Back in the good old days, just earlier this year, you might have stood in front of a microphone to say, “Testing. Testing.”  Of course, you might be so terrified of standing in front of a crowd and speaking that you have never faced an audience and uttered those words.  It doesn’t bother me.  But, I still don’t say those two words.  I’d rather just tap the microphone.

Back in the really old days, saying “Testing. Testing.” meant that students were taking the Iowa Test of Basic Skills.  I don’t know if kids still have to endure those tests.  I hated them and I hated Iowa because of them.  “Carefully fill in the oval.  If you must erase, do it completely because it can’t look like you’ve answered twice.”  Did you ever miss a row and answer a whole bunch of ovals in the wrong spot?  I did.  I still hate those tests.  My feelings about Iowa are yet to be determined.

But today, “Testing. Testing.” has a whole new meaning.  The whole world has been turned upside-down.  Why not this as well?  So, on the news, no matter where you turn for fake news or your take on the news, we hear about Covid testing.  Now, I have been fairly well isolated in Ohio.  I didn’t think I had that nasty little virus in my life.  But, you never know.  And, these days, you never know what to believe either.

My sister has been impacted by the virus more than me.  For part of the year, she lives in Belize.  They had to get out of that little Caribbean paradise before the national border closed.  The restrictions in Belize made those in Michigan look like a picnic.  Since Michigan is her home for part of the year, she was able to personally compare draconian practices.  She prefers Michigan.  Since I’m from Buckeye Nation, I’m not completely convinced. 

She also lives in Alaska for six months of the year.  Her home is on the mainland close to where the Aleutian Islands jut into the Bering Strait.  It’s home to many Native Americans, as is the rest of the state.  And, as it turns out, that populations didn’t hold up well to the Spanish Flu one hundred years ago.  So, they don’t mess around with this nasty little virus.  Therefore, if you go to Alaska, you have to get tested for Covid. 

My sister has been tested multiple times.  The first time, she was instructed to self-inflict, I mean . . . self-test.  The torturer said to stick this special swab up her nose until it hurt and made her eyes cry.  She didn’t tell me how far she actually had to put that thing up her nose.  I don’t know how far the possibilities are, but I imagined long swabs that could reach for three inches or more.  It truly sounds worse than the Iowa Test of Basic Skills!  But, safe in Ohio, away from Belize and Alaska, I had yet to experience, “Testing. Testing.” in this new way.

Until I did.

I finally scheduled a Covid test at a local pharmacy.  There was no remote chance of human contact.  It was done from a drive-in window and I still had to have a mask on when the sliding door opened. 

.........Step 1....Put on rubber gloves.
.........Step 2....Grab one swab from the packet of supplies.
.........Step 3....Prepare yourself because this is the hard one.  Insert that little sucker one inch up your left nostril ........................and then turn for fifteen seconds.  One inch?  I mentally had prepared for three!  One inch was a   ........................piece of cake.  Okay, twisting for 15 seconds was not the greatest.  But, still!  One inch!
.........Step 4....Prepare yourself because this is the gross part.  Yep, you thought sticking a swab up your nose ........................was hard?  You have to stick the same swab up your right nostril for an inch and another swirl.  I ........................was so shocked and disgusted that I had to ask for a repeat of the instructions.  But, you read that  ........................right.  Re-insert and re-swirl.  Revolting.
.........Step 5....Put the swab in a vial, drop it off in a pharmacy box, and wipe that box down so it is clean for the ........................next victim.
.........Step 6....Wait for your results and, hopefully, good news.  My results came the next day when I was told to ........................expect 5 to 7.  Yeah!  Negative!
.........Step 7....Reward yourself with a trip to Alaska.
 
That’s right, I went through all of this to go to the Land of the Midnight Sun, the Great Land, the Last Frontier and the land that checks all travelers from other states at the airport in Anchorage to see about Covid 19.  If you have had a test in the past 72 hours, you don’t need retesting, but you have to remain in quarantine until you get the results.  Even without the evidence in hand (results hadn’t arrived in my email box yet), I was admitted into the state after giving all the information I usually give to other nations upon arrival.  And then, after 7 to 14 days, I have to do this all over again just to make sure I didn’t pick up any nasty viruses along the way to this great, expansive and so beautiful wilderness.  Now you know the full meaning of, “Testing. Testing.”

