I had a nightmare last night that an adjunct didn't show up to teach his three sections of developmental writing so I had to teach them instead, along with my own four classes. Fortunately, everyone showed up as scheduled this morning and classes started with no major disasters. The copier is working, the new secretary is working, my colleagues are working--now let's see if we can get the students working as well.
My car is working, except it's not really my car, and I'm sure some people are wondering why I'm driving a car that carries a hand-made temporary tag made of a section of a grocery bag with the numbers written on it in lipstick. When last we visited my son's car-buying adventure (read it here and here), he had escaped the cruel hand of Tropical Storm Fay and made it as far as southern Georgia, where the car broke down and he discovered that the storm had destroyed his temporary tag. He stopped for the night and got the car fixed, and then he got back on the road Friday morning, making it as far as Statesville, North Carolina, where the radiator boiled over. I don't know if you've ever tried to locate a mechanic at 9:00 on a Friday night, but it isn't easy.
Fortunately, we have friends just outside of Statesville, so we called Sue and she went and rescued my son, giving him a place to stay for the night and calling around until she found a mechanic who could fix the problem on Saturday. (It wasn't a particularly quick fix, but it also wasn't particularly expensive.) Sue also insisted that he construct some kind of temporary tag to replace the lost one, hence the grocery-bag-and-lipstick creation.
My son got home just before midnight Saturday. He had to leave for Texas Sunday morning. There was no opportunity to take the car to the DMV to get a license plate and do the paperwork associated with transferring the title, so we made a switch: he took my car and I held on to his, along with all the paperwork and the aforementioned homemade tag. This morning the title office told me they can't do anything until my son signs and sends me his power of attorney. Fine, whatever. Just don't make me sign it in lipstick.