C is for Cars

I started liking cars when I was about nine years old. My Uncle Ike let us ride in the rumble seat of his Model A car. I felt like a parade princess tooling around Buehler, Kansas. From then on, I was hooked on the feelings that came with riding in cool cars. I have an old photo somewhere, but his Model A kind of looked like the one pictured here.


Another car I remember is the Buick that broke down on our family vacation. My parents had six kids--three biological and three foster kids. The car broke down en route to our destination and we had to be towed to the bus station. In those days, they let people ride in the towed vehicle. I still remember how fun it was to ride at an angle! To me, it was an adventure of magnanimous proportion. (How many other kids get to ride on the back of tow truck on their vacation? We were just lucky, I guess.) My mom remembers each of us carrying a suitcase through the bus terminal. Picture the Family von Trapp minus one child and the drapery-inspired wardrobe.


When I was in fifth grade, my dad and I played in "The Music Man" at the local community theatre. He was a River City Volunteer fireman, and I was Amaryllis. Our rehearsals were from about 6-9 pm several nights a week. Riding our half-hour round trip together for 12 weeks was a special time of bonding with him, and the medium blue car was really cool-- A '64 Dodge Rambler with push-button transmission. The buttons were on the dashboard. I loved to get in and, with permission, push "reverse" and then other gears as long as we were on back roads heading to rehearsal.

One car I loved, loved, loved to ride in was our shiny black '66 Fleetwood Cadillac, like the one below. My dad paid $900 for it. Built into the back of the front seats were drop-down trays like you see in airplanes. By pushing a button on the top of the seat, down it came. Daddy didn't allow eating in his cars, but we liked to prop our book there and read. The car also had hinged footrests. Despite its beauty and charm, the car had its mechanical and electrical quirks. My friends from youth group teased us about our rattle-trap. Church bells couldn't drown out the sound of pathetic pistons.



The car I learned to drive on was a new, white Toyota Corolla Tercel. My dad took me first out to the pasture in the vehicle and gave a few instructions. "The main thing is not to hit the horse or the barn." Patient man, I think I gave him whiplash on multiple outings in that car, but I am so glad I learned to drive a stick shift. There's no feeling quite like burning up a clutch--er, changing gears with the left foot and right hand in unison.

My first car was a 1984 navy blue, two-door, 4-speed Chevy Chevette with black cloth seats and no air conditioning. There wasn't much legroom in the thing--and I'm short! (As one reviewer says about that model, "This car was small enough to fit into its own glove compartment." The sticker price was $4200, but Daddy taught me to haggle with few words. (Or, at least he tried.) I wanted that car so badly I would have paid full price (only considering that my monthly payments would be stretched out, not the overall value of the thing). He told the salesman our bottom price was $3400, take it or leave it. The salesman walked away (the old "to speak with my manager" trick) and while he was gone, I nearly hyperventilated. "Daddy! It's my car! I will pay $4200 if I have to! I really want it!" He shushed me and said not to let on how much I wanted it, and not to worry-- the salesman needed a sale. Sure enough, we got the keys to the car for $3400, and I got not just a new-found freedom, but also a lesson in business transactions at a car dealership.

The experience also taught me this: if you can covet a Chevy Chevette, you can covet anything.


Coincidentally--something I thought quite romantic-- Paul also had a 1984 Chevy Chevette when I met him-- except his was a silver sedan with A/C. Whenever we went places together, his car was the car of choice.

One of my favorite cars that Paul and I bought was our '88 Dodge Dynasty. What a luxury to drive around with so much space that two kids couldn't touch each other.

My Uncle Norman's '66 red Mustang convertible is a true beauty. A few months ago, he and I were talking about cars and I told him that his convertible rides had made me a really big impact on me. I had decided that, when I was in my 40s, I'd treat myself to the joy of owning one, and so--when my daughter needed a little beater car, why not make it a fun beater? We found a '97 Saab convertible for $3300 and bought it. I do go joy-riding in the sunshine as often as possible.