I know what to do when in Rome.  I do as the Romans do, eating gelato or pasta when I am not buying leather shoes.  When in Africa, I get as far into the rain forest as I can get (avoiding mosquitoes and malaria along the way) while savoring cassava leaves, beans gravy and the time with my friends who prepared the food.  And, when in Moldova, while painting murals, I get interviewed on national radio and then on five television stations.  (I'm quite sure that it is a record that will not be broken.)  But, what do you do when you're in Ohio -- especially during the coronavirus pandemic? 

Part of what I do is just like everyone else in most other places in and out of Ohio.  I wash my hands a lot.  I stay home a lot.  I wear a mask that fogs up my glasses whenever I go into a store.  I keep my distance.  I wash my hands again.  I rejoice now that I can buy hand sanitizer.  And, I wish for the "good old days" that were just a very few months ago. 

But, with or without a nasty little virus, one thing has remained the same.  I spend a lot of time at my computer.  I guess some people would play video games (but they bore me to tears) or watch Netflix (about the same reaction as video games).  I've been working on children's books for the past two years and that work has been put on overdrive since I've been confined to home with little else to do.  Recently, I've completed five books and so it's time for a little "show and tell".

ONCE UPON SOUTHERN AFRICA
Full disclosure, I started this book well before the pandemic.  It has fifty stories and fifty illustrations.  I've been working on it for at least half a year.  But, the final editing by some very good eagle eyes happened during the corona chaos.

My collection of folk tales from Southern Africa grew while I lived in Zambia for two years. I taught at an international school and asked librarians at other schools in the region if they had collections of tales. Librarians tend to be amazingly helpful. This group was no exception. I received a wealth of material. And, I gathered more tales as I traveled the region.

And, I traveled the region!  I had amazing experiences. I paddled on a dugout canoe through the Okavango Delta of Botswana, searched for whales off the coast of South Africa, wandered around Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe, explored game parks in Zambia, and survived (barely) another bout of malaria in Namibia from a trip to the world’s largest sand dunes. But, hands-down, no competition, the best experience I had was traveling to Bushmanland in northeast Namibia.

I wanted to see this region ever since I saw the movie “The Gods Must Be Crazy”.  I was warned in advance by the travel agency that they couldn’t guarantee that I’d see any of the San people. Besides, the San people no longer dress like they did in that movie. It didn’t stop me. I was a man on a mission and I was going to Bushmanland.

My guide knew that I was interested in photographing portraits. As we passed a Herrero woman in the absolute middle of nowhere, he said, “This woman will let you photograph her if we give her a ride.” Everyone was happy after that. As it turned out, the woman said she knew some Bushmen, and if we took her home, she could introduce us. That night, we camped next to the woman’s home, under magnificent Africa stars. Around a fire, we shared African folk tales. It was one of the most magical nights I’ve ever had anywhere in the world.

The following day, I was taken to see a San man who lived in her village. He very happily dressed up in their traditional clothing for my photographs. And, as it so happened, he was the star of the movie “The Gods Must Be
Crazy”!  I told you I had amazing experiences in Africa.

A FOWL CHAIN OF EVENTS
This story from Zimbabwe is part of my collection of fifty folk tales in Once Upon Southern Africa. Of course, I illustrated each of the fifty stories. But, when I created the art for this fowl tale, it was so beautiful that I had to make it into its own book. I personally believe that it is my most beautifully illustrated book -- so far. The reason for that is not my whimsical child-friendly illustrations alone. No, I was inspired by traditional fabric from Zimbabwe to create the background for each illustration. The combination is lovely.

I used to live next door to Zimbabwe in Zambia. It was the first country that I wanted to visit on vacation. But, shortly after I arrived, Zimbabwe fell into political turmoil at the hands of their own leader. It wasn’t safe to visit, at least not as much as I wanted to explore. I crossed the border to see both sides of Victoria Falls (and the view is best from Zimbabwe). I also visited the best animal reserve in the country, Hwange, where you get to see amazing game and sleep in designer tree houses at an equally amazing price.  (I never told my mother how much it cost.  She would not have enjoyed the safari if she knew.)

