The car died last night. We named it after a cow, so it was no surprise when it started to slow down when I was driving past a field filled with cows. Leisurely eating the few really green straws that were striving to break from the earth and into the spring. This is were it stopped. And asked to be put out to pasture. A metal cow among all the hormone-injected ones.

I was on my way to a dinner. After being rescued by some of the other dinner guests, I was inundated with offers of cars to use until mine had been nursed to health. Offers of help in finding a good garage. Or another car. One girl even offered to sell her car to me. For next to nothing.

And today, when more of my friends heard of my troubles, they offered to loan their cars, pointed me to good mechanics and offered to help with getting another car.

Why is it that I am always so awe-struck with how good people can be? Why am I less surprised when I hear of some wickedness than acts of kindness? Can it be that I do not believe in the inherent good in man?

Anyway. My car is still dead.