Way back in July I talked about an event I thought would arrive in a few weeks. The truth is, it has taken four months to come, but the day will be tomorrow; my car will clock up 100,000 miles. I will have my camera in my pocket and I hope to photograph all the nines and then all the zeros. There is always the danger that I may lose concentration and drive through the moment, but having waited for this day I expect to be able to bring you the pictures soon!

PS I’m not really as sad as this may sound! Honest

Yes I did add a fixer upper to the fleet. This should be a long term keeper.
A 1960 Valiant Suburban wagon. This little wagon does run and drive. Needs some body work, but should be an easy fix. Slant six, automatic, and overall in quite good shape.
Not going to get quite the number of upgrades that the 66 is getting, but we will see. Going to be made into a daily driver, and we certainly wont lose it in a parking lot.

Artifacts

In any environment, there may be those pieces of human history left over that try to tell their own story.  On the property here, there are neat things: glass bottles piled in a heap; large boulders that line hedgerows between farmland; and 4 abandoned cars.

The cars are placed throughout the property, when you reach the pink car in fact, you know, you have almost reached the southern end of the land.  Closer in toward our house is the decaying car featured in the picture above.  You may not even be able to tell it is a car.

Since the beginning of my life here, I have made up stories about who sat in these cars, and why they were dumped in these spots.  Through the mist of time, I recreated Bonnie and Clyde or their 1940s, 50s, 60s counterparts and had them running in the middle of the night to our house where they paid the owner to dump their car.

“Nah ” said R, “this is just what people did with trash back in the day, put it on the farmland.”

Then one night, I would say hovering around 2000, I cannot remember now, a phone call came at 10pm one work night.

“Sir, this is the police office.”

“Yes, what can I do for you?”

“Does your son have access to some old cars?”

My husband’s son lived

One decaying car

out-of-town at the time and was under twenty.

“Yes,” replied my husband.  “Why?”

“Well, he apparently gave one of the license plates to this young man we have just pulled over, do you know Mike R.”

“Ok, that is possible, Mike is his friend.”

“And, this license plate belongs to a man wanted for killing a very important person a few decades back, we will be over to check out the cars tomorrow.”

“Oh,” replied R and hung up the phone.

“That was weird” and he told me the story.

We were both gone the next day and no note was left signifying the police stop.

The cars looked unmoved.  Nevertheless, what I learned from that is something like the old statement about paranoia, “just because you make it up, doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”

The artifacts around us tell a story and it is good to listen, these pieces could be used for scrap metal and they can be used to inform us about the history of environmental misuse.  A history we need to understand as baggage that needs to be emptied out by subsequent generations and us.  This seems especially true this November 8, 2009 day when the predicted temperature for tomorrow is 68 degrees.

When you take your driver’s test at the DMV in Illinois you do so (or at least you did when I was 16) in your own vehicle. Since I was determined to get my license on the first possible day, and my parents worked, they asked my Grandfather (Eli, the one I currently live with) to accompany me. When the day to determine my driving destine arrived he picked me up in the car I would be taking my test in. However, since my Grandfather is a classic and antique car collector he was driving a mint white 1974 Oldsmobile convertible.

After the initial shock of seeing the car in front of my house wore off I asked him if he had a “regular” car that we could take to the DMV instead. Since for him this was a car he drove frequently during the summer he didn’t understand my problem. Furthermore, he went on to explain that it was either this or an antique 1954 Buick and that I should be happy the weather was nice out and he had chosen the convertible.

To help better acquaint me with the car before my test he let me drive to the DMV. I had a few initial problems controlling the car since the steering wheel looked like it belonged on a pirate ship and the car was about the same length as an oil tanker.

As we (surprise, surprise) stood in line for most of the morning at the DMV I was clearly worried about taking my driving test in this car. I didn’t feel confident about merging in traffic and forget about trying to parallel park that behemoth because that simply wasn’t going to happen. As I thought about the issues I had driving the car on the way to the DMV I could feel my dreams of earning a license that day slowly dying with each deduction.

