It did not come as a surprise, although it was extremely inconvenient.  The sliding door on our van had been on the brink for a month, and we had carefully avoided using it. It began as a crinkling sound and climaxed as a snarl. But we coped. We are not too young to remember when vans only had one sliding door. My grandmother drove a car even after the door fell off, and there were not even seat belts. We have dealt with a car that would not shift into second gear, another with no handle at all, and one whose door was held on with rope. The current van is actually in great shape, being still too young to drink. We hope to take good enough care of it to last until it can. 

The final straw was when I picked up a little girl I ferry to preschool a few days a week. Her brother on the spectrum was intensely interested in our car. I chatted with their mother, who appreciated my tolerance of her inquisitive son. 

"He loves cars. One time I had barely stopped when he jumped out and leaped into the driver's seat of the car next to us, because it was his favorite model. The owner was not amused and lectured me on keeping control of my child." I nodded sympathetically. Parenting special needs kids is a tough game. 

Meanwhile her son could not resist the buttons on my key fob and opened the Do Not Open This Door door. Actually the paper sign we had taped to the window had fallen off, so he could not have known. I dashed over to try to close it again but the door had no intention of moving. The rain was pelting now, and I tried to contain my annoyance, having so recently been awash with empathy. I reassured the mother that I would be okay and sent her inside. I didn't want any more audience than the sweet three year old buckled up in the car while I wrestled unsuccessfully with the door. Time was running out. I was supposed to go on a field trip with my daughters' class and the bus was scheduled to leave in five minutes. I called John.

He arrived soon and sent me to deliver the little girl and catch the bus. He would deal with the car.  "Dealing" entailed driving home in the rain with it gaping wide open like a patient's mouth at the dentist. 

I dashed to the preschool and handed off my charge, making it to the bus as it was pulling away from the curb. Winded, I slid into a seat. The door closed behind me with no effort. 

Marriages need regular repairs too. They can start with grumbling sounds, which can be resolved if attended to soon. But most of us wait until the damage has increased, and then things fall apart at inopportune times. 

Maybe by the time I am a grandmother I will learn how to solve problems while they are still only a crinkle.