Daylight Saving Time: Not Dark Before Dinner!

Daylight Saving Time started in the US early Sunday morning. Every year, twice a year, when we change the clocks I note what the change feels like.

The most noticeable change this time is that it's no longer dark by dinnertime. Yes, it's also dark now when my 6:45am weekday alarm rings, but this time around getting up earlier hasn't been an imposition. No, what's caught me by surprise the past few days is how dinnertime comes around before dark. Three days in a row now, I've looked at my clock and said, "Wow, it's almost/after 7pm!" before fixing dinner.

Car Trouble. Off to the Shop...

I've been having trouble with our Nissan Xterra. Yes, this is the car that's had the "SERVICE ENGINE SOON" light on & off intermittently for the last several months. Oddly the light was off this week when the problem became more severe.

The symptom here is that the engine occasionally loses power. The revs drop even if I'm pressing on the throttle. Sometimes the engine catches again after a few seconds; other times it stalls out. Today it stalled out 3 times in the course of about 15 minutes. Thankfully I was able to restart the engine right away each time. Also, I was driving around town on short errands, so if I did need a tow it wouldn't be a huge inconvenience.

It's mildly frustrating to have to deal with this right now. I mean, it's never a good time to suffer car trouble. But my schedule this week is pretty tight. I'd be willing to put it off to next week when my schedule is more flexible except this Friday I need to drive 220 miles round trip for a Covid-19 shot. I'm not going to try nursing the car on such a long highway trip in its condition. There's too much chance of getting stuck a long way from home and possibly missing my shot— which might take months to reschedule at this point.

Which Shop?

Where to take it? was the next question. My first idea was the local Nissan dealer, less than 2 miles from my house.

I know some people say, "Never take it to a dealer." Or, "Dealership is a stealer-ship." Car dealers in general get a bad rap on repairs. They tend to be expensive and don't necessarily have mechanics who are any more skilled than a good independent shop. But I haven't located a Nissan specialist. And last time this car had trouble and we took it to a generalist indie shop, they couldn't diagnose the problem. We had to pay around $1,000 to tow it to a dealership 150 miles away. But hey, at least we got a few cool pictures  towing it over a major mountain range! 😂

But the local Nissan dealer is now closed. A casualty of the pandemic shutdown.

The next closest Nissan dealer is about 15 miles away. That's not ideal. I just keep reminding myself, though, 15 miles is a lot less than 150. But still, it'll take some planning.

I'll drop the car off late this afternoon so the shop can start work first thing tomorrow. Hawk will meet me after work to drive me home. If they can fix it tomorrow— unlikely, but possible— I'll take a Lyft over there to pick it up. In the more likely case they need at least through Friday to work on it, I'll either drop Hawk off at the train station to get to work on Friday so I can drive to Davis for my shot, or I'll go to SJC airport Thursday night to rent a car for my Friday vaccine run and return it Friday night.

Whew. So much to do. Starting with leaving for the dealership... NOW.

UPDATE: $1,400 later....

Y'know What? Fuck St. Patrick's Day.

I came to a decision this year. Fuck St. Patrick's Day.

To be more precise, I came to that decision yesterday. I came to that decision because what I'm seeing, increasingly, is that St. Patrick's Day is being framed in popular culture as simply an opportunity to drink appropriately-colored or -named alcohol. I have Irish ancestry. I grew up celebrating St. Patrick's Day every year. So it really bothers me that that part of my identity is being reduced to booze.

It's ironic to equate Irish culture to booze, BTW, because my Irish grandmother was a teetotaler. It was not uncommon, at least among American Irish. "There are two kinds of Irish," she admonished me when I was younger, "The drunks and the dries. And this is a dry house." She'd seen alcohol ruin enough lives in her family and her community that she wouldn't allow a drop of it inside.