When my name was finally called the evaluator met us outside and my Grandfather pulled up the car. When he realized that this was the car I would be taking my test in, this man of at least 40 seemed to revert back to a childlike state and became almost giddy with excitement. We all stood around the car for at least 5-10 minutes while he thoroughly inspected the vehicle inside and out and peppered my Grandfather with questions.

Upon this turn of events I began to feel much better about my prospects of passing, and began to think that I had it in the bag once he insisted that we leave the top down during my test. Needless to say I’m pretty sure I saw him scribble down pass and a few bullshit comments on his evaluation form during the first 2 minutes of the test before he sat back and relaxed with the wind in his hair for the rest of the time.

After that day, due to problems between my Mom and Grandfather that were unrelated to me, I didn’t see that car again for nearly a decade until I moved to Fort Myers last month and saw it parked in front of my Grandfather’s condo.  He told me that I could drive it for old time sake, but before I got the chance I found out the other day that he had sold it to another collector.

I’ll admit that I was slightly disappointed by the news, since I was looking forward to taking her out for a spin down I-75 sometime soon. I guess with the car now sold I’ll never get the chance to drive it again, but at least it provided me with one cool and unique memory since all of my friends took their drivers test in their mom’s minivan or dad’s little 2-door coupe while I got to take mine in a classic.

Wie das ist, wenn Automarken sterben, konnte man hierzulande gerade fast erleben, Milliardendeals haben Opel jetzt zwar temporär weitergeholfen, aber irgendjemand war immer mal da, der sagte “wer braucht denn schon OPEL?” Ja wer …

Wir haben andere untergehen sehen. Borgward, Glas, Hanomag, was in der wilden Nachkriegszeit emporsproß und bald darauf wieder starb, füllt Bände von Automobilhistorie. Wo wir aber nicht ganz so groß drin waren, wie die Kollegen jenseits des Ärmelkanals, war das Thema Fusion, Zusammenschluß, staatlicher Einfluß und staatlicher Vollbesitz. Man stelle sich vor, die Bundesregierung hätte in den siebziger Jahren kriselnde Fahrzeughersteller in eine Firma namens Deutsch Ford gesteckt, hinter der sich Audi, Ford und meinetwegen Seat versteckt hätten und dann noch das Sagen in diesem Unternehmen gehabt. Undenkbar? Hier ja. In England nein.

Visit to Longbridge — Michael Scott, photoaddiction.co.uk

Riley, Standard Motor Company, Triumph Motor Company, Mini, Wolseley, Austin, Morris, Vanden Plas, MG, Austin Healey, Princess,  Daimler, Rover, Jaguar, Land Rover,  Alvis, BSA. Dazu noch die Mini-Ableger Innocenti und andere Lizenzen ins Ausland.

Wow, fast die gesamte britische Autoproduktion in staatlicher Hand. Dann gabs ja nur noch Vauxhall als GM-Tochter und etwas Rolls Royce, ein paar Abfangjäger von Jensen und die aber von lange Rover abhängigen unbelehrbaren Irren aus Malvern Link, die ihre Autos auch heute noch noch mit Holz bauen.

Was draus geworden ist, ist Wirtschaftsgeschichte,  Mißmanagement par excellence und Marken, die ihren Ruf verloren, weil sie qualitativ nicht mehr bestehen konnten.

Ein paar Marken haben es geschafft, nach Irrfahrt über BMW und Ford jetzt in indische Hände zu gelangen, deutsche Hersteller haben bei den Luxusmarken zugeschlagen und eine chinesische Firma hat Rover gekauft und mit dem phonetisch sehr ähnlichen Namen 荣威 (Rong Wei) versehen.

