Alert Neighbors Know My Ratios.

How's that for a newspaper headline?

As the youngest kid in a family of "Car People," I learned to drive earlier than most and was countin' they days 'til my sixteenth birthday a couple years in advance. I mastered the manual transmission before I mastered Pre-Algebra. I remember drivin' a red VW around in the yard with one of my friends from elementary school, it must've been around fourth grade or so, 'cause we went to different schools in fifth grade and kinda lost touch.

My birthday is in November, I got my license the Monday after I turned sixteen -- tenth grade. Between getting a license and getting a diploma, I showed up at school in ten different cars. I loved the little black truck I got for my birthday, but I also loved just about any chance to park it and hop into somethin' else for a little while.

The black '91 Ranger. The orangey-red '78 Fiat (which occasionally led to walkin' with Fiat keys and a Bass Trombone, because the trunk wasn't big enough to close with the Trombone Case inside). The red Geo convertible (doin' sixty in that felt about like doin' 120 in anything else). The black Bronco II (AC-DC's "Jailbreak" always reminds me of that one). The Bandit Trans-Am (same one My Mom took me to my first day of kindergarten in). Mom's '75 GMC. Dad's red '92 F-150 (the one I crashed my first Christmas Break in college). The black & grey 80's F-150 with the high-output 351 in it. The red '87 Suzuki Samurai (which was simply too short to sling out sideways in the gravel like the Ranger would). And last but not least, the white '91 Escort 2-door that taught me the difference between Rear and Front wheel drive. Heh. Even though it's a four-cylinder and a five-speed just like the Ranger, there is no way to make it sling sideways under power, no matter how hard ya pop the clutch. Heh heh.

Time to cars, that works out to a ratio of roughly two-point-five to ten.

Ain't much changed over the years; I dearly love the SHO that I got for graduation, but I still get a real kick outta parkin' it for a bit to drive somethin' else. Mom says it keeps the miles off the "good cars," that's why her "good car" is in the garage while she's drivin' her $400 truck. When I met Clayton, I was drivin' my grandma's bright-blue '96 Ford Contour. Well, the night we met, I was drivin' a diesel Ford pickup with a race trailer hung on it, but when I parked that, I hopped back in the little car, anyway.

Clay's neighbor has a little boy who's about four years old or so (I say "or so" 'cause I know I'm bad at guessing ages) -- he knows what's goin' on outside his window, I'm guessin' he's the best of the best when it comes to Alert Neighbors. Friday morning, I took the SHO to the Ford dealership for that Cruise Control Recall -- when I got to Clay's house that night, the little man pointed out the window and said "Clay got his other car back!!" I love that car so much, even a preschooler knows it!

That may not seem like much, but in the light of my "time to cars ratio," he's good! Clay and I have been together for almost three years -- it'll be three in July. In those not-quite-three years, I've showed up here with a lot of cars!

My Green SHO. Grandma's blue Contour. Mom's burgundy $400 '96 Ranger. Dad's white '03 F-150 "7700." The white '92 F-250 Diesel that I used to pull the race trailer with. The Ambulance. The blue '93 Taurus Wagon from Cra!gsL!st. The green '95 Windstar with the odd-colored front end parts (and "No Bells = No Fair" on the windows). Dad's white '91 Bronco that I borrowed while it was icy (that was the night The Black Keys played in Tulsa). The burgundy Taurus that I washed in the driveway 'cause it was naaaasty inside. The red '03 Mustang that I was driving the night we went to see The Gourds. And the Mark 8, which I got right after the Mustang sold in November and drove 'til I got the SHO out Thursday evening.

Just under three years. Twelve cars. Two-point-eight to twelve. Heh.

The Mark 8 has been consistently "the other car in Clay's driveway" for a solid six months after a string of others; but a four-year-old still remembers the Green SHO.

That kid will be a "car guy" in no time at all!!

Three Hundred Bucks...

Thanksgiving was nice, notably less stressful than I'd figured. "Black Friday" was also nicer than expected -- much like last year, Mom and I went to Skiatook for a little morning shopping and lunch and it was a really nice time.