Since I lived in this part of the world, I was very familiar with a lot of things mentioned in the tale. I’d seen the palm trees, the machetes, the enormous ant hills, tasted the mangoes and heard the guinea fowl. But, in Zimbabwean folklore, the guinea fowl had a role that I’d never known. It was their job to call the sun every morning and let him know it was time to start his daily journey. As a result of a fowl chain of events, that task was not performed. What happened? How was it resolved? What’s the buzz? Why did I just say buzz? You’ll have to read A Fowl Chain of Events to get those answers.

the HALF ROOSTER
If you know how I travel, you know I prefer off the beaten path.  Usually, way off the path.  So, for the longest time, Albania has been one of my favorite destinations in Europe.  It’s now kind of a trendy destination and the tourism industry has blossomed.  But, I first went to Albania shortly after it opened up to the West.  There were no travel guides.  There were few taxis.  I know this because I asked a policeman to help me get a taxi in the capital and he kind of chuckled, “Taxi?”  Then, he blew his whistle, stopped the first car that passed by, and told the driver where to take me.  Outside of the capital, it could very well have been a ride on a donkey cart.  They were the main form of transportation at the time.

Quite by accident I stumbled upon the Kotoni family and their guesthouse on my first trip to Albania.  Their home, a 200-year-old Ottoman building, was in the middle of the old town section of Gjirokaster.  It was lovely, but it was the family that has kept me coming back to Albania over the years.  Vita and Haxi adopted me into the family and I’ve returned three additional times.  Who goes to Albania four times and is waiting anxiously for the fifth time?  That would be me.

Rural life in a poor country is more difficult than most people can even imagine.  However, the rooster in this story has more problems than most.  His owner was hungry and cut him in half.  The half that was not eaten was kept around as a pet.  The rooster knew that something had to be done before the poor man grew hungry again.  He hatched a plan to find wealth and fame with the help of his friends.

As I illustrated this book, I tried to keep in mind my Albanian experience.  The castle on the cover is the one overlooking Gjirokaster.  People in the book wore traditional Albanian clothing.  The mountains looked like the ones I saw from Vita and Haxi’s front porch.  But, most of all, I had to include a mushroom.  No, it has nothing to do with fungus.  During the Cold War, the leader of the country built 750,000 cement bunkers across the country.  You can still find them on beaches, across fields, outside of cities, and in the middle of nowhere.  The country was preparing for the imminent invasion from either NATO allies or the Soviet Union.   The bunkers were designed to withstand tank assaults.  But, that invasion never happened.  You could search online to find what one of these mushrooms actually looks like, but wouldn’t it just be a whole lot more fun to read the Half Rooster?
.

The BIBLE as SIMPLE as ABC
Some of my earliest memories on Sunday mornings were in my grandmother’s Children’s Church services.  And, it wasn’t just me.  She taught this class for a few decades.  I have no idea how many lives she touched.

Long before the arrival of the Internet with resources at your fingertips, Grandma created a lot of her own teaching materials.  I mostly remember her ABC’s Bible verses.  Except, it was a long time ago.  My memory isn’t what is should be, and I didn’t remember all of the verses.  To create this book, I relied on my faulty memory, asked a few of my cousins for help, reviewed a list that my mother wrote down, and made a few personal changes when other verses inspired some of my illustrations.

Of course, back in those days before the Internet, everyone – including my Grandma -- only used the King James version of the Bible.  With very few exceptions, I mostly used the New King James Version for this book.  I hope Grandma doesn’t mind.

SHIRLEY, GOODNESS and MERCY
All the Days of My Life
Inspiration for a story can come anywhere, even in the middle of a pastor’s sermon.  Yes, there I was, sitting in the congregation as my pastor spoke about Psalm 23:6 and said, “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.”  Except, he said that he liked to think of Shirley, Goodness and Mercy as guardian angels.  I don’t remember anything else about the sermon.  As soon as he said that, I thought, “That’s a children’s book!”  My mind thought of nothing else the rest of the sermon.  I’m fairly certain that nobody else who heard the pastor’s message had that same experience.

It was a challenge for me to figure out how to use those three guardian angels.  What kind of plot could I weave?  I first thought of having a parent reading the psalm to a child as a bedtime story.  But, inspiration finally solved the problem.  It just seemed like a perfect fit to have King David tell his young son, Solomon, about how Shirley, Goodness and Mercy followed him all the days of his life.  And, then the story just flowed.  It’s kind of shocking to me how fast I can write a story.  The same can’t be said about creating the illustrations.

I selected three specific incidents in the life of David when he met each of his guardians.  If you went to Sunday School, you can probably guess a few of the events that I wrote about, but I’m not going to ruin the surprise for you here. 

We all know that the part of this story with Shirley, Goodness and Mercy is made up.  I used my humor as much as possible to tell this tale.  But, I truly believe in guardian angels.  It’s the only way I could have survived five bouts of malaria; multiple accidents by motorcycle, car and truck; rogues with knives in the Ivory Coast, an angry witch doctor and prison in Haiti; and near death by waterfall and/or drowning.  Yep, I have been protected. Solomon was comforted when King David told him that his guardian angels would protect him all the days of his life.  These are good words for anyone who might read this book to children.  Everyone should have Shirley, Goodness and Mercy (or some other equally qualified angel) follow them all the days of their life.