Hat Rover was davon gehabt? Nein. Die Werke waren einfach ab sofort dicht. Nach etlichen Jahren ist ein Nachfolger des Rover 75 auf die asiatischen Märkte gekommen, der hier überhaupt nicht zulassungsfähig ist. Aber der wird in China hergestellt. Die alte Rover-Factory in Longbridge hat man einfach stehengelassen. So wie sie war, am letzten Tag, als noch MG und Rover vom Band liefen. Inzwischen werden dort in Kleinauflage noch ein paar MG zusammengezimmert, aber um den Rest hat sich keiner mehr wirklich gekümmert.

Und das war der Zeitpunkt, in dem Michael Scott jetzt ins Spiel kommt.

Visit to Longbridge — Michael Scott, photoaddiction.co.uk

Selbst Monate, gar Jahre nach der Stilllegung sieht es in Longbridge aus, als ob demnächst wieder eine Karrosserie um die Ecke biegt, Lämpchen glühen, Relais knacken, abgesehen vom Sicherheitsdienst (der eher lasch an seine Aufgabe dachte), war hier aber keiner mehr. Eine untote Fabrik.

Visit to Longbridge — Michael Scott, photoaddiction.co.uk

Das also ist das Ende. Oder war es besser mal, damals. Der grösste Teil ist inzwischen abgerissen und die flotten britischen Immobilienentwickler bauen hier — Krise hin, Krise her — inzwischen heimelige Reihenhäuschen auf dem Areal.

Michaels Besuch in Longbrigde

Aber auch der Rest seiner Suche nach versunkener Vergangeheit ist zu empfehlen, Eisenbahnen, Industrieruinen, Krankenhäuser:

photoaddiction.co.uk

Wer Blut geleckt hat, kann sich auch mal hier umsehen:

28dayslater

My grandfather (or my mother’s father) has a very unique and expensive hobby. A hobby that perhaps not all us would care to have, but would definitely love to have the required funds to support it. You see my grandfather collects classic cars.

I’m talking real, full-size cherry automobiles. Over the many years that he’s collected cars he has no doubt bought and sold dozens upon dozens of them. With few exceptions he owns and drives these cars until he finds another one he’d rather have or gets bored with them. At any time he has between five and eight cars, which over the years have included 1940’s & 50’s Buicks as well as Classic Convertibles.

So, tonight when I was on my way home from work, and he called me to come over to the Mercedes Benz Dealership that was on my way I instantly became suspicious. I headed over to meet him and upon walking into the showroom was greeted by the following dialogue:

Me: “Hi Papa” (that’s what I’ve called him for as long as I can remember although I don’t know why).

Papa: “Hello Matthew.”

Me: “What’s goin’ on?”

Papa: “I bought a car!”

And just like that I had a new cousin of sorts. He went on to explain that he had found a mint 1993 Cadillac Deville that fit into the category of car that he had been looking for to purchase next.

After he met with some people about the financing and signed a stack of papers they finally pulled the car around to the lot near mine and we were able to properly inspect it. I am not a “car guy” so I can’t really appreciate a car for much more than its aesthetic appeal. Having that been said it was a very nice looking car. The body was perfectly white with a distinctive blue felt top. Overall the best way that I can describe the car was that it looked pretty much like a standard old Cadillac if that makes sense? I’m sure there’s a reason why he coveted this type of car so much but I have no idea why.

Anyway, after he sweated out about 2 pounds of water weight in excitement he was finally able to drive his new collector’s piece away from the curb and out onto the open road.

When we arrived back at his condo he asked me if I liked the car, and I told him that it looked great and I was glad that it made him so happy. Even though I am not really into cars I can still appreciate the fact that he knew what he wanted and was willing to do whatever it took to get it. We continued chatting for a few more minutes and as it got later our conversation ended with the following exchange:

Papa: “So what do you think about me buying another car?”

Me: “I think it’s great, the car is really nice.”

Papa: “No, no Matthew what do you think about me just deciding one night to buy a car, and then actually buying it?”

Me: “Why not? If you want to buy a car, then buy a car.”

Papa: “That’s right, why not? Why the hell not?”

Me: “Exactly.”

Papa: “You know at my age (which is 87) you do what you want. You do what makes you happy, and these kinds of cars make me happy.”