Thanksgiving was my first "long trip" (Mounds) in the Mark 8, and Friday was Mom's first "close look" at it too. I like it a lot, but I'm still not about to give up the SHO. I said a while back that I wanted something two-doored, rear-wheel-drive, and V-8-powered, and this Lincoln coupe turned up with perfect timing. I hadn't really considered a Mark 8, but...

It was a call-n-haul, the guy we got it from said he was leaving soon and didn't want to mess with having it fixed. The pump for the air suspension had quit working and he took the three hundred dollar offer on it. That was the day before that red Mustang sold, and I'd just came back from Claremore in it when I walked in and saw 'em unloading the Lincoln off the truck. Pearly white with tan leather, reasonably slick for ten years old, and not too raggedy inside either -- I leaned into the passenger door to take a little peek, and following in the footsteps of My Mom with her four hundred dollar truck, I went back inside and said "It's nice, I think I want it." The next day, when we got it inside the building to really check it out, I was sure I wanted it. It's got goodies like I've never played with -- even with all these years in the car biz, I'd never had my hands on anything with a power tilt & telescope steering column, and honestly, that little joystick is pretty damn fascinating. When ya turn the key off, it pulls in and up to let ya get out, and when ya get back in, it moves itself back to where it was. Same with the front seats -- when ya flip the backs forward to get in the back seat, the power track moves the seat all the way forward to widen the gap.

For three hundred bucks, you bet I want it... I was ready to reach for the checkbook when Dad told Mom we "had the birthday taken care of." I took it home the night before Thanksgiving.

On the highway, it has a little heavier feel than the SHO and doesn't seem to wiggle it's ass around as much as the Mustang did; the 4.6 is tremendously well-powered and the car seems very stable at (reportedly insane rates of) speed. It really sticks to the ground and handles real nice, but I sometimes wonder if it might not be quite as nimble as the SHO -- that could be my habits from 12-plus years with the feel of the SHO though...

Yes, I do smile when I see it across the parking lot... But I am still keeping the SHO, because I Love them both. Maybe it's a little like having more than one kid. Maybe. Don't worry, I'm not about to adopt any other ten-year-old. Heh.

I hope Mr. S.C. is healthy/safe/happy on his trip to Singapore, and I wish him all the best, 'cause I'm sure diggin' the car he sold before he left Tulsa...



More Later. _\,,/

The Importance Of Caring.

When someone cares, it shows in many, many ways...

How sad it is to see that no one's cared for you in quite a while. Did they not think you were beautiful, not even at the start? Did nobody see your finer points? You're not old enough to look this old, you haven't been around long enough to be forgotten, treated so bad.

Did no one ever sit with you just to be with you, just to enjoy your company or share a little music? Did no one ever look forward to their time with you? Did no one ever wish they could skip work just be near you? Did no one ever smile when they saw you at a distance? Did no one ever see you as a place of solace and contentment, and come to you just to get away from it all? Did no one ever feel glad to have you? Did no one ever stand up for you? Did no one ever come to you when they were so happy they didn't know what to do? Did no one ever come to you when they just needed to cry? Did no one ever worry for you when the storms came? Did no one ever Love you like a child?

Did no one ever want to care for you just for the loving feeling of doing good things, of doing things that need to be done? Did no one ever take pride in you? Was no one ever glad to show you to their friends?

I'm doing all I can; but I know that all the care my hands can give is probably not enough to fix the things that happened before I came along. I'm trying my best, but I know that I can't give back what others took away, for you were surely mistreated more than I can imagine in the short time before you came to me.

I hope that the kindness I give will carry you through, because I know you can't stay with me long, it just wasn't meant to be. I hope I can work to bring out your best, to make your qualities shine and diminish your flaws so that maybe the next person to have you will fall in love with you and care for you with the diligence you deserve. I hope that you'll be well kept and touched by hands of love; appreciated and handled with gentleness; cared for and thought of with fondness.

