about a month.
There was a good chance, then, that when I was stuck in traffic in downtown L.A., someone looked over and laughed.
Well, no, I was the only motorist on the freeway that wasn’t on the cell phone, so it’s likely that no one noticed.
I can’t really blame them, for the not noticing part at least. After all, neither did I.
To contact Jeff Lund, e-mail aklund21@gmail.com.
