The car saga dragged out for a few days. It was a dead battery, an easy (and thankfully cheap) fix.

But, of course, you can’t disconnect a battery in a car like mine without it affecting the radio. Ever seen me try to drive without the radio on? Yeah, not pretty. And no, I can’t hook my phone into it and play it that way, either. For one, the entire thing wasn’t working, including the clock. For another, those hookups were put into the model year after I bought my car.

So a fruitless call to the dealer and then a very helpful call to Acura later, the radio was up and working. Of course, none of the presets had saved. But the XM came back on immediately, which I hadn’t expected to be so easy.

The car died on Sunday. Last night, I set the final radio station. Four days later.

I’m not the only one around here who’s prepared. I don’t know if it’s my announcement of an upcoming rate hike or just that time of year or all my clients are hitting the same spot in their writing cycle or what, but January and February are now completely booked. Which means that for the first time in over a year, I’m scheduling 12 weeks out.

Twelve weeks! That’s crazy!

But I am SO not arguing.

After all, I have the costs of the car to pay off. And windows to replace before I turn into a Susan-cicle. (My joke with my contractor: That’s not cool. No, it’s frozen!)

But best of all, I can not stress for a little bit. I’ve got work, and I love to work.

It’s all good, right? Well, temporarily. Until something breaks, or until March arrives. March, historically, is my absolute slowest month, for some reason I haven’t been able to figure out yet. As in: so far behind the other months, I’d have to edit twelve different projects (SO not happening, although with my crack subcontractor corps?) to bring March up to the level of every other month of the year. Really weird.

The upshot of all this? I’ve got the car mess straightened out, and affordably, too. My calendar is full. My rates are still going up for anything booked after January 1. And I get up every day, so damn grateful for the best, most creative, inventive, hardest-working clients out there.

After my announcement of a rate increase starting in January, I’ve gotten a lot of mail from clients. Some are panicked. Some are happy to reassure me that they love me so much, they’ll pay that little bit extra. And really, it is a little bit extra. Twenty-five cents for every 250 words. Is that so horrible?

I know: many of you live as close to the edge as I do. And yes, it sucks.

But here’s how it goes on my end. Most of you know I’m a single parent. I said when I announced the rate increase that I’m not going to survive the winter without putting new windows in my office, and I sorta need to survive the winter. See above about being a single parent and all. My kids need me. So do my clients.

Throwing a monkey wrench into my budget is that not even an hour after getting home yesterday afternoon, I headed down to my car for the monthly Costco run. Had no reason to think anything could be amiss (although in hindsight? Maybe), so I get in the driver’s seat, put the key in the ignition, and … my dashboard lights up with blinking lights. And the engine won’t turn over.

Now, this is my baby, my car. She survived the night of broken glass. Hell, according to my body shop guy, she saved two lives that night — mine and my daughter’s. If I didn’t love that car before that night, I’m in her debt forever.

But she’s also going to turn ten this summer. While I have my mechanic keep up with the scheduled maintenance, sometimes, an aging car… you just can’t predict.

So… I’ve got a dead car in the garage that’s probably going to need to be towed.

Now, the good news in all this is that, unexpected maintenance aside, I am a Boy Scout. Be prepared, right? Last May, my Mother’s Day gift was … a second vehicle. One that can handle snow and gravel roads leading to Boy Scout camps (and the driveways at the archery ranges). One I can pack like crazy for a camping trip. One that came with a trailer hitch so I can use a bike rack without damaging the finish on my beloved baby. One that, right now, is running. (knock on wood)

Back to editing. Yes, my rates are going up as of January 1. Windows. Car trouble. We all have these problems and yes, I hate to squeeze my clients, but like I said in my last post about the rate increase, there are people who think nothing of telling me that even after a rate increase, I’m simply not charging what I’m worth.