He then collected his things, said goodnight, and went to bed even though it wasn’t yet 9:00pm.

While I can’t say that collecting classic cars is how I would choose to spend my money, it’s his way, and I respect that. To be completely honest whether it’s classic cars or some other extravagant hobby I just hope I one day reach the age when I can say to my grandson, “Why the hell not?”

Autofriedhof Gürbetal (CH) als es ihn noch unberührt gab

Im Jahr 1933, als man vielerorts noch mit Pferd und Wagen unterwegs war, beschloß der Schweizer Zimmermann Walter Messerli, den Zeichen der Zeit zu folgen und sich statt mit Holz mehr mit Blech zu beschäftigen.

Fortan wurden auf dem reichlich vorhandenem Gelände Autos zerlegt, Ersatzteile gehandelt und was vom Zerlegen übrig blieb parkte man eben an der Hecke hinten links.

75 Jahre hat der Betrieb überlebt, Walter Messerlis Sohn führte den Autofriedhof weiter, ließ die Veteranen der Neuzeit weiterhin hinterm Flieder ausbluten, bis auch in der Schweiz die Behörden zuschlugen und die Schliessung, bzw die Entfernung der Wracks forderten. Natürlich gab es einen Aufschrei. Der Autofriedhof muß gerettet werden, ein nationales Kulturdenmal würde abgerissen, Presse, voran die Oldtimerzeitungen versuchten die (positive) Aufmerksamkeit des Publikums zu erwecken. Ein Verein wurde gegründet. Alles das half nichts, im September 2009 wurden die Wracks meistbietend versteigert. Darunter automobile Meilensteine aller Epochen des 20. Jahhunderts. Ferrari neben IFA W9, Landrover, Brezelkäfer, ein Vorkriegschevy nachbarlich im Tode mit einem schnöden Renault 5 vereint, Jaguar und Isabella, buckliger Volvo neben im Sumpf fast versunkenem Opel Kapitän.

Was bleibt sind Bilder, Erinnerungen. Vielleicht werden ja ein oder zwei Exemplare aus der Auktion wieder mal auf den Strassen unterwegs sein und auf Treffen ihren Zeitgenossen die Gruselstory vom Nahtod in Gürbetal erzählen.

Ich persönlich hätte mir gern den Humber Sceptre Mk III ersteigert (das ist der, der unten liegt)

Offizielle Webseite

Flickr Bilder vom Friedhof

Teaserbildquelle

GREAT NORTHERN HIGHWAY – Vehicles

www.johnlovett.com – opens in a new window

Scattered along the highway are some interesting vehicles and impressive wrecks. Here are some that caught my eye.

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I don’t think people realize how robust some of the automobiles were from the 20’s and 30’s. These days cars of that era are trailer and garage queens and seldom on the open roads. Back when they were daily drivers a majority of the roads in the US were not paved and cars often had to bounce along on roads heavily rutted by horse driven wagons and carriages that were still en vogue at the time.

Last evening I had the privilege of meeting Jimmy Deavers, and some of his friends that have spent a lifetime owning, repairing, and restoring among other things, wooden wagons, carriages, and automobiles from the 20’s and 30’s. Their attention to detail, and the time they take ensuring that everything is as original as possible set their restorations apart from several others that I have encountered over the years.

Jimmy proudly displayed his late 20’s Ford Coupe which is about 90% restored, an immaculate ’31 Ford Convertible that is in the very final stages of restoration, and his “new car,” a 1950 Chevrolet Coupe. What wowed me most is that like Jay Leno these gentlemen actually drive their vehicles. They charge the batteries, run them around town, and then put them back in storage during the winter and inclement weather. 

