My son casually dropped the idea that he was going to drive his family to Iowa to attend a Power Show that he remembered from his own childhood. A Power Show in this case is a showcase for old engines, steam or diesel or firewood, from the early 1900’s. My husband almost as casually — oh who are we kidding? My husband leaped to say that he would help drive.

It’s twenty hours to the relevant town and twenty hours back home. All four children get car sick, just like their dad before them. And their grandmother for that matter. All the same, the project was full steam ahead, even beating out a chance to do the Brat Trot (four miles around the Iowa village at 6 a.m., finishing with breakfast brats made especially for the occasion) in the relevant town, earlier in the summer.

We don’t live next door to my son. It seemed very important to me that he not spend an extra hour picking us up, so I looked for ways to plant us on his route west. The problem was the car. Leaving our car on a random street somewhere, for a week, seemed like a bad idea. I looked up parking garages in a town along the route and discovered that they would allowed cars to stay in their garages for about six nights. Not quite long enough. Hmmm.

I called the parking authorities and had a little discussion with them. I said I wanted to leave my car in their town for longer than the garage allowed, while I went on vacation with someone who would pick me up, if I could arrange this.

“Oh, of course!” said a chipper, yet competent-sounding voice. “We can arrange that. All you have to do is call this office, either before or after he picks you up,” I could practically hear a wink over the phone, “and tell us how long your car will be there. We will let the parking personnel know.” I checked my notes and that’s all they say. Call this number. “I hope you have a lovely time.” Ms. Chipper signed off. She was definitely imagining a wild and romantic holiday, and she hoped it would go well.

At 4 a.m. we left for Iowa. The first step was driving to the town where the public parking garages were going to allow us to park long term. If we called them.

The garage was less than five blocks from the Interstate. However, when I was working this out I was only thinking about how to make life easier for my son. At 4 a.m. the parking garage was deserted, and I felt conspicuous, out on the street with bags and boxes all around my husband and me. All the same the overnight lights in this area were very bright so no one was going to sneak up on us.

Across the street a ramp led to what seemed like a loading door in a large building. I was so intent on my own little ten foot circle that I wasn’t paying attention. When the door went up and a car started down the ramp I was merely surprised at first and then stupidified. [sic] Because the building across the street was a police station. Not merely a police station but, now that I looked, the place where they kept a LOT of police cars. We were quite safe.

My son arrived with a car full of sleepy children and wife and we took off.

We forgot to call the first day. I was busy teaching children songs and playing cat’s cradle and sharing my art supplies and hoping like mad that no one got sick.

On the second day, I remembered that we Had To Call. I found the number of the office, and asked my husband what our license plate number was. He didn’t know. I didn’t know. My son didn’t know. …

After some dithering we decided that not calling was going to be a bad idea if it meant that the car got towed, and that I would simply have to beg for mercy from the person who answered the phone. This position was strongly endorsed by my daughter-in-law so I need to give her credit.

I called the parking office and Ms. Chipper answered. (I think. Or else all the personnel had that same aura of competence.) I said that we had parked a car in Frederick with the understanding that we could leave it there for several days, but that I had done something very stupid.

The voice inquired immediately, “Did you forget which garage you used?”

This was actually a very reassuring comment.

I said, “No, it’s just that I can’t remember the license plate number on my car. I was told I could leave the car for a longer period of time if I notified your office. But I forgot to call and now we are pretty far away.”

“When do you want to pick your car up?” asked Ms. Chipper. She was just as charming and competent as the first time.

“Next Wednesday.”

“Oh, you are okay if it’s just a week. Oh, no, wait. You said you left it yesterday. Yeah, it’ll be towed. Hmmm.” She buzzed for a moment. “What does it look like, and do you know where you parked it?”

I described the 2005 gray Avalon and its location, as given to me by my husband.

Ms. Chipper said, “Okay. Leave it to me. I’ll take care of it.” And she did.

When we returned the car was right where we left it. No ticket. No towing. No trouble. Thanks, Ms. Competent and Chipper. You are really amazing.

Water pump being run by a diesel engine and belt.