Uncle Norman asked me what color it is.
"Taupe," I said.
"Oh, uh-huh, taupe, huh? Taupe's nice." I could hear a polite, Midwestern disapproval from the word "nice." Then, unable to resist interjecting his car-buff's opinion, he added this: "Paint it red. You'll get a lot more attention."

I think that's hysterical coming from an 80-year-old man.

Right now I drive a silver Chrysler. A "nice" ride for a minivan, a vehicle I'm thankful for, but I'd love a new thing of automotive beauty. Like I tell people, it'd be great to do more than zero-to-sixty in an afternoon.

C is for cars, and if I don't stop talking about them, I'm going to end up at a showroom taking a Jaguar for a spin.

Ben's Car Accident

I just found out a couple hours ago from Paul that Ben was in an accident on his way to school this evening. It happened on Monument Street. From what I've heard, the guy pulled out on him from a side street and hit his front corner panel, damaging it--but it's driveable.

They got out to exchange info, and the guy said he didn't have his license on him.

At that point said he would call the cops. The guy hopped back in his car and sped off. Thankfully Ben got a tag number and did call the police. The cop who responded said he patrols the area, and has for 11 years, and will keep an eye out.

Ben had to get to school for an important accounting quiz. Please pray for his nerves and his body and that, come what may, we will remember to be thankful. Thankful that Ben is okay, that it wasn't worse, that he had the presence of mind to get the tag number and call the police, that he has integrity, unlike the person who hit him, that he called his dad who is in the insurance business and puts the rest of us at ease with his expertise and clear head in times like these. I also thank God that it happened in broad daylight and that the guy didn't get violent in the face of trouble.

This event happened two hours after I'd finished praying for a soldier named Jeff, a friend of Ben's just a smidge older than he. Jeff came to my class to talk today about his experiences in
Afg....When I was praying for him, I had a mother's heart, so naturally the tears sprang to my eyes. I had to turn away when finished and gather tissues and composure before continuing with the party. I kept thinking, "He could be my son. How do mothers do this?" I had the urge to drive home and hug Ben. Now I will when I see him this evening. He'll probably need a back rub and shoulder massage, too, by then.

I'd appreciate your prayers.

Damsel in Distress on her Dude's Day Off

Last night after dark, Sarah started to drive the van to care group, but turned around three houses up when she realized the tire was flat. Flat-flat, not just going flat. It was news to us; we had just driven it to the city for lunch after church on Sunday, without incident.

So Paul asked me to call GEICO first thing this morning for emergency roadside service which is covered under our policy. (He'd taken yesterday and today off to do some projects, but the flat was something he could delegate to pros.) I called right away. The driver came later than they promised, but not by much. However, there was a check in my spirit I wished I'd acted on. Paul was here, so I dismissed my skepticism, given that he didn't feel the need to babysit Joe Tow to make sure he did his work properly. The van was parked slightly out of view, so neither of us had occasion to observe the job as it progressed. I let go of anxiety, the guy changed the spare, and that was that.

Or so I thought.

The ride to school wasn't overly disconcerting, but I didn't feel the tire should be so wobbly. It wasn't a donut; it was a full-size spare. Called Paul at a long red light. He wasn't too concerned based on my description ,so I drove on to work.

However, on the ride home, I had Joel with me, and the tire was making a lot of noise, the kind that reminded me of...oh...a wheel about to come off an axle. I put on my hazards, slowed to 30 mph, and pulled over as soon as I could. The tire didn't feel as tight as I would've liked, but I chalked it up to Zo-Don't-Know-Jack-or-how-to-use-one-Anyway. Ignorant of auto mechanics and maintenance, to my shame. I got back in, kept the hazards on, and steadied the wheel in both hands at 30 mph.

Five minutes later I was on a busier road. The noise was growing louder, if not in reality then certainly in my imagination. I pictured the tire rolling into oncoming traffic and causing a horrible accident. So I crept on, praying for wisdom and protection. Once again, I pulled over, let speeding traffic pass, and then jiggled the driver's front passenger tire. I tugged on the lug nuts. They budged a little. Oh, great! They should not do that! I tightened them as hard as I could, which was a fraction of an inch. Then I decided to take a road of slower speed, albeit one with no shoulder.

