We hope our theoretically annual missive finds you in good health and good spirits, assuming you have achieved the latter without help from narcotics or wildly delusional thinking about our current economy. We suggest simple denial―it’s organic and it’s cheaper than weekly therapy. And in the interests of full disclosure let us be upfront that this letter will violate every stricture of The Elements of Style ―think “long” and “wordy.” On the other hand, if you slog all the way through it, you’ll understand why Les has that weird facial twitch, and you’ll know not to ask her about it, okay?
It all started back in late October. That’s when Les’s van decided that it didn’t like her cruising speed down Highway 99 toward Spencer’s school and took her 72 mph (it was slow-going traffic that morning) down to a nice, moderate, zero. AAA came to the rescue, but we soon started hearing the dreaded “T” word.
Later that week Devin’s van wouldn’t start at CSU-Stanislaus, but a jump-off did the trick. We were relieved, but a few days later it wouldn’t start at all, and AAA was again called. Turns out it needed a new water pump. (We have discovered that we can say “water pump” if we practice our breathing exercises first.) You’re probably thinking: So what? Everybody who drives a car has problems sooner or later, right? And right you are.
So after the repair guy called to say that Devin’s car was fixed but needed to be picked up pronto because the shop was closing early, Les, now driving Jim’s Cavalier, rushed home from a meeting to pick up Jim and go get it. Just as she was calling to say, “Honey, I’m pulling up out front,” the Cavalier dropped dead in the middle of the street and refused to re-start. Jim had to push the car to the curb and Les’s mom zoomed over in her Miata to whisk her to our only remaining functional vehicle.
In the meantime, AAA came and towed Jim’s car to a mechanic’s shop that was actually open. The diagnosis: bad fuel pump. Eventually, we took care of the “T” issue with Leslie’s van, and since all three cars were now in working order (and ignoring the fact that we were MUCH poorer), we decided it would be fun to start out December with a relaxing weekend down in LA where our sons’ band (Stop Motion) was playing for a RockDrive charity benefit. So our guys, plus Kris, the guitarist, left in Devin’s van, and we followed about an hour later in the Cavalier. Our heads were filled with visions of relaxing in our nice Hollywood hotel, sipping chardonnay under palm trees―OK, yes, Jim only drinks beer, but this is my fantasy and he was definitely drinking chardonnay―and then dropping by the nearby venue to catch our guys playing to a packed house. A few hours into our romantic weekend, we got a cell phone call from Clark: “Mom? Hey, where are you? Cause we’re kind of on the side of the road near Delano. Devin’s van died.”
At this point, Devin tried to upgrade from regular AAA to the premium level, but AAA wasn’t having it. We sidetracked to pick up coolant and oil, and arrived to find our guys playing Frisbee by the railroad tracks paralleling 99. (Now there’s denial working for you.) The tow truck driver showed up and soon said things even worse than the “T” word and added that the only place to get a rental car was 40 miles away at the Bakersfield Airport.
We figured we could take Clark to rent a van and then continue on to LA for that whole chardonnay scene, while he went back to retrieve Devin & co. from wherever they’d ended up. So we walked into the airport and met three of the rudest rental agents in our quadrant of the galaxy. You know the type: they’re having a chatfest and you walk in and they’re like, OMG, a freakin’ customer. What’s WRONG with them? Naturally, the fourth one didn’t have any vans, so we had to drive 40 miles back to split up all the band gear between the too-small rental and the Cavalier.
At this point the guys knew they’d miss the catered dinner that had been arranged for the 12 bands that were playing, but thought they could still make it in time to perform. Plus, they were slated to play for church services in Huntington Beach on Sunday and at another venue on Sunday night in San Diego. The rental car, however, was supposed to be returned by 5 on Sunday in Sacramento. And us? We couldn’t see out the back window thanks to a huge bass drum, hernia-inducing amp and keyboard in our back seat. So we drove directly to the nightspot and waited for the guys to arrive. They did―well, sort of. Spencer (their drummer) had to wait outside because the very hip Hotel Café is a 21-and-over venue.
And after sitting at a table for four hours waiting for them to play, Les realized that if she’d gotten a nickel for every nipped, tucked, lifted, plumped or liposuctioned piece of flesh in that place, we could have afforded to give Devin’s van what it needed: an entirely new engine. Instead, his van is now squished in the Delano junkyard. The guys, however, were fine because they got to meet an actor from one of their favorite shows (Lie to Me).
