I got an interesting call from my sister Sarah last night. (She, my brother in-law, and two darling 18 year old nieces live in Schenectady, although one niece is currently off at college.)
The conversation went something like this:
Me: Hey, how's it going?
Sarah: Well, my car is gone.
Me: Gone? What do you mean gone? Stolen? You sold it?
Sarah: No. It blew up.
Me: (a pause) Did you just say your car blew up?
Me: Your car blew up?
Sarah: Uh huh.
Me: Holy crap.
Apparently what happened was this--my BIL Rich dropped my niece Addy off at the local college she attends, and drove the car home. He parked it at the curb, since he intended to go out again soon to run some errands. He'd gotten most of the way up the driveway to the house when he heard a big boom. And when he turned around again, the car was ON FIRE. The fire department had to come put it out. This is what's left:
Pretty scary, isn't it! It looks more like something you'd see in Beirut than in suburban Schenectady. My sister tells me that the insurance guy said that sometimes the catalytic converter will overheat and blow. Who knew?
Either way, they are all a little shaken up (especially Addy) and it's not great that they have to replace a dependable (but old enough not to have a lot of value) car while putting two kids through college. But I'm just VERY GRATEFUL that they're all okay. Cars can be replaced--my family cannot.
Holy crap. This was definitely too close for comfort.
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