Fortunately, we left the house a couple of times this morning, to allow us to practice the usual, "did we leave the (fill in heat-producing appliance here) on?" conversation while it was still possible to go and unplug or turn it off. And actually, we didn't leave anything on - we even remembered to make sure all the doors were locked before leaving the house for the last time.
The morning was a little weird, though. We seemed to be channeling one of the more idiotic sitcom families. First, we were trying to find a non-flammable container to hold the candle we always bring along for winter travel. After trying it in several containers, the most likely candidate appeared to be a quart-sized canning jar. It should have fit - it looked from several angles like it would fit easily, but it wasn't sliding easily through the mouth. The following conversation ensued:
"Bother, this doesn't work either!"
"Here, let me try."
"No, don't, you'll break it."
"Don't be silly, it just needs a firmer push."
As expected, the next sound was that of breaking glass. Injuries were minor (only one bandaid required), and the kitchen floor is now very clean.
If that were the only incident, I would have dismissed it. But about an hour later, we gathered up the two dogs to take them to my parents' house for the duration. Anneke, who is about 3-1/2 years old and is fairly well-behaved when it suits her mood, got right into the car without issue - she likes car rides so well that she has been known to try to get in the car with the carpet cleaner or plumber. Our other dog, Roscoe, is 2 years old. For most dogs, this would be an adult age. However, for Roscoe, this appears to be the equivalent of a kindergartner. When the car is in the garage, we can generally trust him to get in on command. Apparently, though, the car needs to be in the garage - and this time, it was in the driveway. Instead of getting into the back seat with Anneke, he took off across the front yard, all three of us floundering after him through the drifts that haven't melted anywhere near enough. He took a fairly leisurely tour of the neighborhood (You try running through foot-deep, half-melted snow some time. Trust me, any dog can outrun you.) before we could catch him.
Maybe the cats told him that we needed more exercise.
The rest of the day was fairly uneventful. We had Christmas dinner with the extended family, exchanged gifts, and then headed west. We made it through the tunnel and over Vail pass without incident, and even Glenwood Canyon by not much moonlight was a decent drive. We were on the home stretch for Grand Junction - maybe 40 miles out, near Parachute, when my husband happened to look at the gauges on the dash.
"We don't have any oil pressure," he said, rather abruptly. I suggested that it might be a good idea to pull over and investigate.
"No," he said, "I think we're okay. The engine isn't heating up."
We compromised by pulling off at the next exit, about 2 miles down the road. All the while, I was having visions straight from a Quaker State commercial - seeing the pistons turn red from friction just before seizing up entirely.
As we pulled to a stop, the oil pressure seemed to return, and when we looked at the dipstick, there was very definitely oil in the system, so we went on. And we made it to our hotel in Grand Junction without incident, although the oil pressure gauge was definitely registering every possible value as we drove.
I told my husband once we got to the hotel that if going on a cruise meant demolishing a car each time, I thought we'd really have to give up cruising in the future.
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