Up one hill, down another, and it started to feel really shaky--and so did I. Finally I pulled over into a parking lot five minutes from home and called Paul. Once again I thanked God for the perfect timing. Paul came right away, despite wanting to be on the other end of town for a doctor's appointment. (He had 40 minutes to spare--get it--spare?--but he's the type who likes to be early.) We switched vehicles and I watched him muscle the lug nuts with a wrench from his own trunk. He got probably four or five 30-degree turns when he tried.

I love watching him do manly things like that. I don't know what it is, I guess the feeling of being protected and cared for by someone with heart, brains, and biceps. The feeling never gets old. But I digress. (Or maybe I don't. Maybe this is the soul of my post--the feelings that come and remind me of what a wonderful man I married, the guy who, on his days off, takes his son to school, rakes a half acre of leaves, has blood drawn, folds laundry, paints bathroom trim, and rescues his damsel in distress.)

He muttered something that suggested incompetence on the tow guy's part, and tossed the wrench back into the trunk. He then drove the silver horse home, in case it bucked, while letting me and the papoose take the trusty black stallion. I felt protected once again by my knight in blue jeans.

At home I called the tow company to complain about the job they'd done. They apologized. I then called GEICO with the report and they sent out my favorite company to tighten the lug nuts the right way. I'm a big fan of this company; they've bailed us out before and I wished I'd requested them in the first place, rather than settle for the other one.

But then again, had this reliable company come first, I wouldn't have experienced any of the drama of a late-afternoon van ride, nor the ensuing heart-pounding thrill of seeing my prince do what he does best most often--prove his love with wrenches and rakes instead of with roses and romance.

'57 Studebaker

My dad's 75 birthday is coming in two weeks and I don't know what to give him.

I have been debating whether to make him a scrapbook, or whether he might not appreciate it the way some of us saps would. He's sappy, but I don't know if he'd look at it much after all was said and done.

Would I regret not making one? Hmm.

Would he prefer an antique car instead? Yes! Maybe I'll just pluck a '57 Studebaker off eBay and stick a big ole' red bow on it. Why a '57 Studebaker? Because it's an old joke between us. When I was a little girl riding in the car with him, he would always point out an old car and tell me what year and make it was. But the only answer I remember to the question, Daddy, what's that car?" is, "Oh, that? That's a '57 Studebaker. "

I am sure he knew what almost every car was, so why is it stuck in my head that that was his pat answer to every old car inquiry of mine?

The joke revived itself when my own children were little. Ben would spot an antique car and say, "Hey, Mommy, look! What's that?" and I would say "a '57 Studebaker." He'd be impressed with me, which I had every intention of milking for all it was worth.

After a while, though, Ben wised up and said, "Nuh-uh. It doesn't look at all like the last one you said was a '57 Studebaker. " (Rats! Why do kids have to be so observant?) As I recall, it was about the same time he started asking where babies came from.

The theme of Daddy's party will be old cars.

Any suggestions on a gift? Scrapbook or no?

Or should I just scour eBay for a toy '57 Studebaker and present him with that instead? I wish I had the cash on hand for the real thing. He would so appreciate that and he would take it out and look at it long after the party was over. And who knows, it might do a 360 as a gift someday when Daddy's too old to drive but still wants to go for a ride with his little girl . That little girl will hug him and say, "Okay, Daddy. Wait right here while I get the keys."

Dayenu: The Canine and Car Version

I woke to the sound of Sarah's voice. "Mom, do we have a bandanna I can tie around my nose? The dog crapped three times in my room and once in the basement."

Thus started my day. Is this the beginning of the end of my sweet dog's life? Two days ago Molly had an accident in the basement. She is nine years old and we've had her nearly seven. She has had maybe five accidents in seven years, but three this week. I hope she just got into some bad trash. But I don't know.

And, as if yesterday's vehicle problems weren't enough," I thought this morning as I climbed into Steve's un-airconditioned Jeep to take Sarah to work, "it'd be pretty funny (NOT) if something went wrong with this one." I had to do some returns, follow the tow truck to Ron's garage, pick up some groceries, and call for a hair appointment. (With this shaggy mane in my face, my new name is Llasa ApZo.)