So, I just finished cleaning (and cleaning, and cleaning) this 2000 Taurus that we replaced the V6 in; or, well, I quit for the day, since I'll probably see some bit of something I missed and have to clean some more. It's certainly nothin' like my SHO, but it's a good car... It's lipstick-y burgundy with grey cloth inside, it's got the "Flex-Fuel" 3.0 with the little tree-huggin' emblems on the fenders and it seems like a pretty nice car. I'm still kinda stunned to see a fifty-some-thousand mile car with the motor blown up; and I'm also quite shocked by the amount of sheer filth we've scrubbed out of the inside. I'm completely serious, I was almost afraid to put my purse in this car. I'm baffled by the nastiness; as if people aren't careful at all -- spilling things, not ever wipin' anything off... 50K is not high-mileage, especially in something that's seven years old -- these people must've left it parked somewhere and lived in it like a big ol' cardboard box for the last four years or so.

So, if ya think ya might want to get a good deal on a fairly nice, freshly-cleaned, ordinary decent car with a new motor in it, e-mail me.

And in the words of Neil Young, "Long May You Run!"

More later... _\,,/

Philosophical Rowing...

Yesterday's Doctor Appointment went a lot easier than I'd expected; way less browbeating, anyway. That appointment is always a little rough, but I can almost overlook the, ahem, violation if I don't have to get bitched at afterward.

After dinner, Clay and I swapped cars. He's got "The Short Bus" for now, so we can get the Red SHO up on the lift and see what's goin' on with the front end. There's just somethin' about the Manual-Transmission SHO... I don't think there's anything I'd ever trade my Automatic for, but if I ever run onto another one with a Manual in it, I'll probably buy it just to have another one around. I'm not real crazy about havin' to move the seat up closer to the airbag so I can get the clutch all the way down, but it's worth puttin' up with 'cause it's just so much fun to drive -- up through the gears with lots of tight-windin' pull, and then back down with it buzzin' the exhaust just like that sky-blue Mustang that My Mom had when I was five or six...

I'd say it's got a little somethin' goin' on, but it still wasn't too bad on the way home. I took it easy up through the neighborhood streets and I couldn't hear anything; so I went ahead and laced into it once I made it to the highway on-ramp. Clay thinks I'm crazy, but I didn't feel anything that made me worry, so I opened it on up once I made it to US75; man, ya gotta love anything that'll pull like that. It was smooth and easy right on up to 80 or so; it certainly didn't shake-rattle-protest like the Windstar did on the turnpike goin' to Springfield, that's for sure.

Drivin' home last night, I got to thinkin' about bein' 16 and runnin' around in that Ranger with the five-speed, and how I always got a kick out of how many of my friends hadn't ever seen anything like that. After having a relatively pleasant Doctor Visit yesterday afternoon, I was far, far away from thinking of myself as feelin' old, but rowin' gears made me feel young; and rowin' gears in somethin' with some power always makes me smile.

I also got to thinkin' about Clay's niece gettin' that little white Mercury that I found on Cr@igsList, and how I said that surely amongst the bunch of us, some of us could help her learn to drive it. Would I be a good teacher? I like to think I'm pretty good at it, but do I have what it takes to teach someone else how? I know what I'm doing, I love the feel of it all, but would I be able to put that into words well enough to help a new learner figure it out like my folks helped me figure it out??

I really don't remember My Dad ever actually yelling at me in the car; I can only think of three times he really chewed my ass, and I probably needed it. Once for takin' the Toyota truck around a left turn a little too hard (almost hung the stop sign), once for bouncin' Mom's Explorer over the curb at Braum's in Owasso, and once for tryin' to beat the train on 86th Street in the Samurai... Don't worry, don't yell, it wasn't moving, it was just parked where it kept the lights flashing. My Mom covered the basics via discussion and observation in her Accord or whatever myriad of lot cars and rebuilders she happened to pick me up at school in; and she also insisted that learning with the manual transmission was the only option. My Dad handled the hands-on part, including tearing the back yard to rutty pieces in that brown Toyota truck. My Mom was rarely willing to ride with me at all, and somewhere between hangin' the Ranger out sideways in the sand at 116th & Sheridan and crashing the F-150 when I was nineteen, Mom wouldn't ride with me at all for several years. Dad was always cool though, he'd let me drive just about anything we went somewhere in, from the '57 T-bird to the GMC with the Pontoon Boat on the trailer, to the wrecker with a couple cars on it.

