So far, so good.

Seems I'm still online, so at least that situation remains stable. On the other hand, getting ready for the autumn migration south is not so sanguine. For every task I take care of, another problem pops up.

Lately it's been hassles with the Suburban.

First the starter broke—literally—into pieces. Then there was a pesky electrical short that would draw the battery down if I didn't use the truck for three or four days.

Fortunately, I have a good friend who owns an auto repair shop; we'll call him the Mechanic. He is old school and he is good. Earlier this week I was over in Alamosa shopping (read "WallyWorld"). Late that afternoon, as I was accelerating onto the highway to retrace the 50-mile drive to South Fork, all of a sudden something let loose up front and a persistent clanking began to emanate from the engine compartment. I pulled off the road, raised the hood and scanned futilely over what has become the modern automobile power plant.

After several minutes of intense bewilderment, I called the Mechanic at home. Working my way through a grandchild and his wife I finally got him on the line. I explained what happened and asked him to give a listen to the engine noise over my cell phone.

I held the phone over the running engine for a few seconds and then I asked him what he thought.

The Mechanic said something like, "Oh, that's just the flitdinder banging against the belt dousing. It must have come loose. No big deal. You can drive it home and bring it in tomorrow morning."

And sure enough, the next day the Mechanic showed me where the loose flitdinder was hitting the belt dousing. He snugged it down and Bob's your uncle.

Like I said, the Mechanic is good.