Everytime we went somewhere on vacation our car would inevidably break down-usually in the middle of the night outside some podunk town in the middle of nowhere. The last time I spent any amount of time with the Johnson clan in New England, the rental car broke down in Portland, ME. The Johnson men were irritable, but my sis and I couldn't stop giggling because we KNEW the curse at struck again. Apparently I am it's carrier. After flight seeing with Todd I was to meet some fellow letterboxers in Anchorage. Except the Subaru wouldn't start. Lucky for me my nephew Mark showed up at the airport and had jumper cables. (The ones my dad had given him. Thanks, Dad!) It only took a few seconds to jump the car, but it was a funny reminder of our family's car troubles.