So, what have you done wherever you find yourself?  I'm hoping your answer involves gelato, meals with friends, or shopping for Italian leather shoes.  As for me, I keep making my books.  But, my next one will be in a different direction.  I'm going to make a cookbook.  Probably no gelato involved, but it will still have a lot of deliciousness.

PS   If you want to know more about each of these books, click here.
PPS  If you want paperback books, those should be available soon.  I'm on the trail of a printer in Ohio that makes hardcover books.  The Bible as Simple as ABC and Shirley, Goodness and Mercy should be available (hopefully) in September.

It's been a year since I was dragged, kicking and screaming, into the modern world and finally purchased a smartphone.  I still feel that I might be the last person in the United States who didn't have one.  And, I've even had a feeling that I could been the last person in the world as well.  Need proof?  One of the most remote places I've ever visited was an isolated village in Morocco where my best friend's father grew up.  It was so hard to get there on a trek that included a long walk through a desolate wasteland without enough water.  No other foreigner had ever visited the place before.  Each dwelling in the tiny community was an enclosed property of adobe blocks where every family member as well as their sheep, goats, cats, dogs, flies and fleas stayed the night.  We slept, under amazing stars, in the middle of the open enclosure.  These days (but not back then) everyone in that community has a smartphone.  So, if that is the case, I really truly have to be one of the last people on the planet to have a smartphone.

I'm still not completely sold on the little device.  I usually leave home without it.  I know, who does that?  I don't answer the phone if I'm visiting with friends.  Yep, also unheard of.  And, I do not take it to the dinner table or restaurants.  There must be a couple other people on the planet who feel the same about phones . . . but I've never met them. 

I have fond memories of some of the communication hardships I've had in the past.  Probably, Superman feels the same about phone booths.  If you don't know what a phone booth is, or the situation Superman faced, you are just so very young.  Superman needed a phone booth before he could save the world, and fortunately, they seemed to be on every street corner.  It's been a while since I've seen a Superman movie.  I don't know what he does these days without his trusty phone booth.

When I was in the Peace Corps, there was no internet, smart phone or computer access.  Today's volunteers have no idea what they are missing.  On rare occasions in Liberia, I had electricity.  The town I lived in had it when the president came to visit.  However, since I lived on the outskirts of the community, my line of electricity was almost at the end of the line.  By the time it reached me, so many people had illegally tapped into the line that I had almost no power.  My tape recorder moved in slow motion.  (If you don't know what I'm talking about, again, you are too young.)   One time, I complained about this problem to the electric company.  They came to the neighborhood and disconnected all the illegal electricity lines.  Neighbors were not happy about that.  I never made that mistake again.  For all practical purposes, I had no more electricity.

Most Peace Corps Volunteers could only call home when they visited the capital city, Monrovia.  However, I lived in the president's hometown.  So, we had a telecommunication center.  I could call home whenever I wanted.  But, it was also an adventure.  One time I went to make a call and gave the director of the center my mother's phone number.  While I waited, a couple of other men ushered me into a secluded area where they quickly made a direct call to Ohio.  I had my conversation with family and then started to leave.  That's when the director ran after me to tell me that he had Ohio on the line.  I was completely flustered and didn't know what to do.  I left.  The director was not pleased at all with me.  I had some 'splaining to do the next time I wanted to make a call.  But, for the life of me, I don't remember what I said.

Technology improved when I moved to Morocco after the Peace Corps.  For starters, there was continual electricity.  While I was there, the world was introduced to music on CD's.  At that time, we heard of the technology, but nobody had actually seen a CD and certainly nobody knew anyone who owned one.  But still, life was a lot better with constant electricity and available cassette tapes whenever I wanted to listen to music. 

It was still a unique experience whenever I wanted to call home.  I had to go to the telecommunications office in downtown Casablanca.  In very limited French, I had to somehow schedule the phone call.  Then, I was directed to the proper booth where the call would come through.  Sometimes, my best friend crowded into the booth with me because he, too, wanted to talk to my family.  That was always easier when he could navigate the experience in Arabic.  But, I learned to do it on my own as well.  With or without my friend, I always had to have a stash of coins to continue plugging into the machine.  They were always used up so quickly.

