Merry Christmas to all.
 

I wish you hope and joy, in darkness and in light. Here’s to grace, peace, and love. 

2024 was a tumultuous and often tough year for many, including me. Throughout it all, camaraderie, wisdom, humor, and support regularly flourished here at AAR. Thank you. You, dear readers, are a gift. I am so grateful. 

Enjoy the day!

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  1. AAR gives me a gift every single day. It is part of my routine. Thank you, all of you wonderful people, who make this such a good site.

     Rather than sending you a card, I am sending you what happened to me last Christmas Eve, along with the wish that you have a wonderful Christmas and a happy and wonderful ’25. 

    When I turned my car on to go to church, last Christmas Eve at 7PM, one of its universal signs flashed and stayed on my dashboard. I thought, “Oh, something must be wrong.” 

    However, since the universal sign was an upturned horse shoe with an exclamation mark in the middle, I had no idea, not being able to speak or to read International Sign Language, what it actually meant.

    All “universal signs” were designed by malevolent computer programmers who are getting back at the pretty girls (and studly boys, too, I am sure) who wouldn’t date them.

    So, I pulled out my 600 page owner’s manual, and turned to the fifty-page index to find nothing listed under “signs,” “pictures” or “icons.” Finally, my car took pity on me (it was Christmas, after all) and when I started driving to Christmas Eve mass, it flashed, “Low Tire Pressure.” In English! Ah. Even I knew that that meant. 

    Sort of. 

    I just didn’t know exactly what the tire pressure should be. To find out, I looked up “low tire pressure” when I arrived in the parking lot which the manual defined as you have low pressure in your tires. 

    Uh, okay. 

    But what should the tire pressure actually be? How much air do I have to put in? 

    I looked up “Tire pressure.” Nothing in the manual. Then, “air pressure.”  Nothing, again. 

    I take tire pressure seriously. Even I, as a true know-nothing about things practical, know that when it’s cold, your tire pressure lowers AND you can get a blow-out. 

    I take this personally because one time, I got four flat tires in the bitter winter. Fortunately, this happened when I was parked about two yards from a garage. 

    God looks out for former English teachers. At least, sometimes.

    Annnyway, after church, I drove to a gas station in the dark on Christmas Eve, fretting about having to pump air. I wanted to fix this so I would be able to drive the next day–Christmas–to Martha’s and not have a blow-out on 95. 

    So, I pulled into the nearest gas station. After waiting about ten minutes for the store attendant to get off his stupid phone, I found out what I pretty much knew. “No, we don’t have an air pump machine,” he chirped with a grin. 

    I then drove ten more miles, in the dark, in the bitter cold, praying none of my tires would blow out, to another gas station. One with an pressure pump. 

    But it was in the dark, and my tiny flashlight ( am the only person in the world who doesn’t have a cell phone) was inadequate for me to see the black-on-black notation on the tires of how much pressure I needed, or even where the stupid thingmajij (again: black on black) was that I needed to unscrew to fill the air in the tire. 

    So, I went to the gas station guy who just makes change. Naturally, this Mobil station was a “service station” in name only. 

    He told me that he was not supposed to do anything with the air pump because it was owned by a different company, not Mobil.  

    Uh huh. 

    I asked him if he knew whether tires still used that little thingmajig that you needed to unscrew to put air into the tires and that I couldn’t find it on any of the tires. 

    His better angels finally woke up.

    He flipped on the lights by the air machine, came out (in the dark, in the bitter cold), showed me where the thingie (I now remembered: the cap) was on a tire, and then he unscrewed it which didn’t give immediately. After he grunted a couple of times, it finally did.  

    I was very grateful. 

    He then showed me on my car door where the ancient, secret code was recorded—37 pounds per inch or pound or liter or light year–whatever–and then. . .

    Get ready for a true Christmas Miracle. 

    He filled all the tires for me. 

    With no gloves. In the dark. In the bitter, bitter cold.

    I almost dissolved in tears, but stopped, as I was afraid they would freeze. 

    I was so grateful to him, in the dark and–did I mention?– in the cold (19 degrees, which is cooooolllldd). I gave him all the cash I had (abut $14). He was so touched, he hugged me and looked like he was going to dissolve in tears, too. (This is no exaggeration).

    With the $14, he’ll to buy his wife a hair comb, without having to sell his watch. Or his cell phone. O’Henry would approve.

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