At 1:30 a.m. we finally made it to our hotel, and while Jim parked our car Les attempted to maneuver a wobbly cart loaded with our luggage, the amp and a teetering keyboard up to our room. There were no palm trees involved. The guys made their Huntington Beach gig on 3 hours sleep, canceled the San Diego one and raced up to Fresno where they had arranged an alternate drop-off―for a $75 penalty fee. After getting off work that night, Auni took Les’s van to pick them and their gear up there.
The next weekend we drove Les’s van to a book publishing event at her cousin’s (he wrote a cool book about the history of Modesto) and had to roll down the window to punch in the security code at the gate. If you think the window rolled right back up (it was a very cold and stormy day), you too have the makings for a great career in Denial. And if you think that was the last thing that might have gone wrong with the van, you’re right up there with Pollyanna (and you probably think the Health Care plan will pay for itself). Yes, ‘twas the night before Les’s birthday when she backed the van out of the driveway, and it, like the Cavalier a few weeks earlier, died right in the middle of the street (only this time it was dark). Can you say “fuel pump”? We can, but it’s a little risky saying words that start with “f” these days.
Personally, we’re amazed that AAA hasn’t revoked our membership and blocked our cell phone numbers. Did we mention that sprinkled amongst these car “adventures,” we also experienced the termination of our printer, router, and desktop computer, and that our dishwasher with the super-quiet sound insulation package is currently whining somewhere in the decibel range of a 747 take-off?
Oh, yes, a bit of regular life occurred during this year also, and with some therapy (denial has its limits), this is what we’ve been able to remember: Spencer is in 9th grade at Whitmore Charter in nearby Ceres. His classes are taught either on-site, on-line, through Univ. of Nebraska (French) or by Darth Vader (a.k.a. Mom). He drums for VBS (Vacation Bible School), two other bands at Modesto Covenant Church (MCC), and Stop Motion. He sings at school, in the Modesto Boys’ Choir, and still plays piano. He’s also firmly convinced that having to pick up his room and bathroom imposes an unendurable burden on him which will harm his psyche forever, if not longer. He’s now taller than Les, handsome as can be, and has already been asked by a girl to the Winter Formal.
Devin is a “senior” at CSU but since budget cuts have limited class offerings, he’s a bit short of units for his 2nd major of Music Technology ―though he’s good to go in English. He’s the bass player for Stop Motion, plays frequently in our church’s worship and youth bands and has a great job as a worship arts asst. there―plus his little office is way nicer than Jim’s. He’s also joined the Modesto Chess Club, so there’s a lot less pathetic begging around our house for chess opponents. Even long-time girlfriend Catherine won’t play him, though she’s now nearby, working on her M.S. at UOP in biology after graduating last spring from UC Irvine.
Clark works at Fuddrucker’s, takes online classes toward a degree in web design, and picks up a few extra $$ from piano students and website clients. Auni works at Spa Doctor and they have a great little apartment nearby (us, not Spa Doctor). Stop Motion (www.myspace.com/seestopmotion) still practices at our house (amazing there is still any stucco left clinging to our exterior walls) and Clark thinks they are close to finishing their CD with Mikal Blue down in L.A. He’s in the same chess club with Devin and is an avid Disc Golf and Magic: the Gathering player.
Jim is almost done grading finals, sings in the Modesto Symphony Chorus and still plays with his colleague Theron in Paradox (pair of Drs., get it? Les has been trying to get a Wordplay Restraining Order invoked for years, but she obviously hasn’t succeeded yet.) He does all the “grunt work” in the garden, and in a moment of sublime weakness agreed to a complete remodel of the master bedroom, which a: cost money (he’s Scotch you know) and b: involved the neck-jacking task of painting the 9 ft. ceilings. Considering that he couldn’t tell you what the bedroom looked like before or what it looks like now if his life depended on it, Les thinks this was a pretty darn nice sacrifice on his part.
Les, in addition to her Darth Vader gig, hosts a Bible study group every Sunday night at our home, co-leads a Beth Moore Bible study on Wed. nights at MCC, is serving a second term on the Stanislaus Cty. Equal Rights Commission, and serves as general chauffeur to everybody. Until recently she frequented the gym, but lately her free time has gone into inhaling Consumer Reports car ratings, especially the reliability and warranty info, and yesterday we came home with a new 2010 Scion xB. As one of our friends quickly suggested, we will be including exorcism as part of our regular maintenance routine. In fact, we’re thinking we should just keep an exorcist on retainer.
Although clearly the Angel of Mechanical Death and Destruction has been trapped in a holding pattern over our home, know that among our many blessings from God, we count you, our friends and family, among the greatest gifts of all (and thanks for letting us borrow your cars, too). And as we celebrate the birth of Christ and his incredible gift of sacrifice and redemption for us, we pray that all of you will have time to ponder that future promised to us when the lion will lie down with the lamb, and cars and more importantly, people, will no longer break down.
