ABOUT WOMEN
Mother of all trucks' final ride

By Tanya Bricking Leach
Advertiser Staff Writer

Her name is Mary.

At least that's what I named my husband's beat-up truck. She often requires a few repetitions of "Hail Mary" before she can be coaxed to get started. Right now she won't start at all.

A shopping excursion to buy a new bike and vacuum cleaner did her in.

She chugged her way to the store without much need for divine intervention until the ride home. That's where my faith in her ended.

It wasn't all that unexpected. She has 249,000 miles on her. I just prayed she'd make it back to the driveway.

My luck ran out about two miles too soon. She was just too worn out to keep going. My Hail Marys weren't doing the trick. We pulled off to the side of the road, and Mary refused to budge.

So I pulled out my cell phone to call a tow truck, and I dialed a friend for moral support.

Miraculously, 15 minutes later, not only did my friend show up to keep me company, but Mary turned over and started running again. I canceled the tow, and Mary and I trudged on. Then two blocks from my driveway, Mary decided she'd gone far enough.

I would have called my husband for help, except he's off fighting a war. And I've never gone for the whole helpless military wife routine.

It bugs me enough when well-meaning friends and family members leave messages on my answering machine wondering if I'm falling apart without my husband.

I think I'm doing all right, but I can't say the same for his truck.

Luckily, I have good neighbors who brought out their tool boxes and tried to fix her. When that didn't work, they towed her home, gave me a list of parts that might revive her and stuck around for a round of drinks. (OK, two rounds. It made us all feel better about Mary's demise.)

Then I called an auto-parts store to place an order and pretend I knew what I was talking about. I figured it would be better if it seemed like I knew what I needed.

I'm swallowing my pride when it comes to actually mending Mary. I have no idea how to fix her myself. (And a handy Good Samaritan has volunteered to help without making me feel like a helpless idiot about it.)

I'm grateful to people who came to my rescue even when I resisted rescuing.

And even if Mary doesn't make it, she's had a good, long life.

I can always pray that she'll go to a better place.

But Mary is not my baby, and I wondered how my husband would take the news of the end of a life of a truck that had seen him through many good years.

I e-mailed him word of her breakdown, and he wasn't all that traumatized. I think the idea of a new truck is greatly improving his grieving process.

Maybe he's been saying a few Hail Marys I didn't know about.

Tanya Bricking Leach writes about relationships. Reach her at tleach@honoluluadvertiser.com or 525-8026.