Yesterday turned out to be a classic oh-for-fuck-sake day. First, our refrigerator stopped working; the repair guys can't come out till next week; I scrambled to borrow coolers and cold packs, and T and I tried to figure things out on our own, which maybe we did or maybe we didn't. In any case, we defrosted it over night and will turn it on again this morning and find out something.

Then what I thought would be a routine get-my-car-inspected day exploded like a bomb: my car won't pass inspection because there's a problem with the rack-and-pinion steering, which is too complex a job for my regular mechanic, which will cost the earth, and which means that the car is presently unsafe to drive.

I'm supposed to be heading north to Monson on Monday and Tuesday, so I guess I'll be renting a car?

I spent all day feeling unhappy, full of dread about dropping this weight on Tom, wondering how I can be almost 61 years old and still limping through vehicles like a teenager.

But when he came home, and I told him the bad news, he was calm, he was helpful, he was soothing, he was all of the things that I love him for. And then he gave me a birthday present: a new lamp for the living room, which we've sorely needed.

The two of us have been through so many shitty household emergencies in our years together. Sometimes I think that's our closest bond. We look at each other and say, What next?