Odds and Ends 4.20

I made dinner and cleaned up the kitchen.
Then I stepped out back to take a break.
I made rainy day red beans and rice and

Cajun baked chicken thighs that my love
loves and a few breasts. The late afternoon
nap was not for me.

The rain falls slowly but continuously on
the metal patio roof behind me playing a
disjointed tempo all of its own drowning

out any other chords of rain. No wind
really and it is getting dark. I can hardly
see my steno pad. I am not sure what I

expected the Saturday after Thanksgiving
to be like, but this wasn’t it. The light over
the kitchen sink is on. Nap must be over.

Someone just closed the kitchen blinds.
I am sitting here in the dark, but I give
thanks to God for another day of life.

A moment of joy on this dreary dark day
comes to mind as I give thanks that it may
be too dark to see but I walk in God’s light.

Saturday Memories

I can’t recall but I think I’m suffering
from this grand delusion that Saturdays
used to be special.

That wasn’t the case today. Saturday
was noisy. It came with a din of its own.
I’ve never enjoyed hearing other people’s

loud music as they fly by in a truck (I’d
never choose to drive or own). I’ve never
been a truck person. If I stick with cars

you would think I’ve been driving in
circles my whole life. My first new car was
after I came home from Vietnam in 1968.

It was a navy blue VW Beetle with a gray
interior. So, it seems cars in my life have a
story of their own that is part of my story.

I’ll blame the gas wars. While at Ft. Dix in
1973 I tried so hard to fit in, I bought a
gold Ford LTD. It was a boat! Everyone liked

it except me. The yellow MG B wasn’t really
me either. Then came married life on low
Army pay. A yellow Chevy Chevette went to

Germany and back. Drove it for ten years.
The years went by as quickly as the cars! The
car that I really thought was me was my navy

blue Jeep Liberty. It was a lemon. You wouldn’t
know that to look at it. The outside was so
beautiful! Engine, parts, wheels, bearings, rods,

you name it. It failed again and again. It was a
mess on the inside. Hold on, hold on. Am I
telling you about my life or my cars?

I replaced the engine and sold it either with or
for peanuts. And I had to get a car. I lived in NW
Phoenix. The firm that hired me was in Chandler.

I had to commute one hundred miles a day. I
must have been thinking of my dad. He loved his
two-tone 1956 Chrysler New Yorker. I bought a

used silver four cylinder Chrysler 200 for this crazy
commute. I put on 40,000 miles in no time. Work
came to a halt. My life came to a halt. Divorce.

Sold the house. Bought a bright orange 2018 VW
Beetle. I’ve come full circle. I’m back where I started
if we are talking about cars. Arizona is a slide show

of memories that I see in my rear view mirror once in a
while. The Bug is cool. Yikes! It might be my last car. I
wonder about that every time I see a Chrysler 300.

It has got to be a V8.

Radio is singing in her bath. Music is loud. She knows
all lyrics. All. All the old Saturdays are gone. They visit.
But they are gone. I’m wrong. Every day is a gift.

Bits and pieces of our lives are tied to our cars. We
remember our cars and our cars remember us. If a car
could talk! I didn’t tell you about every car of mine.

Why would I do that? Just a few Saturday memories.