My wife’s car died the other night and I felt helpless.

It was a terrible feeling. Fortunately, the problem was a bad battery that was quickly replaced at a price I wasn’t too happy with.

But back to my feeling of helplessness. It wasn’t because I’m not mechanically inclined. On the contrary, there was a time when I was able to handle any problem with an engine.

I learned my shade tree mechanic skills from my father-in-law, who graciously took the time to troubleshoot problems over the telephone and guided me through difficult problems, and by reading books on automobile repair. I kept my wife’s 1978 Malibu running for more than 12 years, and even replaced its engine, which is like self-surgery, it’s something you don’t want to do unless you have no choice in the matter.

I also, in order, made repairs to a 1968 Chevy Nova I drove for about four years, and a 1980 Chevrolet Impala, which I drove for seven years before I developed my love for pickups. I have replaced starters, alternators, gaskets, seals, water pumps, thermostats, carburetors, signal arms, portal vacuum switches and fans.

But cars became more sophisticated under the hood and I became less flexible.

I slowly stopped working on cars when I bought an F-150 in 1994. I took one look under the hood, saw the electronics and decided to limit my work to changing spark plugs and the oil. Another reason was because the truck gave me very few mechanical problems — the brakes were replaced once, a water pump was replaced at about 40,000 miles, and a switch on the air conditioner went out at about 60,000 miles. At 75,000 miles, Hurricane Katrina’s storm surge hit her with a problem neither I, nor my mechanic could handle — salt water.

My present truck has about 160,000 miles and also has had few problems. The only major problem was one of those environmental sensors and a new set of expensive spark plugs when the truck hit about 120,000 miles. The plugs, by the way were supposed to last 100,000 miles. I got my money’s worth.

As vehicles’ electronics became more sophisticated, my hands became less flexible, and I couldn’t reach into those small, tight spots I used to reach.

The knuckles became larger and stiffer, and more prone to aches after I finished work. Also, I lost my tools, stands and floor jack to Katrina.

Because we’ve been fortunate to have vehicles that have run very well, car repairs have been few and far between and gone to a shop, where the mechanic has all the modern equipment to fix the problem. And that’s what made me feel helpless. There was once a time when I was pretty good at diagnosing a car’s problem from the sound it made.

When my wife’s car acted up, I couldn’t pinpoint the problem like I used to.

I’ve lost my touch, and that’s a hard thing for a former shade tree virtuoso to handle.