In His love,
The Beggs family: Jim, Les, Devin, Spencer, Macavity and Eliza
P.S. for photos, please look us up on Facebook.
It all started back in late October. That’s when Les’s van decided that it didn’t like her cruising speed down Highway 99 toward Spencer’s school and took her 72 mph (it was slow-going traffic that morning) down to a nice, moderate, zero. AAA came to the rescue, but we soon started hearing the dreaded “T” word.
Later that week Devin’s van wouldn’t start at CSU-Stanislaus, but a jump-off did the trick. We were relieved, but a few days later it wouldn’t start at all, and AAA was again called. Turns out it needed a new water pump. (We have discovered that we can say “water pump” if we practice our breathing exercises first.) You’re probably thinking: So what? Everybody who drives a car has problems sooner or later, right? And right you are.
So after the repair guy called to say that Devin’s car was fixed but needed to be picked up pronto because the shop was closing early, Les, now driving Jim’s Cavalier, rushed home from a meeting to pick up Jim and go get it. Just as she was calling to say, “Honey, I’m pulling up out front,” the Cavalier dropped dead in the middle of the street and refused to re-start. Jim had to push the car to the curb and Les’s mom zoomed over in her Miata to whisk her to our only remaining functional vehicle.
In the meantime, AAA came and towed Jim’s car to a mechanic’s shop that was actually open. The diagnosis: bad fuel pump. Eventually, we took care of the “T” issue with Leslie’s van, and since all three cars were now in working order (and ignoring the fact that we were MUCH poorer), we decided it would be fun to start out December with a relaxing weekend down in LA where our sons’ band (Stop Motion) was playing for a RockDrive charity benefit. So our guys, plus Kris, the guitarist, left in Devin’s van, and we followed about an hour later in the Cavalier. Our heads were filled with visions of relaxing in our nice Hollywood hotel, sipping chardonnay under palm trees―OK, yes, Jim only drinks beer, but this is my fantasy and he was definitely drinking chardonnay―and then dropping by the nearby venue to catch our guys playing to a packed house. A few hours into our romantic weekend, we got a cell phone call from Clark: “Mom? Hey, where are you? Cause we’re kind of on the side of the road near Delano. Devin’s van died.”
At this point, Devin tried to upgrade from regular AAA to the premium level, but AAA wasn’t having it. We sidetracked to pick up coolant and oil, and arrived to find our guys playing Frisbee by the railroad tracks paralleling 99. (Now there’s denial working for you.) The tow truck driver showed up and soon said things even worse than the “T” word and added that the only place to get a rental car was 40 miles away at the Bakersfield Airport.
We figured we could take Clark to rent a van and then continue on to LA for that whole chardonnay scene, while he went back to retrieve Devin & co. from wherever they’d ended up. So we walked into the airport and met three of the rudest rental agents in our quadrant of the galaxy. You know the type: they’re having a chatfest and you walk in and they’re like, OMG, a freakin’ customer. What’s WRONG with them? Naturally, the fourth one didn’t have any vans, so we had to drive 40 miles back to split up all the band gear between the too-small rental and the Cavalier.
At this point the guys knew they’d miss the catered dinner that had been arranged for the 12 bands that were playing, but thought they could still make it in time to perform. Plus, they were slated to play for church services in Huntington Beach on Sunday and at another venue on Sunday night in San Diego. The rental car, however, was supposed to be returned by 5 on Sunday in Sacramento. And us? We couldn’t see out the back window thanks to a huge bass drum, hernia-inducing amp and keyboard in our back seat. So we drove directly to the nightspot and waited for the guys to arrive. They did―well, sort of. Spencer (their drummer) had to wait outside because the very hip Hotel Café is a 21-and-over venue.
And after sitting at a table for four hours waiting for them to play, Les realized that if she’d gotten a nickel for every nipped, tucked, lifted, plumped or liposuctioned piece of flesh in that place, we could have afforded to give Devin’s van what it needed: an entirely new engine. Instead, his van is now squished in the Delano junkyard. The guys, however, were fine because they got to meet an actor from one of their favorite shows (Lie to Me).
At 1:30 a.m. we finally made it to our hotel, and while Jim parked our car Les attempted to maneuver a wobbly cart loaded with our luggage, the amp and a teetering keyboard up to our room. There were no palm trees involved. The guys made their Huntington Beach gig on 3 hours sleep, canceled the San Diego one and raced up to Fresno where they had arranged an alternate drop-off―for a $75 penalty fee. After getting off work that night, Auni took Les’s van to pick them and their gear up there.