I discovered when starting to load the groceries into the back of the Jeep, the hatch doesn't work either.
I discovered that now, not only do the back right door and hatch not work, the right front door doesn't either.

Just as I was saying the words "as if they weren't enough," God quickened my spirit to the words of a song we sing at Passover. It's called "Dayenu," which means "it would have been enough." The song is upbeat, a prep to the hallel (praise) section of the haggadah during the seder. The words recount God's miracles to Israel. The Jews say, "it would have been enough if God had only taken us out of Egypt, but he parted the Red Sea. It would have been enough if He had parted the Red Sea, and not drowned the Egyptians behind us. It would have been enough if He had punished the Egyptians but not led us through the wilderness."

After singing 15 stanzas of "it would have been enough," one's heart can't help but have praise for God.

So I determined that I would come up with 15 stanzas (okay, one-liners) to help me see my car and canine problems from a posture of thanks and praise.

1. If God had only given us one good dog in our family, it would have been enough.
2. If God had not given us a second great dog after Lady, it would have been enough.
3. If God had only given us Molly for a little while to comfort us, it would have been enough.
4. If God had only given us Himself to comfort us, it would have been enough.
5. If God had only given us the van to take us everywhere we need to go, it would have been enough.
6. If God had only given us the Kia to take us everywhere we need to go, it would have been enough.
7. If God had only provided one honest auto technician ("don't call him a mechanic," says his wife), it would have been enough.
8. If God had only let us break down on the side of a safe road at dinnertime, it would have been enough.
9. If God had only chosen a produce stand for us to break down in front of, it would have been enough.
10. If God had chosen me to be a single mom with no one to call for help except Himself, it would have been enough.
11. If God had chosen a husband for me who had only compassion and no ability with jumper cables, it would have been enough.
12. If God had chosen a time for the van to break down when that compassionate husband with
jumper cables was not already close to the produce stand when we called him for help, it would have been enough.
13. If God had not provided a merciful care group member to bring Sarah home a few hours later, it would have been enough.
14. If Ben didn't have his own car, it would have been enough.
15. If I didn't have a blog, but only my mouth to praise God with for blessing us with sweet hounds and extra wheels, it would have been enough.

Dayenu!

SOLD!

A happy ending to a happy week. This was quite a surprise blessing. Over a month ago we listed Sarah's old car on Craigslist. (When I say "we" I don't mean "me"; I wouldn't have listed it for as high a price as Paul did). We only got 1 call and 2 emails on it back then.

However, last night a man called--the same one who called a month ago--and asked if we still had it. He came today and bought it. Paul did a great job negotiating with him (while I was shopping at JoAnn's) but I had to come home and sign over the title.

I was feeling very uneasy about the whole thing as I drove home because Sarah had called me at JoAnn's to say the guy was trying to really lowball us (as in a grand less than we wanted to go) and so I phoned the church as I drove, hoping to ask a pastor for prayer. No one was in the office, so I called a friend who prayed for us over the phone. I felt peace before I walked in the door and met the man. He was very friendly and easygoing. All of the tension I had felt melted away as we shook hands. I was a bit taken aback at the price on paper (too low) but I didn't question it in front of Paul.

The three of us drove three different cars in the pouring rain quite a ways to a muffler place where the guy would do the inspection on Monday. Paul and I drove home together in the van and he informed me the guy is a mechanic so he was the perfect buyer, able to see for himself what the car needed, even though Paul told him every problem we had encountered. The guy wanted the car for X dollars and Paul wanted X plus 300, so he sold him the car for X and the CD changer in it for 300. Made everyone happy.

We are grateful to God that we didn't have the hassle of relisting the car, screening calls, setting up appointments to show it when Paul's here (for safety reasons), and the guy was a mechanic, and he wasn't nasty but he gave Paul a chance to use his marketing skills. We won't have to carry insurance on it anymore or have it take up space in our already crowded driveway. We were so tickled about it we went on a spontaneous date to celebrate!

As I said, when it rains, it pours. Blessings!

