Thwarted. Again.

     Tuesday I planned to go shopping.  Before I got in the shower in the morning, I turned up the heat. The house felt chilly, even though Dave had been up and out the door hours before.  The heat didn't come on, no matter how high I set the thermostat.  The oil tank had been recently filled, the circuit breakers were in order, pressing the furnace reset button did nothing.  Time to call for help---but our phones were dead.  Plan B involving the cell phone was futile because the battery needed charging.  Visits to house of working phone resulted in service calls from John Ray and Time Warner for later in the day.  No time to shop.
    Wednesday, I laid out my plans to go shopping while lazing in my night clothes in front of the TV. I heard a noise and looked out my front window to see a man and a red truck in the driveway.  I hastily ran and pulled on a sweatshirt to see what he wanted.  His truck broke down, he said, and he ended up coasting it into the driveway.  He thought it might be out of gas, because the low fuel light had come on, but usually he could drive quite a few miles beyond that.  He asked to use my phone so he could call a friend to help him out.  No one answered his calls.  They were all at work, he said. I told him there was a gas can in the shed, but he said the can was empty.  He said he had a gas can at home, in Johnsonville.
      So I drove him to his house, where he retrieved his gas can, also empty, but which he replenished at nearby Marpe's Store.  Back in my driveway, he poured the gas into the fuel tank of the truck.  The engine turned over, but would not start.  He raised the hood, but said he knew nothing about auto mechanics, so he, and I, just looked into the engine compartment.  He said he didn't know what to do, so I offered to drive him home. Again.   I wasn't anxious to do so because he lives on a dirt road, one of those where the ruts are covered with slippery half-frozen mud which threaten to pull you into their direction.  I hesitated to enter his driveway because he said his friend had gotten stuck there the other day.  So I maneuvered one of those three-point-turns from Driver Education class, a tactic I don't think I've used since 1956.  The aura of good deed-ism must have aided my safe return home.  The owner of the truck, Matt, and his friend arrived about 7:30 P.M. and towed his truck out and away.  Before they left, however, he knocked at the door, shook my hand and thanked me for "driving him around."  I can always shop tomorrow.