Cars today are judged by how fast they get to 60mph, their grip on a skid pad, and how fast they can stop from highway speeds. The number of airbags, GPS, back-up cameras, lane assistance sensors, and tire pressure monitoring systems are what we call “fun to have” when we choose options. I am the same way. When I went to buy my car a single disc CD was not enough and neither was 4 airbags…. So it made me smile to think that there was a time not too long ago when it did not matter how fast you got there, but making the journey in the first place was what caused the excitement.  It’s amazing to think in the tough economic times we’re in that both these vehicles were manufactured right at and during the Great Depression, and how much it must have meant for the families that could afford to keep them.

Having done some research and after speaking with Jimmy I found that you can purchase cars like this for as little as $6,000 and as much as $50,000+ depending on how original the vehicle is, and everything in between. The Green Coupe featured here is available for $18,000 and the ’31 Convertible is offered at $40,000. If you are interested please contact us, and we will put you in touch with Jimmy and his friends.

On seeing the restored Mustang, friend commented the other day that she “loves  bucket seats.”

Are any of you readers old enough to recall the bench seats, column gear shifts and dashboard handbrakes?

Like the ‘57 Vauxhall Velox

the ‘38 Ford                                                                                      

Oh! The room there was in cars like the ‘57 Vauxhall Velox, the Chevy Bel Air, the Humber 80, the ‘38 4 door Ford… you could have your picnic basket on the front seat, the littlies could reach over for a snack …

the Chev Bel Air        

And almost every family travelled with at least one kid up front. That left room for 4 on the back seat. Sometimes, a dog too. Rugby boots, hockey sticks and roller skates and beach towels were slung in the trunk/boot, depending which country you’re in.  Seat belts? Back then, only jet pilots had seat belts.

Something else the really old cars had – running boards. Jolly handy devices for those of us who had to “ride gate duty.” And a level “shelf” for the picnic teapot and cups.

Something else I remember is how bucket seats, around 50 years ago, were almost the death knell of hanky-panky…

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How much “stuff” is enough?

I mean, how does one know when to stop hoarding things that may, one day, possibly not in this lifetime, be of some practical use to someone?

I don’t really want to be one of those daft old bats who can’t open the door to Meals on Wheels because she has seven five feet high piles of “The Times” supplements and knitting patterns for soldiers’ comforters (can such items really be knitted? Don’t answer that!)

Confined to quarters, I thought I’d clear out some of the “stuff.” I made lovely neat bundles of “stuff” I intend to give to the op shop. More neat bundles of “stuff” to be put in the bin.And no, I’m not obsessive. The bin is not very big and wont be emptied til next week.

I found several things I thought I’d lost. I felt quite proud of myself. Until today.

Today, I have searched frantically for something I need. I cannot find it. But I still have rather a lot of “stuff” to sift through…perhaps it’s  with some books…

That’s the trouble with “tidying up.”

I sometimes think being a compulsively neat person might be good for me. But about as likely as Hell freezing over…

Classic Cars They sure don't make them like they use to!

Jordan, Minnesota has a Classic Car Cruise every year! If you’re in the neighborhood you should check it out!

It starts this evening 9/11/09 at 5:30.

Hope to see you there!

i read the news today, oh boy.

well, actually, i didn’t. i just watched it. which is a rarity for me. it’s also a long story.

my brother and i have braces. we have our orthodontial [isn't that a fun word to say] appointments once a month on wednesday. the office is in franklin, so our family usually spends the day in the metropolitan nashville area doing fun stuff. we’ll go ice skating or visit the frist art museum. today, noah had an appointment at the boy scout headquarters, so we went there in the morning.

our 24 year old van is in rather bad shape. the engine shuts off randomly in the middle of driving, making it nearly impossible to steer or brake to safety. a few weeks ago, i put a dent in the front bender by hitting a tree. it wasn’t my fault. there wasn’t much i could do to stop it. [honestly. ask my mom.] anyhoo, today it decided it didn’t want to cooperate.

we were driving in downtown nashville, and my mom was trying to find the library. she doesn’t enjoy driving in the city. especially with our car. every time we go around a block, the engine shuts off. it was lunch hour, so there were people everywhere. the windows don’t roll down, so in order to ask someone for directions, she had to open her door.

