Driving old school

I drove my new old van on her first sales trip yesterday, delivering repaired cables to a little town called Chester, West Virginia. She did fine. Everything went well and according to plan. There was only one problem: I had to apply the gas pedal to accelerate.

It's true, I tell ya. If I wanted to move at all I had to give it gas myself. A couple of times I took my foot off the pedal and was shocked to find I was slowing down. Something must be wrong!

But, of course, no. There was simply no cruise control. First world problem, yes. Still, I was disappointed. I had no right to be, but you get used to things, you know?

Bounce Cars

You all know what bounce houses are I'm sure. They're the large, inflated play pens often seen at children's parties. Kids jump up and down in them, caroming off the floor and walls and each other. They're meant to burn all that excess energy out of the young 'guns so they'll fall asleep as soon as they get home.

I happened to catch an episode of the old police procedural Highway Patrol the other morning. If you think Sgt. Joe Friday has a machine gun delivery, Broderick Crawford, the lead in Highway Patrol, puts him to shame. Crawford's delivery is so rapid fire you almost need captions. No one talks that rat-a-tat in real life. 

Anyway, Highway Patrol aired in the late 1950s, when vehicles were monstrous land battleships. Not only were they huge, the bounced around as though shock absorbers and springs were and afterthought. It appeared as if the front and rear fenders were bouncing up off the ground whenever a car would stop or turn or even wink at a pothole. Those cars rocked back and forth like a teeter-totter. 

"Should we put something on our vehicles to make the ride smoother?" I could imagine an automotive engineer back then ask during R&D.

"Nah," his supervisor might reply. "They're land battleships. Let 'em bounce along the road as thought they're really on the high seas."

Watch an episode of that old show. You'll se what I mean.

To Everything

I am not a believer in climate change in the sense where it's an impending catastastroke, to use one of me Grandpa Joe's coined terms. But I do believe the climate changes over time. Greenland had a growing season a thousand years ago; that's part of how and why the Norse were able to settle there, at least for a while. The glaciers covered Texas a few thousand years before that. The climate changes. I'm not sure we can do much about that or how much we even actually affect it. Nature, too, is resilient. She'll fight back and win her share of battles.

So in that light, I do wonder if the seasons are slowly shifting. My furnace kicked on this morning and I had to layer in order to be warm for my morning walk today. It's May 17th, if you hadn't noticed. We're nearly two months into Spring here in Michigan. It seems rather late for such necessities.

I don't recall May being so cold so late when I was in my teens, yet the last several have been chilly. The leaves have been slow to show up on the trees and the flowers aren't blooming. I only just mowed the lawn for the first time last Saturday; the grass just wasn't growing. Conversely, October and November seem to me to stay warmer later than way back then too. As such, I can't help wonder if the seasonal calendar is becoming off a bit. It's something I'm merely curious about, because even if it's true I see no need to worry. It's just how the climate has gone about its business for all of history.

Particle Board Piano

I once insulted my neighbor completely without intention. I hate that, because insults really ought to be funny, cruel, and intentional. But to be fair, I believe he was pressing me too hard on a subject I simply didn't know anything about.

This neighbor, whom I'll call Cloyce just to give him a name, is a musician, and he is a very fine one too to give him his due. One day as I passed by he called me into his house to show me his new piano. Well, not new, but an excellent used grand piano.

I have to admit it looked stunning, a deep, shining, well polished ebony. He was proud of it and rightly so. He sat to play a few bars and the sound to even my untrained ears was magnificent. By all appearances it was clearly a superior instrument.

After Cloyce had played a bit he began telling me all about the piano, stuff I didn't understand but hey, when someone's really happy about something it's a courtesy to let them talk, right? So I listened, trying to sound properly impressed at points where it seemed I was expected to be.

When the descriptions were all over Cloyce asked, "So what do you think it cost, Marty?"

I tried to sidestep the question. "Oh, I have no idea what a grand piano would cost."

"Come on, just take a guess," he persisted.

"I don't know, Cloyce." I was really hoping he would just tell me so that I might again show how impressed I was supposed to be.

"Just take a guess, Marty!"

So I took a stab. "Oh, uh, I dunno, a thousand dollars?"

Cloyce's face fell faster than Wile E. Coyote off a cliff after a harried chase of the Roadrunner. "A thousand dollars?" he asked, obviously insulted and indeed crestfallen. "What do you think it's made of, particle board?"

"I'm sorry, I just don't have any idea what grand pianos are worth," I protested. It turns out they are worth quite a few dollars more than my ridiculous guess. I want to say he he paid $11,000 for it but it's been long enough I don't recall with certainty.

I truly didn't mean to hurt his feelings though. Particle board by the way is a very low grade of plywood. I don't think they use it on grand pianos.

Mother's Day 2023

The other day I took the last coffee pod from a box of 80 and, for whatever reason, it popped into my head that Mom was with me when I bought those pods last August. I sighed heavily. Strange how something as mundane as wanting a cup of coffee can trigger such a reaction.

Now, don't feel too bad for me, as I don't really mean to create melancholy. Yes, there was a sadness when it happened just as there is now as I type. Yet it was and is followed by a kind of contentment. 

I was fortunate to have had the last several years of Sundays to ride her around, seeing the countryside, cruising through old neighborhoods, eating cheeseburgers, and even buying coffee. We owe our parents that respect. I was glad to have the chance, and there were many great rides and reminiscent talks along the way. Whatever else I do today, I think I'm having a cheeseburger for lunch, and maybe buy more coffee pods.

Happy Mother's Day Mom.

Joke About Congress

The Mexican War was declared on this date in 1846, even though fighting had already started. Typical of Congress, you know, to see things after the fact. "What, there's a war on? Ought we to declare it or something?"

Or better: "You started a war without us? How could you?"

Or perhaps even better than that: 

Congress: "Let's declare war on Mexico."

Someone shouting from the gallery: "It's already on."

Congress: "We'll call for troops, authorize extra spending for the military, draw up battle plans...wait, what?"

Not Really Saving Anything

Back, oh, fifty or sixty years ago, me Grandpa Joe had several delivery drivers who worked for his welder rental business. One in particular, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, seemed to have a mental block about putting gas in his truck. And it drove me Pops crazy.

At the time you could fill up one of the trucks for around five bucks. Dad would give the drivers five dollar bills as necessary to put gas in their vehicles. Yet invariably Cloyce would return to the old barn on fumes, to triumphantly hand the five spot back to the old man proclaiming "I saved you five bucks, Bill!"

The trouble was that he wasn't really saving anybody anything. From a practical standpoint all it really meant was that on his next delivery Cloyce's first stop would be the gas station and not the job site. It would make more sense to gas up on the return from one trip, that job being done, than to take ten minutes before the next job simply to fill up the tank.

Cloyce did it constantly, and it irked me Pops every time. No amount of explanation could convince Cloyce that it was better to gas up today than add a complication to tomorrow, a complication which might easily snowball: you have to load the truck a few minutes earlier, then get to the gas station and it may be crowded, or the roads might be jammed, and so on. But all Cloyce could see what the he 'saved' five dollars today, not that he would just have to spend it tomorrow anyway.

Still, he saved me Pops a lot of Lincolns, one day at a time. If only Dad could have kept all those fivers, I suppose maybe he would have been rich.