BIG Week Here

"When it rains, it pours" is a phrase that usually has negative connotations. But I am here to put a positive spin on it.

This week the blessings of God have poured out. It's been a big-deal week for us.

On Monday we bought the Saab convertible. I love it. I am such car nut, it's pathetic. (Pictures soon!) In many ways I wonder if I'm not more man than woman when it comes to loving car design, engineering, speed, style, all that. This baby does zero to sixty in 7 seconds. With a minivan, I was used to doing 0-60 in an afternoon. Okay, so we bought it for Sarah and Stephen, but I keep reminding them "it's in my name, it's in my name." I drove it home from Paradise, PA, and tried not to scare horses pulling buggies. This car handles turns like nothing I've ever driven. The only thing I don't have a full peace about is visibility out the back. But it's okay, the mirrors are fine, and I haven't hit anything yet. I had the pleasure of driving it in the rain last night to Panera, and just loved hearing the pitter-patter of raindrops on the top. It's like driving under an umbrella; kind of relaxing, actually. Anyway, I hope I am not coming across as a show-off. I get just as excited over finding pretty dishes at Goodwill. This thing was paid for with 2/3 of an income tax refund, so you know it wasn't a mammonth cash expenditure for the sake of fun. I repeatedly asked Paul for his opinion (not trusting my instincts at the moment) and he was fine with it. CarFax report shows it was owned its full life by a leasing company, who take impeccable care of their fleet. The dealer was not pushy, was very reasonable with our offer, and all in all it was a well-informed decision, I believe. Anybody want a joy ride?

Tuesday 10 a.m. Paul started his new job. Since his boss was recovering from jetlag, she told him to come in at ten when she'd arrive. How's that for an easy request? Then she was telling him how they have been doing things, and Paul, being so used to the yes-man syndrome, kept nodding along. She finally said something like, "Around here we want your input. If you think there's a better way, please speak up." He is going to have to shift gears (okay,sorry for the car analogy, can't help myself) but I am sure he's eager to have his opinions matter--and possibly used! He is supposed to give a presentation to the big wigs in Connecticut on Friday, so he's got his work cut out for him.


Tuesday afternoon, Ben passed his physical and will be working at Pier 1. He said the money really makes a difference (better than the Depot) , and he likes what he saw at least in the HR departements (clean, neat, friendly, professional). Being the muscle man he is (and likes to joke) he said they asked him to lift a 50-pound box to his chest and he said, "With one hand or two?" (He told us this later and 6-year old Joel said, "I'd use two, Ben. That's pretty heavy.") I like Pier 1's style, so maybe he can inquire of the employee discount ASAP for his mama??

Tuesday night Sarah wrote her Philosophy of Education paper. Why is this "big" to me? Because as a mom, it is so gratifying to see how the Lord has crafted my children with certain gifts and adds enthusiasm and joy in using them. To me, discovering a child's "bent" is one of the most exhilarating parts of parenting. Having four kids, I can see 4 different "bents" and I just love it. I can definitely look back on 15 years of homeschooling and say it was so worth it; if nothing else, I had the privilege to walk closely with them while observing their gifts, and was (am) able to tailor schedules and opportunities to fit them. I wasn't locked into observing them just from 4 pm to bedtime. Sure there were times I longed for a big yellow school bus to take them away, after breakfast, but those days were few and far between. (Rougly 28 days apart, if you know what I mean.)

Wednesday (today) I heard from one of my penpals.  She got my package the "All About Feet" theme and says the girls will put it to much use. "Imagine wearing combat boots 12 hours a day," she wrote in her email. "We've been having sand storms and have only 5 feet visibility." The sand is really hard on their feet, skin, and hair. I had prayed to hear back from any of the troops I sent boxes to, by March 5th, and lookie what happened. It does my heart so much good! She says they are so grateful to know people back home really care.

This afternoon I have the intention of taking Joel to the library for his card. In our home, a special tradition for turning 6 is that you get your own library card.

Sometime this week, Stephen wants a different kind of card. You know, the kind that the DMV issues. Yes, that kind.

Big week, big deals, big blessings from a Big God!