picture this. a nineteen eighty-five beat-up conversion van with an enormous dent in the front. the passengers are five kids and one hysterical mother, who’s desperately trying to locate directions without hitting anyone. as she goes around a block, she opens her door and asks anyone standing near, ‘can anybody tell me where the library is?!”

it wasn’t exactly what i’d call an attractive sight.

we got to the library, thank heavens. we spent the better part of two hours there, then headed back to franklin to get some food and hang at the galleria. the car stopped many times on the way there. it was all we could do to get to the mall. actually, as soon as we got into the parking lot, it died for the final time. we had to push it into a parking spot.

we called dad to let him know that as soon as he got off work, he’d need to come pick us up. we live an hour away from franklin. and we only have one car. soo…

we stayed at the mall for about five hours. that’s when i had the opprotunity to watch the news. fox was on, which is probably the only station that i find worthwhile to watch.

some friends of ours came to pick us up. we were out until about 10:30.

funny thing is, they’d had a horrible day too. they were pulled over as they came to pick us up.

the japanese say the nine is an unlucky number. seeing as how the date was 09/09/09, i’d say they were right.

Today I went with my mom, aunt and uncle to visit my grandpa at a car show. There were some really neat cars there, one (which I loved because it smelled amazing) had a wood interior. The roof, the floor and the siding was all wood as well as some of the exterior. It smelled like a forest inside and (had I the money) I would have bought it there (except it wasn’t for sale). Unfortunately I didn’t take a picture of it. However I did one better a got a picture of an older woman who was dancing (very well actually) by herself right in front of the band. This would have been much cooler had she not been wearing a red and white striped Mickey Mouse pair of shorts with a too-tight belly shirt. Take a look.

I might mention however that it was a billion degrees out today so how this lady managed to pull of dancing well, in the full sun, dressed like that, escapes me. It was a good car show and I met some interesting people, one of which is a school bored executive and was very kind to me. His district has very few kids (maybe six in one class) so if I wanted to move an hour away from my family and live with my grandpa I would be able to do anything I wanted in school. However I wouldn’t be able to get away with being a bitch, which I do love to do once in a while, since everyone in that town knows everyone else. Which is unfortunate; if people could just get over themselves and adore me then that issue wouldn’t be a problem .

Actually, Mr. Demonic’s car finally breathed its last, and it’s about freaking time.

When last we left Mr. D, he was nursing along a very old Malibu with over 250,000 miles on it. It’s a car that’s seen a lot of action, first with a multitude of teenagers who invariably aim straight for curbs.

At 80,000 miles, he coopted the car and started driving it himself. At that point, it was still a reasonably nice ride. Leather seats, nice stereo. Luckily he took off the stickers and the dual brake. Such items are a dead giveaway as to the perilous nature of the operator.

Fast forward a hundred thousand miles, four years and several pots of coffee later: the car is beginning to show its age. It shakes, it shimmies, and the worst part of all, it smells like rotting caffeine. Hint: you don’t want to set your purse on the floor.

Nonetheless, Mr. D decides to take it on numerous cross country journeys. He motors to the Twin Cities, to Kansas City, and to Nashville, in addition to driving it back and forth across our Rust Belt state several times a week. I held my breath every time he backed the car out of the driveway.

This was two years ago.

After that, it was a matter of principle. It was pride. It was a matter of tenacity. Plus, he’s a tightwad. Mix all of these wonderful characteristics together and you have a person taking his driving life into his own hands. He wasn’t going to get rid of the car until it died and he was darned ready to give up the car. He was going to see clear to the end of the relationship.

Three months ago, as the odometer edged nearer to the 250K mark, Mr. D’s Malibu began to run even rougher than before. It smelled of burning fluids. I was afraid to get in it to go for a quick run to the grocery store. Then he started to run out of gas on a regular basis. Like three or four times a week.

