Maintenance Required

For the car. For my pelvis. For whatever the hell my brain is doing.

Hi, remember me?

I’m the middle aged blonde lady who sends you weekly emails about her bathroom and pelvis and air travel mishaps. It’s August, and I’m back from a summer hiatus, like school supplies and too-early Halloween decorations at Target.

Yes, after my July newsletter break, I worry that you don’t remember me, like every time I show up to things with a new hair cut — looking vaguely familiar, but different, like you can’t place how we know each other.

Anyway, it was kinda nice not thinking about my (arbitrary, made-up) weekly deadline. It allowed me the time and space to tackle other timely issues in my life, such as our expiring car tabs.

As June came to a close, I had a vague recollection that the Washington Department of Licensing (DOL) had emailed a reminder to renew our annual car registration.

When was that? I wondered, followed closely by, Doesn’t matter. They probably expire this month.

I shrugged and went straight to the DOL website, paid the fee online, and checked the box indicating I’d pick them up at the closest licensing office to my house.

It was Monday, June 29th when I did this, thinking I’d drive over that afternoon.

Or maybe the next day on my lunch break. Or before they closed.

Or… I’m sure you can see where this is going.

Tuesday night, June 30th, Bryan reminds me he’s going out to dinner with friends the next evening, which was — you guessed it — July 1st, one day past the registration’s expiration date. He would need the car.

I’m more than willing to fly by the seat of my pants, risking a traffic stop due to expired tabs, but not Bryan. He insists on making plans and meeting deadlines and showing up on time.

Let’s pause for a moment to feel sad about Bryan’s safe and predictable existence.

I took a midday break and drove to the licensing office on Wednesday — which, as a reminder, was July 1st — hoping I wouldn’t get a ticket on my way. But also, you know, not too worried if I did. Because my life is dangerous and unpredictable by design, of course, and definitely not because of ADHD and debilitating perimenopause brain fog!

In paying for my tabs online in advance, I got to skip the line. Instead, an employee inside the door checks my identification and looks for my paperwork inside her file box. Zug is always in the back, of course.

With tabs and registration documents in hand, I stood behind my car, feeling victorious that my lack of executive functioning has once again made my day so full of excitement that I didn’t have time to eat lunch!

Will I pass out from dehydration and low blood sugar? Let’s find out! This is fun!

I bent over to wipe the dust off the current 2025 sticker on my license plate so the new 2026 sticker will stick, but my thumb hovers.

Something feels off.

The sticker next to it says 05, but this can’t be right. May is the fifth month. My tabs expired in June, the sixth month. This sticker should say 06!

For fuck’s sake.

We’d been driving around with expired car tabs for over a month, apparently.

It’s a pretty anticlimactic ending when you consider that, despite my best efforts, Bryan never experienced the joy of a traffic stop for driving with expired tabs. What a wasted opportunity for an unpredictable adventure!

That same morning one of my friends texted, asking if I’ve had a hip replacement yet.

YET!

What the fuck does she mean by yet?! Is this my life, now? Forgetting to register my car and getting body parts replaced like the Six Million Dollar Man? These are new considerations for me to process in the middle phase of life.

(It also seems obvious to me that had I gotten a hip replacement already, the Internet would have heard all about it since I can’t seem to keep these things to myself. But whatever. Her life is extremely offline and she lives in another state.)

This is how my summer newsletter hiatus started.

Anne Lamott famously said, “Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.”

The gardener’s version is that almost everything will grow if the soil is fed. No amount of sunshine or water will help a plant thrive if the soil is devoid of nutrients. Plant health begins with soil health!

During week one of my hiatus, my soil felt depleted.

I couldn’t remember how to relax.

My brain swirled with open tasks and unfinished projects, unable to think of anything to do besides start a load of laundry or open the mail.

My soil wasn’t giving me what I needed to thrive, so I worked on feeding it.

I opened my journal and made a list of stuff I enjoy doing:

• Read a book for fun, not for research

• Go for a walk because I want to, not because my dog is looking at me with sad eyes

• Write a letter

• Visit a bookstore or library

• Listen to music in my garden

And so on.

The list is noticeably analog. Turns out, I was a little bit offline in July. Not extremely offline, but enough offline that I didn’t know Taylor Swift got married at Madison Square Garden or that Mitch McConnell may or may not be dead, or that explosive diarrhea was sweeping the nation. These are things my family told me, and I’m content with not knowing any details. Because, and this may come as a shock to you, but doomscrolling doesn’t really feed my soil.

How’s your summer going? Get any joints replaced? Read any books? Forget any important dates? Have you heard about my famous neighbor and fellow Seattleite, Jimothy?

Until next time,

Jen

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In the garden

A few things in my garden are thriving this year, but I also see big empty patches from where some things failed. My shishito peppers, for example. I lost all 15 plants. (More on that later.) But here’s what I’m celebrating: sunflowers, figs, green beans, garlic, a bunny den in my garlic patch(!), and spaghetti squash. ❤️

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