It’s a fine line, a balancing act between what I need to survive, what I need to keep myself happy (which is steady editing work; I simply adore what I do), and the finances of my clients. But I gotta have windows, and I gotta have vehicles that do more than sit in my garage and taunt me with their refusal to start.

That’s my story, and hopefully, it’s one that’s not going to change again, unless it’s change for the better. My best friend is going to come over today and we’ll see if a good old-fashioned jump start will solve anything. Cross your fingers ’cause I’m afraid this may be the end of the road for my beloved car, the one that saved two very important lives a couple years back.

Nine and a half years ago, September 20 was my projected due date for my second child.

Nine years after that estimation was wrong, it became a day for celebrating life.

Yeah, that’s melodramatic, but let me explain.

I was driving me and the Girl Band up a road. Not just any road, but one I take almost daily. It’s one of my main arteries. And it’s a road I love, for its big trees and shady street. It’s like being in the woods. Even the Borough bears the word woods in its name.

I still love the road. What happened wasn’t the road’s fault. It was one of those things that happens when you’re in the woods.

Now, mind you, it was only 8PM when it all happened. It was just about dark. But even if it hadn’t been, I doubt I would have seen the tree branch until it made contact with my windshield.

Thank God the windshield held.

The tree branch? The cop, after he finished his report, walked me back to visit it. It wasn’t that little log I’d seen in my rear-view mirror and wanted to take home as a souvenir. It was over five feet long (an easy estimation for me to make, since I’m five feet long. Err, tall. Or is that short?), and it had shattered into about 30 pieces. One had hit my hood and my side-view mirror. One had bounced up and hit my roof … I measured it. It’s the width of my hand behind the moon roof.

So. One impact on the windshield, about a foot from the moon roof. And another impact maybe four inches behind it.
You know where this is going. You know it was a gorgeous almost-autumn night, that I’d been in the local park with The Girl Band, so my lungs were all full of the amazing air I can’t get enough of this time of year.

Which means, of course, my moon roof was open.

Open, as in retracted into the back panel of the roof. As in: no glass to protect us from any tree branches that decided a gorgeous almost-autumn night was the perfect time to break free and see what adventures it could find.

As in: we were damn lucky, me and the Girl Band.

Thankfully, the windshield held. I know I said that, but it didn’t just hold after the impact. Nope. It held long enough for me to pick up the Boy Band, to show off the damage to all the Boy Scouts — who, of course, thought it was the coolest thing ever and can I poke the impact spot and make the glass completely shatter? — and then to make it home again. Safe, if not totally sound.

I’m mourning the damage to my beloved sports sedan. But damn if it didn’t save our lives tonight (with a little help from fates or higher powers or whatever it is you believe in). This is the reason I drive that car. Okay, one of the reasons. It goes vroom. It’s nimble. It has an eight-way adjustable seat. And it was the Car and Driver car of the year… the model year before and after mine. Did I mention it’s barely given me a minute’s worth of trouble in all the years I’ve owned it? Did I mention how utterly I adore this car?

Now, for the irony. You see, I had made an appointment for early last week to take the car in for a routine tire rotation and oil change. I had made a note to tell my new mechanic (love him, too) that there seems to be an issue with my driver’s side rear brake light. But I’d changed that appointment, to make it easier for the friend who’s going to drive me to and from the mechanic (only because I’m too wimpy to ride my bike. It’s totally that close).

Yep. The car goes in tomorrow.

I’m sure the insurance company will send the glass guy out to give me a new windshield — it’s not going to hold for much longer. Thankfully (I’m using that word a lot tonight, no?), the mechanic is close, as I said. Bike-ride close. The insurance company, who I adore and have been with my entire driving life, will send an adjuster wherever I tell them to. They’ll make it easy.

So forgive me if I spend a few days hugging the kids, especially the Girl Band. We dodged one tonight. You’d better believe I’m giving thanks for that. The outcome of this little escapade could have been a lot, lot worse.

Thankfully…

This Boy Scout still loves the woods. Even if, every now and then, it bites.