I was convinced that my mother had special abilities. Not your ordinary run of the mill abilities that most moms have, but special 'bewitching' abilities.
I recall one especially cold winter morning when the family car wouldn't start. Dad had tried to no avail and had pronounced the 1965 Dodge Station Wagon [with wood on the sides!] D.O.A.
Mom had a grim look on her face when she grabbed the keys from Dad. She threw on a coat and literally stalked out to the Wagon. We followed mom out, curious as to what she would do to the 'dead' car.
Mom approaced the car jingling the keys in one hand and eyeing the Wagon. She gave it the 'mean' look and then proceeded to kick a rear tire and let out a tirade of cuss words and threats.
*You no good old car, how could you even think of not starting!* She slammed her hand on the hood, her breath rising in a cloud around her.
*Do you have any idea what it is like to live in a junk yard where they take you apart piece by piece?*
She paused and took a foot to a front tire.
*Then they crush you into a tiny block of metal,* she sneered as she yanked open the driver's door.
Mom slid in and pulled the door shut. she said something we couldn't hear and then hit the steering wheel with a fist.
The engine caught and turned over with a roar that smoothed out.
We jumped into the Wagon.
Mom was grinning ear to ear. Dad slid into the front passenger seat as Mom patted the dashboard gently.
She looked at Dad and said, *Tom, sometimes you just have to know how to talk to these things.*
I used this method on my older truck the other day.
For some reason it had refused to start for me or my husband. The GMC wouldn't crank, nada, nothing.
A day passed and Mom's 'method' popped into my head. I thought~ no way this would work. Then~ why not?
I launched into a tirade against the GMC, kicking tires and hitting the steering wheel.
With a quick twist of the key, the GMC fired up like a rocket.
Imagine the look on my face.
In retrospect, I believe my Dad had flooded the old wagon and perhaps Mom's verbal tirade had allowed enough time to pass so the Wagon would start.
Perhaps my tirade and subsequent banging on the steering wheel had jarred something loose, allowing me to start the GMC.