For those who know Mr. D, he has run out of gas with amazing regularity. He times it so that just as the last fumes are circulating through the engine, he rolls right up to a gas pump. It’s something of a joke. On those other unlucky occasions when he’s stranded, he calls other people to come and get him out of his fix. That’s because even though I’m the wife, I think it’s ridiculous in the modern age to run out of gas. Gas stations are like fast food joints, there’s one on every street corner.

I ran out of gas once. I was on southbound I-35 north of Minneapolis. I was 20. It was 1976.

For me, walking two miles to a gas station that one time cured me. My gas gauge never goes below 1/4.

Mr. D’s car appeared to suffer from a malfunctioning catalytic converter, which was replaced. Twice. However, he still continued to run out of gas. This is because the gas gauge hasn’t worked in six months, and with the catalytic converter gone awry, his miles per gallon fluctuated. Wildly. Most of the time he was getting right around ten miles to the gallon. Or less.

Cash for Clunkers came in the news, and I told Mr. D (no, I begged. I implored. I nagged.) please, oh please, could you maybe see fit to get a new car? Something with a working gas gauge maybe?

He was resistant to my idea. He still had hope. (!) He wanted to see the odometer hit 300K.

Last week, his car bit the proverbial dust. Mr. D called around and learned that since the car was titled in the business name, he couldn’t take advantage of the Cash for Clunkers program. (What? Businesses don’t have clunkers?)

But it’s over for good, so let’s get out a requiem, or a pitcher of margaritas. He cleaned out the car over the weekend. I’m embarrassed to say we’ve pulled up to valet parking at ritzy restaurants in that sad ride.

He’s not sure what the next car will be. It’s the end of summer and they all come back to roost, so he’ll choose one out of the fleet and probably drive it until it drops.

Old Cars

He was born in Chicago, Illinois, 99 years ago today. My father had three children and I’m the middle child, the little girl he spoiled. But he loved his two boys, too, and it was his Victorian upbringing that made it hard for him to truly express that feeling without being weak. As I look at the photographs of him the year before he died, I realize that I’ve almost out-lived the years he had. My older brother has already. But it’s my younger brother who really looks the most like his father.

Three old cars in Granite Falls, WA

When I saw these three old cars last weekend, it made me think about the days when I was just getting interested in boys and my dad let me help him rebuild the old cars he was working on. By the time I was really able to drive and was being ‘chased’ by those fellows that my father was worried about, I already knew the difference between a carburetor and alternator, could crank the engine of the 1931 Model A Ford that I had helped to rebuild and understood that shifting gears was an art not just a necessity.

This afternoon I was driving a Mercedes S600 Coupe that my dear dad would have really appreciated. When I washed it, I smiled as I remembered hearing him say, “Wash from the top down, and never, ever clean the wheels until you are done with the body!” Thanks, Dad, for all your lessons. I miss you.

All my life I had been looking for something, and everywhere I turned someone tried to tell me what it was.  I accepted their answers too, though they were often in contradiction and even self-contradictory.  I was naïve.  I was looking for myself and asking everyone except myself questions which I, and only I, could answer.  It took me a long time and much painful boomeranging of my expectations to achieve a realization everyone else appears to have been born with:  that I am nobody but myself.  – Ralph Ellison

I came to a realization tonight while talking to an old friend. I realized that I really am different from everyone else. I’m not the Beth that does destructive things to fit others’ expectations. I am the Beth that won’t let people run my life. I have done exactly what that quote describes. I have never done anything destructive in terms of getting in trouble with law enforcement or drugs and alcohol. I tried to fit in with what I wore, hair cuts, etc. Mind you, they were all bad outfits, hair cuts, attitude changes…

Right now, as I sit here at 1:19AM, I can’t help but think about how late it is. I can’t help but think about the ones who aren’t in bed but are out doing stupid things that I can’t picture myself doing and I wonder whose fault it really is. Is it their own? Is it their parents? Is it the crowds they try to fit in? Or is it just everyone’s fault? Sometimes, I think it IS just everyone’s fault. Things have changed so much since the fifty’s.  You know… I wonder if my dad, when he was little, ever thought that the world would turn out the way it had. I sure as hell know that I never expected this. I don’t think anyone has… I sometimes have to wonder who is responsible for all of this.

