Sometimes when I’m having trouble shutting my brain down to go to sleep at the end of the day, I remind myself that it’s a good thing that my brain is working. I also question – if I shut it down, will I be able to start it back up? That, of course, sends my brain on rabbit trails of thought as it strives to stay awake and keep working. Does it not know that it continues to work while I sleep? Stupid brain.

The turning on and off of things (not including brains) is such a common-place event in our day-to-day life that we tend not to think much about it. Before the day has gotten into full swing, one has turned on and off several lights, coffee pots, toasters, computers, television sets, and truly I could go on and on.

Then when it’s time to leave the house, we get in the car and turn that on. Hopefully. Everyone has experienced the failure of a car to start now and again. Usually, a battery problem, which is easily remedied, but nonetheless an inconvenience to some degree.

One fine, sunny Saturday, my mother and I got in my car and turned it on without much of a thought that it would not respond to the pushing of the ignition button. I’ve had my little white (90 percent of all SUVs seem to be white) Ford Escape for nine years now, and it’s been very faithful save an inconvenient time when there were four of us with suitcases loaded into it and the battery failed. But I do not hold that against it.

This particular Saturday we ventured out to do some clothing shopping for Mom. Everything was as normal as normal can be. Until we got back into the car. I pressed the ignition button and the dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree. So many warnings that one would think the car could possibly just blow up. Surely, I couldn’t drive it.

Parking assist failure. See dealer. Antilock brake light was displayed. The brake light was on even though no emergency brake was in place. Then there was the light that indicated that either the tires would fail to grip the pavement and slide all over the road, or perhaps those two marks were the letter “z” indicating that the car had gone into a sort of automotive coma. There was also an indicator that the airbag might fail. My GPS system, too, was down.

I decided to test the car in the parking lot, so I drove around pumping the brakes to make sure they responded, which they did. It was a straight shot down SR 436 to my home, so we headed there. Mom could go in and I would figure out what to do – or better still, Bob would when he got home.

The trip home was uneventful except the power steering was tight and all the idiot lights were still on alert. I was relieved when I pulled into our garage. I stopped the car and pushed the ignition button to turn it off. Nothing. The car was happy running. I tried several times but to no avail. I had never heard of this sort of problem. I tried to pop my hatch to get Mom’s walker out, but that would not respond either. I opened the side doors, lowered the seats and dragged her walker out the door. Once Mom was inside, I called Bob.

It is my first impulse to call Bob when something breaks down. He is very mechanically inclined and can fix just about anything, but in this case, he was 45 minutes away playing golf. I did not expect him to come home or have a solution. Nevertheless, I interrupted his round with this strange report.

Obviously, he was unable to help. He asked the expected questions, for instance, did I have my foot on the brake? And, am I sure I pushed the ignition button all the way? I can’t fault him for asking the obvious; this was an unusual situation. That was all he had. That was all I had, too.

I called the dealer, and they told me to bring it down. I figured I might as well since it was running and all. On arrival a very tall service technician met me and sat inside my running car sideways. This guy had to be 6’6” and must not have wanted to bother moving my seat. He leaned down to the brake pedal and pushed it with one hand. His other hand he used to turn the car off. It worked. Just like it’s supposed to.

I looked at him and said, “Do you have any idea how annoying this is?”

He chuckled and went on to turn the car on and off several times with no issues. I said he must have some kind of magic touch or maybe the weird way he used his hand instead of his foot must have triggered a “control, alt, delete” situation and rebooted the whole system. Still, I made an appointment to have her looked at. Thankfully, the next appointment was five weeks out because my car has behaved perfectly ever since.

I, on the other hand, was a tad bit nervous to drive it for the first week or so. I definitely didn’t want to be stranded with my mom or take it far from home, so we used Bob’s car for those circumstances. One morning, I figured the car was fine. I wouldn’t allow it to get in my head, so I decided to use it to take Mom to an appointment.

Thoughtlessly, I walked into our garage with the key fob in my hand and simultaneously pressed the garage door opener and the button to open the car’s hatch to put her walker in. I knew right away that was a bad idea as somehow, I got the hatch jammed into the partially opened garage door and neither would move. This was perhaps the dumbest thing I have done in quite a while, so I brought Bob out to see my accomplishment.

I had already tried to force the hatch closed or open, but it was really jammed. The garage door would not respond either. At this rate, there was a good chance I would never leave the house again.

The redeeming moment came while Bob was looking at the mess I’d made. Suddenly, I figured out how to fix it. I got in the car, started it up (thankfully it started), and pulled forward, leaving the garage door free to move up and down. The hatch had only a small ding in the paint, which really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

It’s been almost two months now and no issues. My take-away: When weird stuff happens, and things don’t stop when you want them to, don’t continue doing the same unsuccessful thing. Try a different braking method. Stand on your head. Try using your left hand. Drive to see a professional. Or keep on keeping on until you run out of gas.