Best I can figure, trust is the most important factor in it all. My finest memories are of when Dad would pull over on 96th Street as soon as we'd crossed the highway and let me drive to the house from there; it started when I was 12 or 13, and he stopped there just about every time 'til I had my permit. He trusted me with just about everything he ever drove home; lot cars, rebuilders, cars, trucks, vans, whatever, he trusted me. The afternoon that my middle brother nodded off in the passenger seat of the Ranger comin' home from Fairfax was also a memorable moment of trust, especially considering I hadn't really expected him to even let me drive.

My most amazing moment of trust came not from family, but from near stranger, a guy I'd only seen three or four times -- I knew his name, but that's about it. In a true coming-of-age moment in '98 or so, a wrecker salesman pitched me the keys to a brand-ass-new fire-engine red Ford F-550 crew-cab with a 24-foot rollback bed -- just smiled and tossed 'em to me like he wasn't worried at all. It was the biggest thing I'd had my hands on at the time, and also the first six-speed I'd had the chance to drive. As I made a lap around Sperry in it, I couldn't help but think I had officially reached the age where I was not just some kid anymore...

"Oh God, I'm The Grown-Up Here now..."

I'm still not sure if I'd have what it takes (in English, anyway) to teach a first-timer the magic of the manual transmission. I guess I'd need something huge like that F-550, so if we crashed, we'd be nice & safe. ;)

More later... _\,,/

Well, Here We Go For Disjointed Friday!

Today was Mom's first day back at the shop -- I used to wonder how she did it; after trying to do my part to keep up with what needed to be done in the back office, I really wonder how she does it. Of course, I'm sure she was probably wondering what to do to try & fix the mess we'd all made in the nearly three weeks she's been gone. Maybe if runnin' the back office was my only job, I could stick with the "system" and keep track of it all; but comin' in in the middle of things made it hard to make sense of what went where.

I'm so glad Mom's back though -- and not just 'cause I don't have to deal with the office anymore.

Apparently there really is something to be said for stress having effects on the body... Yesterday I freaked out enough to give in and call my Dr's office to ask about (ahem) stuff that shouldn't be happening during the top rows of the pill pack. (Go0gling for Yasmin? E-mail me if ya wanna chat about it.) The nurse asked several questions, and after several answers of "no," she asked if I'd been under stress lately. Uh, Yeah. So I guess it's just like my "third dare theory" that I mentioned earlier; I can hold up for so long, and then it starts to show. I kept my shit together most of the time, 'til I lost it that one morning and just about smashed all the glass out of the truck. I was fine for quite a while 'til a friend called to chat and when I told him about what was goin' on, he asked "And how are you doing?" and I lost it, can't tell ya how long I hid to cry.

--

I'm really-really close to finishing that soft green baby sweater; but "start-itis" caught up with me and I got a little distracted. I don't even remember how I stumbled onto BitterSweet, but I got a big kick out of those adorable pictures and just had to take a shot at The Knitted Kiwi. I've learned a couple new "tricks" by knitting the little bird (thanks to the video link she put in the pattern, thank you, thank you, thank you!!), and learning the "wrap-&-turn" is just what I needed; I think I may be able to take a shot at that Boobie Scarf -- just as soon as I finish knitting up a few more Kiwi's. Last night I finished the body, stuffing and all, tonight it's time for the legs & beak! Clay says I'll probably have to knit a whole basket full of 'em; I'm already up to three 'cause I want one, and I know for sure of two people who'll most likely think the Kiwi is a cool gift.

--

Speakin' of Clay... He e-mailed me a website the other day with some pictures of The 2008 SHO Concept, and lemme tell ya, I like it! I like that blue one with the honeycomb grille so much I made it the wallpaper on my MacBook. I know that when it comes right down to it, there's probably no real comparison between that SHO and a new Dodge Challenger -- but those are the two I've got in mind when it comes to replacing this ol' '94 that I love so much. I just really need something that I can love like that though... I need that feeling, that way it makes me smile when I see it across the parking lot, 'cause I'm insanely car-sentimental.

