Transmissions

Slay your dragons with compassion
Do it in your tribal dance
-Kenny Young
from the Gentlemen Without Weapons album Transmissions


A transmission transmits motive power from an engine to wheels. I'm not sure what to make of that, but it's what the dictionary says.
Yesterday I put the third transmission in the truck in as many years. The first one died on RM's driveway three years ago, the second one was a bit sketchy from the time I got it, but junkyarded transmissions are kinda buyer beware anyway, and the third - well, I'll let you know how it does. The point is: I've got to be in Texas in less than a week, and for the third year in a row I find myself swapping transmissions mere days before departure. Alas. And I'm running around caulking windows and cleaning chimneys and a dozen other last minute things, because summer turns into fall turns into winter, and the farming season is over, and I need to do something to make ends meet when I've no vegetables to sell, and so I'm going to Texas.
That being said, here's a litany of transmission woes: the new blue truck - three times in three years / the old blue truck, still running like a champ, but with a new tranny rumble that's just a little ominous /J*'s Subaru, still unfixed (dammit) and in a shop in Asheville / C*'s truck, ah, but that was long ago, in mid-summer, and as of now, runs (!) / the rototiller, just a small one, I know, but it deserves it's place on the list, and, because she deserves mention, A*'s truck, kinda rumbling along, reverse sometimes, and sometimes not.
What to make of this I do not know - a collection of transmission woes that has descended upon my life recently, seemingly from out of nowhere.
The only conclusion I am able to reach is that I am having trouble changing. I'm having trouble switching to the right speeds, having trouble getting power to my rear end (as it were.) The subtle hints the universe has provided me with in the past went completely unnoticed, and the powers that be decided to drop all of this on me so I'd notice.
Just what am I to make of all this?
With the new blue truck, I waver between replacing the guts with a brand new, custom made unit geared specifically for the mountains, for only a few thousand dollars, or sticking with the tried and true Saginaw 3 speed that's in there now, rock solid, heavy as a boat anchor and older than me (and about $75.) It occurs to me that I run the farm, if not my life, in the same way: hoping to someday get the fancy stuff that I'm convinced is going to make everything easier and make me happy, but in the meantime trudging along with stuff that's too old, too heavy, too unreliable. I continue to say to myself that the next time some old piece of junk breaks, I'm gonna fix it right, finally, and get things running like the oft mentioned Swiss clock. And the next time something breaks I crawl underneath it with duct tape and baling wire and try to get it to hold together again for another year ('cause next time it breaks ....) And here I am, once again patching the truck back together, once again patching up an old rotting chimney, once again caulking the same broken windows, to once again seek my fortune in Texas to once again come back and get the farm off on the right foot. And once again thinking about all the new fancy stuff that would enable me to do it right, if only I had it ....
I have no solution. I am not sure that I am supposed to have one. Though that the universe should send me a wake-up call that's proven to be such a pain in the ass but without some obvious solution seems cruel and uncaring.
No, there's a God somewhere, and He keeps breaking all the transmissions around me for a reason. If only He'd reveal Himself to me, like a genie rising in a cloud of smoke from a can of 90 weight oil, and let me know what the answer is.
Or do I overestimate Him? Is the message not so subtle and transcendent as I imagine? Is it straight forward and obvious? Is it staring me in the face. In other words, is He, in his ultimate wisdom, merely telling me to get my ass in gear?