To Lydia, Beth about cars specifically!
Hi Guys,
Lydia, I think the Citroen mechanic's name was Ralph, and he was way out in Cheektowaga somewhere. Probably now in Biarritz on what he made from us... I have no idea how a mechanic who knew how to fix Citroens wound up outside Buffalo, New York.
Beth, you worked for a foreign car dealer? Doing what? What was your favorite over the years? I learned how to drive (a stickshift) in Rome, Italy, and my first car was a little Fiat, whose "eyelids," the covers on the headlights, used to go up and down arbitrarily - on the highway, in traffic, whatever, making it look as though he was winking.
I do remember one scary moment while perfecting the stick on a steep hill in Providence, RI, when I just kept slipping down backwards, getting closer and closer to three old men on a park bench at the bottom. I can still see their faces. My Mom was laughing so hard she couldn't tell me to push down on the clutch.
My first husband bought us a huge Mercedes (we were 25 and 29, respectively) which arrived with a bottle of champagne and roses on the front seat. Now that I have Subarus, should they arrive with dandelions and Andres Cold Duck?
As for weirdest jobs, someone I knew was a melon ripener for a grocery store, banging cantaloupes with a rubber hammer to make them seem ready to eat.
I am gathering a hard file together for a second opinion (though we don't even have a first given that the Montreal neuro doesn't get back to us). Objectively, it doesn't change whatever is happening but from the point of view of doctor-patient communication, it is underwhelming in the compassion department.
Anyone going to Dr. Cashman in Vancouver or anywhere in Toronto?
Cheers,
Erica/Perplexed
Sounds like an oxymoron, to me. 
