Last Friday night, I called in an order at the local pizza place here in the small town where we live. Because I seldom have cash and I’m unsure whether their delivery guys can take my debit card, I usually go pick up the pizza. It’s less than a mile from our house anyway. Cindy… Continue reading A Truck Made with Forks?
A few weeks ago someone posted something on Facebook that prompted a chuckle. It went something like this: Watch out! There’s a speed trap on 127 at the I-70 overpass!
A couple months ago I bought a new-for-me used car. I’ve been very pleased with it these first 1,200 miles or so, and while it was quite clean when I bought it, I ran across something in it the other day. Just a reminder that I’m not the first one to take it around the block. (I was going somewhere with this, but I think I’ll leave it at that.)
When I slid that disc into my new-for-me Honda stereo and the music began pouring forth, I was transported back to my parent’s house. Somehow I remembered the lyrics after nearly 20 years, and when a song would finish, I anticipated the next one, recalling how it would begin. … I’m not sure why as a budding keyboardist I liked Rush Street so much, since there wasn’t much piano, as before on “Right Here Waiting.” Instead each track featured layer upon layer of guitars and the fantastic studio musicians who played them.
I might be getting a new car soon. Well, not a new one. (Dave Ramsey says never to buy a brand new one off the lot.) No, my old minivan is just about to give up the ghost. I feel it. She’s slowing down like an old horse. I’ve never mounted a horse and am slightly afraid of them, but I’m sure my Plymouth is the same. Actually, we call it the burro (Spanish for donkey) because it used to do this jerky, whiplash-inducing motion, like it wasn’t getting enough fuel, then it would get too much—almost like a hiccup, really.
It just needed new tires and paint. He said, “They salt everything up there. You’ll be driving a car full of holes in no time.” So I bought some Rust-Oleum and sprayed it myself, a nice navy blue that contrasted with the faded blue on the sides. We were styling driving across the country. (Do you ever see those cars on the highway, wondering where they’re going and hoping they’ll make it? That was ours.)
I realize our girls are getting older, and I won’t be able to walk them safely across the street forever. Soon they’ll be driving crummy cars like the one I had. Keeping them safe becomes less about holding their hands and more about teaching them how to be careful.