Nebulous Mooch

With gas prices steadily rising, everyone is trying to find a way to cut down on fuel consumption. My husband thinks he has found the ideal way to cut down on his fuel consumption. He coasts.

“I’ve already noticed a difference,” he said as we crept down a residential street with the car in neutral. “I haven’t even touched the gas once.” He had a look of glee on his face.

I nervously checked the mirror to make sure no one was behind us. It didn’t seem like a good idea to me.

“Don’t worry. There’s no one behind us,” he said before putting the car in gear and stepping on the gas. This is my husbands answer to a hybrid car. I guess he’ll be doing this until we can afford to buy one.

He figures that when he’s driving downhill, approaching a stop, or exiting the interstate, he can coast. He can also coast when he’s built up enough speed to go for a while without stepping on the gas. That sounded okay to me until he drove on the shoulder of the on ramp to I-275. “I have to make the turns wide so I get the most out of it,” he said. I still don’t know what that’s supposed to mean. I just gripped the door handle and hoped we didn’t end up in the grass.

I don’t think saving gas is worth endangering your life or aggravating other drivers. I coast when approaching a stop, but that’s all the coasting I do.

My mother likes to look at houses. I don’t remember this being the case when I was younger, but since moving to Florida, I’ve noticed. Wherever there’s an open house she’s there. She always notices for sale signs on front lawns and scans the classifieds for good deals. When my parents were actually looking for a condo this was a very good thing. My mother found them an excellent deal in a very nice place.

When my sister was looking for a house, my mother was out looking with her every weekend. Sometimes when my sister was busy she’d go out looking for her on her own. I’d call her cell phone and she’d say, “I’m just out looking at houses for your sister.” She loved to say that.

She took real estate classes when we lived in New Jersey, but for some reason never got her license. I don’t understand why. Real estate seems to be more her field than social work (she’s a social worker).

My mother especially loves open houses. It doesn’t matter what type of home it is. She’ll look in any price range–million-dollar homes to one hundred-thousand-dollar homes. She’ll walk in confidently, look around and ask questions.

Last month I went out with my mother while my father and husband rehearsed for a gig. On the way back home my mother saw a sign for an open house at a new condo complex. She made the right into the complex’s parking lot so suddenly that I thought I was in an episode of Duke’s Of Hazard. “Do you mind if I stop in at this open house?” she asked as the car skidded into a parking space.

There were two model units to look at in the complex. Of course she looked at both. She asked the realtor questions and picked up fliers. She acted like she was sincerely interested in buying a place.

When my husband called to find out why we hadn’t gotten back yet, I told him that we were at an open house. He just laughed.

I love checking the mail. In the afternoon, I look forward to walking to the mailbox and opening it up to see what I got. Usually, it’s stacks of coupons for things I’d never buy or ads for things I don’t need–junk. Anything addressed “Resident” automatically goes into the trash.

Sometimes the box is completely empty. Those are bad days. I always stick my hand into the box anyway to make there’s not something in there I didn’t see. The cold metal against my palm is disappointing. No mail for me today.

My arm is long enough to reach it all the way to the back of my box and angle my wrist to reach into one the boxes around mine. I could ignore the fact that the mail isn’t addressed to me and happily read it. I love the feeling of opening an envelop. While stealing someone else’s mail would lessen the disappointment of finding my own box empty, the jail time I could serve would dampen it just a bit. I think that’s a federal offense. Though I’ve considered it, I never would because I’m completely law abiding.

When I stick my hand into that box and feel envelop, excitement fills my heart. Even if it’s my car payment, it’s something special for me and that makes me feel good. Email is good too, but you can’t hold it in your hand. Nothing beats mail, letters, cards, even bills. I’m a big mail fan.