One of my best memories of telephoning in Morocco happened during the first Gulf War.  All U.S. citizens were told to return home to the United States from the Islamic World.  It certainly didn't make my mother feel good, but I felt completely safe in Morocco.  So, I stayed.   But, I also called home often to try and calm her nerves.  (It probably never helped.)  One time, when I completed a phone call, a man ran out of the building after me.  Maybe he heard my English?  I know that I certainly didn't look like a Moroccan.  He had to know I was an American.  His words took me by surprise when he said, "I want to thank you for staying in Morocco.  You are safe here and you are welcome."  I wish I had thought of it at the time.  I should have invited him to have mint tea.  Everyone does that in Morocco.  But, I thanked him and went home very touched by his thoughtfulness.

Okay, as I said, it's been a year with a smartphone.  I am still not "app crazy".  But, I am very pleased to have been introduced to WhatsApp.  This would have rocked my Peace Corps experience, as well as life overseas in Morocco, the Philippines, Zambia, Belgium and all my other travels.  With WhatsApp, I can call my friends in Europe, Africa, the Caribbean and anywhere else for free.  I always love free.

However, I am still no expert with this app.  The few numbers I have with it were added by other people who already used it.  But, this week, I decided I should call my best friend from Morocco.  He wasn't around to guide me through the process.  I had to go online to research -- something I really don't like to do -- and figure it out on my own.  And, after doing that, he wasn't even by his phone to answer my call.  Seriously, isn't everyone except me always by their phone?  I greeted him in Arabic with our favorite insult and said, "The least you could do is be by your phone when I make the effort to call!"

I soon got my phone call.

The first words out of my mouth, once again, were my affectionate insult in Arabic.  His first words were, "I can see your ear."  It was a video chat.  It was also my very first video chat ever.  Hey, I've known about this technology since Star Trek.  I knew I could do this on my phone, but I've just never been inclined to do it.  A video chat, in my mind, is kind of like school pictures.  You should look a little respectable.  And, I must admit, that during the pandemic, I have been less than respectable -- and very comfortable -- around my home.  My hair wasn't combed.  I hadn't shaved.  I hadn't cleaned up after exercising in the morning.  And, the T-shirt I wore was anything but clean.  If I had known the call was going to be a video, I probably wouldn't have answered the phone.  It could wait until after a shower and a change into a clean shirt. 

So, this time, it was completely unexpected.  There was no chance to kick or scream.  And, yes, I inched one step closer into the modern world.

Just like the rest of the world, I've been locked up during the lockdown.  I know, some people binge-watch on Netflix at a time like this, or piece together insanely large jigsaw puzzles, or pray for schools to open up immediately.  Not me.  I stay glued to my computer, just like I do when the world is not hiding from a nasty little virus that originated in China.   I always have work to do on my computer.  And so, while I have no real distractions to pull me away from home, I have been writing and illustrating two more children's books while listening to countless videos on YouTube.  I've heard some people say on these videos that this is a good time to learn something new.  Take advantage of the time at home to expand your list of skills.  Pick up a guitar.  Find out how to fix a broken toilet.  Take up yoga.  I have no interest in any of that.  Now, if something breaks at my home, I pick up my telephone and call my brother.  You see, I already know how to fix anything.  I call my brother. 

I have really made the effort to keep my social distance and maintain my health.  So far, so good.  I have my mask and rubber gloves for those occasions when I sneak out to go shopping, during off-hours, of course.  And, that happens about once every other week.  So, that's how I found myself in the parking lot of a shopping center one morning.  Mask on, gloved up, and actually with one of those elusive jars of hand-sanitizer inside my car, just waiting for me.  I use it after every time I've been in a store.

My car is a Fiat 500, which I wrote about a few blogs ago.  It appears there are not many of them in Columbus, Ohio.  I have come to that conclusion because it gets comments everywhere I go, which is certainly a new experience for me.  Of course, it received more comments in the good old days - just a few weeks ago - when people took the time to possibly talk to someone at a gas station, in front of a coffee shop, or in a church parking lot.   (I live in Ohio.  We do that in Ohio.)  Yes, complete strangers commented on how small the car was.  They wanted to know what kind of mileage it had.  One man was even curious if he could tip it over all by himself. 