Dancing was once this:

And dancing turned into “what the f***”:

Television went from this:

To this:

Look! It’s the width of a cell phone! Oh and look, you can watch Disney World with your family instead of GOING to Disney World. Ha, oh my oh my.

Telephone conversations went from this:

To this:

Cars went from built to last:

To trash that won’t be here in one piece and that no one will care about in 50+ years:

Just tell me this… What happened? I feel like something is completely wrong. Am I the only one realizing this? Seriously. Right now, I may be exhausted since it is 2:07AM, but I am never too tired to tell you that something isn’t right. Whatever happened to actual dancing (and in clothes)? Whatever happened to being lucky enough to actually get that television set that has only three channels? Whatever happened to actually talking on the phone? Whatever happened to real cars that made noise, actually drove, got the job done, and lasted for years? Tell me why we have to watch people dance like whores, on a plasma screen television, while texting instead of talking on the phone, and while there’s a commercial break they tell you that you have to go out and buy an over priced, ugly, silent and deadly, piece of crap hybrid because the greeny dingbats thing we should. While those greeny dingbats are having people dance like whores in front of them, with a plasma television on in every room in the house (including the bathroom), while updating their left wing agendas on their iPhone, and not even owning one of those over priced, ugly, silent and deadly, piece of crap hybrids all because they have money that we don’t have. Money is all they think about, isn’t it obvious? MONEY. OUR MONEY.

So tell me why I should end up like those jerks? I have to wonder what people have going on in their heads. This goes back to Al Gore. Does he really care? Did anyone ever stop and think about what this Al Gore might have in his garage? What kind of phone he might have? How much electricity he wastes? How much of a lying cheat he is? This is serious here.

That is so off topic, but it’s relevant. You see, I am doing something right now that not many people my age are actually doing. Sitting down and thinking about my future, everyone’s future. I don’t just live for “now”, I’m sorry. Actually, I’m not. But, my point is, I live for now and my future. Now means everything for my future. I can bump my knee and realize in two seconds I’ll feel some pain. Now and future are hand in hand. As is the past.

The past is what made today. But somewhere along the line, someone, or actually some people, went wrong. Who is to blame? I don’t know. But at some point,  polite and charming kids became few and very far between. At some point, Jesus is just another word when you’re angry, not a reason to go to church. At some point, skirts became shorter and guys decided their pants looked better on the floor in some chick’s room. At some point, a girl or a woman became chick or babe. At some point, gay went from being the term ‘happy’ to homosexual and another word for lame. Nothing is right anymore and it is really showing. When I go to school and I see girls wearing shorts that are revealing enough to see their underwear, I have to gag. When I see guys wearing their pants below their butts, I have to laugh because it is NOT flattering at all. Life today is just not what it should be. There is a song called “Let’s See How Far We’ve Come”. To me, yeah we made some incredible advances, but morally? What the hell happened?

When someone gives me a real answer, maybe then I will settle. But right now, I really don’t like to see what I see. I look at my dad’s yearbook and think “damn, those guys are handsome” and “damn, those girls are lovely”. Then of course, I have to ask again… “What happened?”

This is all just so… sick. Where is the common sense?

This is Beth, signing out at 2:26AM. (I should really be sleeping, shouldn’t I…)

today is a novel day. i will sit and write in my novel till my fingers kill me and ink stains my hands.

and then i will ride my bicycle with Miss Tandy down to the graffiti trains and the old car lot to take ETSY pictures.

then i will write in my novel again.

and again.

and again.

today is a novel day. i like that idea.

love.

-Bella.dear♥

My first entry and just getting a feel of how WordPress actually works

In the wake of General Motors’ bankruptcy and reorganization, funds for a partnership to clean up toxic mercury waste from old cars could be drying up.

Source:
http://www.greenbiz.com/news/2009/08/13/gm-mercury-removal