--

Speakin' of car-sentimental... We finally got a transmission in here that's the right year, so I got the Windstar back out for a little while, the one that got turned into an infield party-wagon when we went to that last USAC Silver Crown Race at the fairgrounds. I'm pretty sure I'm still way outside the minivan demographic -- I'm single, I'm totally sans-kids, I don't babysit, I don't deliver flowers -- if anything ever needed a funeral home sign on it, the Windstar does. Heh. I don't mind it so much though, it's comfy enough (and uh, big enough you can throw almost anything in the back) and it's something different; which makes it even nicer when I open the garage back up and get my SHO back out.

Last night when it was time to go get dinner (yeah, we eat a lot of take-out around my house), Dad had parked behind it 'cause the driveway's kinda full; I drove his truck into Owasso for chow. If ya wanna discuss insanely car-sentimental, that's what we took to AR to pick up my race trailer; I'd been drivin' it for a few weeks when it was fresh out of the bodyshop that summer. I really can't believe it's over 100K now, and I really can't believe that 5.4 has taken to gettin' a little hot every now and then 'cause I still see it as a new truck even though it's an '03.

While bored outta-my-mind waitin' at the drive-thru, I popped the center console. I don't know why I opened it, I guess it's just because I was thinkin' about Dad tellin' me to get my stuff outta there...



Holy Crap! I can't imagine... I mean... Geez... I used to keep Altoids and a brush and some hairspray in there, but... Holy Crap!

--

Uh, yeah, I do wanna be just like My Dad. I wanna have enough cash that I don't have to worry about keepin' it all in one place.

--

Hey, maybe this "Disjointed Friday" did kinda tie together, maybe it wasn't so Disjointed after all.

--

I gotta go buy a freakin' Powerball Ticket, so maybe I can toss a gob of cash into my center console. Heh.

--

Oh, and one more thing: We're goin' racin' at Caney tomorrow night!!

--

_\,,/ More Later...

Why I Love My Little Hometown...

I heard a little bit on NPR about the Storms that hit Kansas recently, and the reporter mentioned how the aid organizations (Red Cross and other folks who work along those lines) aren't having to do as much in the small towns as the do in the big cities because Small Town Folks tend to take care of each other.

Five years ago today, when David died, I think that was when I started to realize just how nice that "Sense of Community" was around here. I didn't work for about three weeks, but as soon as I was back in town on a daily basis, there was always somebody around to give me a little hug and ask how I was doin'. People I'd talked to before, or people I'd just seen around now and then, it didn't matter -- everybody seemed to care; these folks are a warm, friendly bunch.

Sperry is a tiny little town, we don't even have a stoplight here -- but the people are friendly as they can be, it's usually pretty quiet, we've got a real nice Library (with a Librarian who's a real sweetheart), and our Shell Station makes a damn good corndog.

When somebody mentions "flood water," we get a little nervous around here. Even though it doesn't get clear up into the houses all that often, it'll get deep enough that it's hard to find a road that's high enough get into or out of town. There's been a lot of rain around here lately, and it's been up over the road in a place or two.

Since Monday Morning, we've had several phone calls come in askin' about me, if I'm okay, and what I'm gonna do about my car... Well, I'm fine, I drove my car to work today, and uhm, what's goin' on?

I know my "regular readers" have probably already heard me talk about how I love my ol' car, probably more than I should -- kinda like how I love the cat even though she puked on my bed... I love that car, even though it's gettin' old, even though I worry a bit about second gear, I still love it. This here's My Thirteen-Year-Old Ford:



The rest of these shots are not My Thirteen-Year-Old Ford -- they're of someone else's Twelve-to-Fifteen-Year-Old Ford, washed off of US11 up between here and Skiatook:






Whoever it belongs to, I hope they got out alright and I hope they're okay. The water was starting to recede, that's why there's mud visible on the hood and the bumper -- but it's raining again right now.

I also kinda hope they call us when it's time to get it out of there... We can always use a parts-car.

I'll go to the park when I leave work today, even if it's raining too hard to get out of my car. I may write, or I may not; and the more I think about it, the more I think that if I do write, it probably won't be something I publish. I'll go and spend a little time in that same spot I usually go to, even though nobody ever told me exactly where David was when he died...

It doesn't matter where though; because he's everywhere, especially in the hearts of people like him, people who are friendly as though they never meet a stranger.

More later. _\,,/