But, looking at the car from the outside doesn't give the observer the full truth as to just how tiny the car is on the inside.  The driver's seat is set as low as it possibly can be set.  I still have to scrunch about an inch so I can properly see out the windows.  And honestly, I don't even know why there is a back seat.  Nobody will ever sit in the back as long as I own the car.  I have my driver's seat moved back as far as possible so I have the necessary legroom to drive.  The passenger seat is moved back as well.  And, when those seats are in that position, there is no room for another body in the car.  Now, I've been in taxis in Africa that would certainly squeeze bodies in the back.  But, I don't know how it is humanly possible. 

In my previous car, I had some items that I always carried in the glove compartment of my SUV.  Just saying those three letters and you know there was extra space.  There was even a handy-dandy compartment between the two bucket seats.  All of that space is missing in my Fiat.  But, I still need all of those certain items that used to be in my glove compartment.  So, I purchased a little bag for them.  I placed it where your feet might go in the backseat if you ever tried to fit back there.  To give you an idea of how tiny that space is, I cannot just reach back and bring the bag up front.  No, I have to stop the car, pull the latch that makes the passenger seat fall forward and only then can I access the bag.  There is no other way to get to the bag.  Yep, the space is just that tiny.

Meanwhile, back at the shopping center parking lot . . .

I strolled my shopping cart up to the trunk and pushed the button to open the hood.  It didn't open.  Of course,  I tried it again and again.  It didn't open again and again.  For whatever reason, the hood was in no mood to open.  I stuffed my purchases in the passenger side of the front seat and headed home.  I couldn't call my brother as I normally would.  He was also on coronavirus lockdown.  Sadly, resisting the whole way, I headed to YouTube.  Like it or not, it was time to see how to open up the trunk of a Fiat 500 that didn't want to open.  It was time to learn that new skill that I really didn't want to learn.

It appears that this seems to be a common problem with my car model.  There were several suggestions on what to do.  The first video showed that if a screwdriver was applied and twisted in just the right location, it was possible to pop the trunk open.  Of course, that right location was inside the car, located in a space inside the trunk.  Now, you already know that my back seat area is not much of an area at all.  I pushed the passenger seat all the way forward and somehow crawled into the back seat where nobody my size was ever meant to crawl.  I kind of had an idea where I was supposed to put my screwdriver.  It was so much easier said than done.

On YouTube, the mechanic had an actual screwdriver.  Mine was a tiny attachment to a baby Swiss Army knife.  I don't think it was more than two inches long.  (I guess I need to add a real screwdriver to my emergency supplies in my trunk.)  Anyway, if I ever got that baby Swiss blade placed in the proper space inside the lock, I'll never know.  I couldn't see anything.  Yes, I had a flashlight in that bag in the back seat, but the lock was covered with carpet.  I couldn't see anything.  Everything was done by touch.  I've always suspected that my sense of touch wasn't fine enough to read Braille.  I know for certain that it isn't good enough to pop a lock with a screwdriver.

I went back to YouTube for further videos.

In another video, it showed a button that only needed to be pressed in order to pop the hood.  So, with that in mind, I squeezed once again into the back seat.  I had to flatten down one of the seats in order to better reach into the trunk in search of that elusive button.  I pushed.  I struggled and pushed some more.  By the time I gave up in frustration, I was fairly convinced that my model of Fiat didn't have that button.  And, I later learned I was right.

I went back to my computer one more time. 

One article I found said that there was a good chance some auto part would have to be replaced.  Hoping that was an article written by an auto service store, I continued my search.  Another person said that sometimes the mechanism gets stuck and just needs some oil.  That provided hope, but I still had to access the dang lock.  One more person wrote to say that they stopped their car, restarted it, and then the lock worked.  That was worth a try.

Just so you know, I don't usually start my car inside the garage when the door is down.  I guess if you do that too often or too long, you're eventually going to run out of opportunities to do it again.  But, it was cold and the car wasn't going to run very long.  I gave my car a start and then tried to lift the hood door.  Low and behold, it opened up about as fast as the ignition was turned off!  Much to my shock and delight, I fixed something without calling my brother.  That truly rarely happens.

I thought, "I really should spray some oil inside that lock to loosen things up."  I added WD40 to my mental "to do" shopping list.  Then, I realized that I actually had some in my emergency box for my car.  I bought it after I had the flat tire that I blogged about in December.  Yep, I was a boy scout and actually prepared.  I sprayed up that lock but good, and I haven't had a problem with it ever since.

Finally, I called up my brother to tell him he wasn't needed.  I fixed my car without him.  But, I promise, the next time the toilet breaks, I'm calling him again.  There is no need for YouTube.  He's already fixed this problem twice.  I have no desire to ever learn how to fix a leaky toilet.