I planned to do three errands after my weekly three o’clock appointment. By the time I finished my first errand, night had already settled over the parking lot. I shivered as I walked to my car. For the last several days the temperature in Wisconsin was often below zero in double digits. Today a brisk wind made this Siberian weather unbearable and very dangerous.

Once inside the vehicle, I decided to forget about the other two stops I had planned to make. I was cold and tired. All I wanted to do was go straight home. Cars are dependable these days, even during cold winter weather, so I confidently pressed the starter. Instead of hearing the familiar purr of the car engine, all I heard was an unfamiliar clicking sound! The car didn’t start. I had hoped the heater would make me feel warm as I drove home, but now I didn’t even know how I was going to get home. I felt betrayed. My trustworthy car had let me down!

It didn’t take me long to assess the situation. My preferred car repair shop was nearby but already shut for the day. Who could I call for help? My immediate family is extremely light on adult men who could come to my aid. At this point, I realized that I was losing feeling in my fingers and toes from the cold. I have a sister who lives in Marshfield, so I called her to see if one of her sons could come to my aid.

I was ready to abandon ship and hitch a ride home, leaving my car where it was. But if I got a ride home, then how would I get back into town tomorrow? I had no faith that my car could be easily resurrected. As far as I knew, it was dead and hopeless. My sister said she and one of her sons would be with me in a few minutes. She had more confidence in my car than I did, telling me that her son would be able to get it started. My face was now feeling stiff with the cold, which made it hard for me to talk, so I walked back to the store where I hoped to warm up. Frostbite was a real danger in as little as ten minutes because of the extreme cold and wind.

Someone in the store asked if I had a triple-A membership: American Automobile Association which provides roadside assistance anytime and anywhere for their members. I said, “I wish I did!”

Then, as I waited, I started to worry about how my car was now several years old. That meant things were bound to start going wrong. Would I start getting stranded on a regular basis? Was it going to start to constantly need repairs and new parts? I suddenly realized that I was now a member of the bad triple-A: Automobile Angst Association.

My late husband usually only drove my car on weekends. Sometimes he’d chide me for not paying attention to how the car was running. He’d say, “Don’t you hear that? You should have told me about that sound!” Since becoming a widow, I’m not so oblivious about suspicious sounds anymore. But what is a person to do when no one else hears the noise?

A clicking sound started in my car last fall. It made me think of how a card in the spokes of a bike wheel sounds, “Thwap, thwap, thwap!” When I told the repair shop about it, they drove my car around in their parking lot and didn’t hear it. I’m not imagining that sound! Many years ago, when Daddy owned one of his first cars, he had one which he repeatedly had trouble getting started. Each time he towed it into the garage with his tractor, the mechanics got it started on their first try. Daddy admitted he started to feel like a fool. He got rid of that car as soon as he could. I hoped I wasn’t heading in that direction, too.

My sister and her son arrived just as another one of my nephews came out of the store with groceries. He offered to help get my car started as well. The store entry hadn’t been much warmer than the parking lot and I could no longer feel my fingers, toes or chin. I doubted that my car could be woke from the sleep of death, but I dutifully followed everyone out to the parking lot.

My nephews used a small, bread-loaf-sized device with clamps that they attached to the battery terminals. I’d thought the only way to jump a battery was to use another car! Another surprise, there was no waiting. They hooked it on and told me to press the starter. The recharged battery made the engine start without even a stutter.

Thankfully, my fingers, toes and chin all regained sensation soon after I managed to get home that evening. My car is still several years old, so now I keep worrying about it, wondering if I should get a membership in the good triple-A: just in case!