The next weekend we drove Les’s van to a book publishing event at her cousin’s (he wrote a cool book about the history of Modesto) and had to roll down the window to punch in the security code at the gate. If you think the window rolled right back up (it was a very cold and stormy day), you too have the makings for a great career in Denial. And if you think that was the last thing that might have gone wrong with the van, you’re right up there with Pollyanna (and you probably think the Health Care plan will pay for itself). Yes, ‘twas the night before Les’s birthday when she backed the van out of the driveway, and it, like the Cavalier a few weeks earlier, died right in the middle of the street (only this time it was dark). Can you say “fuel pump”? We can, but it’s a little risky saying words that start with “f” these days.
Personally, we’re amazed that AAA hasn’t revoked our membership and blocked our cell phone numbers. Did we mention that sprinkled amongst these car “adventures,” we also experienced the termination of our printer, router, and desktop computer, and that our dishwasher with the super-quiet sound insulation package is currently whining somewhere in the decibel range of a 747 take-off?
Oh, yes, a bit of regular life occurred during this year also, and with some therapy (denial has its limits), this is what we’ve been able to remember: Spencer is in 9th grade at Whitmore Charter in nearby Ceres. His classes are taught either on-site, on-line, through Univ. of Nebraska (French) or by Darth Vader (a.k.a. Mom). He drums for VBS (Vacation Bible School), two other bands at Modesto Covenant Church (MCC), and Stop Motion. He sings at school, in the Modesto Boys’ Choir, and still plays piano. He’s also firmly convinced that having to pick up his room and bathroom imposes an unendurable burden on him which will harm his psyche forever, if not longer. He’s now taller than Les, handsome as can be, and has already been asked by a girl to the Winter Formal.
Devin is a “senior” at CSU but since budget cuts have limited class offerings, he’s a bit short of units for his 2nd major of Music Technology ―though he’s good to go in English. He’s the bass player for Stop Motion, plays frequently in our church’s worship and youth bands and has a great job as a worship arts asst. there―plus his little office is way nicer than Jim’s. He’s also joined the Modesto Chess Club, so there’s a lot less pathetic begging around our house for chess opponents. Even long-time girlfriend Catherine won’t play him, though she’s now nearby, working on her M.S. at UOP in biology after graduating last spring from UC Irvine.
Clark works at Fuddrucker’s, takes online classes toward a degree in web design, and picks up a few extra $$ from piano students and website clients. Auni works at Spa Doctor and they have a great little apartment nearby (us, not Spa Doctor). Stop Motion (www.myspace.com/seestopmotion) still practices at our house (amazing there is still any stucco left clinging to our exterior walls) and Clark thinks they are close to finishing their CD with Mikal Blue down in L.A. He’s in the same chess club with Devin and is an avid Disc Golf and Magic: the Gathering player.
Jim is almost done grading finals, sings in the Modesto Symphony Chorus and still plays with his colleague Theron in Paradox (pair of Drs., get it? Les has been trying to get a Wordplay Restraining Order invoked for years, but she obviously hasn’t succeeded yet.) He does all the “grunt work” in the garden, and in a moment of sublime weakness agreed to a complete remodel of the master bedroom, which a: cost money (he’s Scotch you know) and b: involved the neck-jacking task of painting the 9 ft. ceilings. Considering that he couldn’t tell you what the bedroom looked like before or what it looks like now if his life depended on it, Les thinks this was a pretty darn nice sacrifice on his part.
Les, in addition to her Darth Vader gig, hosts a Bible study group every Sunday night at our home, co-leads a Beth Moore Bible study on Wed. nights at MCC, is serving a second term on the Stanislaus Cty. Equal Rights Commission, and serves as general chauffeur to everybody. Until recently she frequented the gym, but lately her free time has gone into inhaling Consumer Reports car ratings, especially the reliability and warranty info, and yesterday we came home with a new 2010 Scion xB. As one of our friends quickly suggested, we will be including exorcism as part of our regular maintenance routine. In fact, we’re thinking we should just keep an exorcist on retainer.
Although clearly the Angel of Mechanical Death and Destruction has been trapped in a holding pattern over our home, know that among our many blessings from God, we count you, our friends and family, among the greatest gifts of all (and thanks for letting us borrow your cars, too). And as we celebrate the birth of Christ and his incredible gift of sacrifice and redemption for us, we pray that all of you will have time to ponder that future promised to us when the lion will lie down with the lamb, and cars and more importantly, people, will no longer break down.
In His love,
The Beggs family: Jim, Les, Devin, Spencer, Macavity and Eliza
P.S. for photos, please look us up on Facebook.
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