My First Car

January 22nd, 2012

My first car was very small. Sitting in the driver’s seat I could reach over and crank the passenger’s window open or closed without leaning over. The back seat was so small that a toddler would lack room to be comfortable sitting upright and facing forward. Like I said, it was very small. But small was fine with me as I was younger and more agile than I am now and I was usually broke so the economy of a small car was good.

The car was a red Fiat 500 with a manual transmission. The red had no significance, but the 500 identified the engine. Imagine such a little car with 500 horsepower. Oh, wait! I remember now. That 500 did not designate horsepower, rather it was the engine size in cubic centimeters. Today a medium priced riding lawn mower has a larger engine than that. But that’s okay. As stated earlier, I liked small cars with small engines because they are generally cheaper to operate. And this automobile was cheap to buy, also. The price was a mere $300. Considering that it was only three years old, that was pretty cheap, even in 1962.

Of course you get what you pay for and I did not pay for very much. Included in the price was a starter. Unfortunately, it did not start the engine. The starter was installed and attached but it still did not work. I never have been a mechanic so I didn’t bother to look under the hood, if you can call the cover in the back where a storage trunk usually resides, a hood. Even if I had looked, I probably would not have realized all that was wrong with this little vehicle – so why bother?

Prior to the purchase I was aware of the starter problem. There was no way to test drive the car without starting it. So with the standard transmission in neutral, we pushed it, I hopped in and pressed the tiny clutch pedal. I had to be careful to press only the clutch as all the pedals were so small (and my feet so big) and close together (the pedals, not my feet) that it was hard to press any pedal and not get the one next to it at the same time.

With the clutch disengaged, I shifted into first gear and reengaged the clutch. The engine popped to life and I was away on my test drive. The starter could always be repaired or replaced when I finished the three monthly payments and could afford to get the fix. It never happened. Oh, yes, three monthly payments happened. But the starter was never replaced – at least not while I owned this little gasoline powered toy.

This all took place in Dallas, Texas. I realize that this is a digression, but big cities are not my preferred choice for an abode, however Dallas is one of the better ones I have lived in. The weather in Dallas is some of the best I’ve ever spent time in. When I first moved there it was winter, such winter as they have in Dallas. Having been raised in Chicago, Illinois, where the lake effect snow is a common winter visitor, I . . . wait a minute, I’m digressing from my digression. Read the rest of this entry »

Grave Blankets

December 21st, 2011

Random Thought Series

Why?

Six feet of dirt is an excellent insulator.  Most of the year they are probably more comfortable than you are standing above them.

CB

December 18th, 2011

At a recent writer’s group meeting, the only female member of the group who was present was the organizer. She (CB) told the other writers who were present she had stepped on something on her floor at home. She had been stocking footed and what she had stepped on went through her sock and punctured her foot. After she bandaged the wound she looked to find the culprit. She had no success. It was a mystery and she wanted to find the object.

After she was back at home she looked harder and found a tiny shard of glass that had blood stains on it. No longer was the puncture a mystery. She emailed the members who had been present to let us know that poltergeists were not at work and that all was well!

This is the sort of thing about which ballads are written. Yeah, right! Rather than a ballad I’ve written a set of limericks.

 

There was a young lady – CB,

Who saw blood from her foot running free.

She asked with a sigh,

“I wonder why?

There’s nothing that should have hurt me.”

 

She quickly patched up the leak

And then she started to seek

Down on the floor

Whatever did bore

Her foot (and thus havoc did wreak).

 

Her first search seemed in vain

She looked little because of the pain.

She told this tale

To a group of males

But the telling brought her no gain.

 

To know not the cause was so hard,

But the options were not all barred.

She looked with a light

And soon did she sight

A bit of glass, one tiny shard.

 

There was blood on the glass – just a trace.

To her computer she did then race.

And then she did tell

Us that all was well.

And she did it through cyber-space.

 

Having written the above, I came to the conclusion that it is difficult to get both the cantor and the rhyming right in a limerick. This thought caused me to write one more (unrelated to CB) limerick.

 

Writing limerick’s is quite a chore,

Kind of like writing a score.

Please do not scoff

If my cantor is off,

Or I’ll threaten to write some more.

Wrong Rating

December 10th, 2011

Random Thought Series

Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer is on television tonight.  It is on at 8:00.  That is prime time.  It is listed as a children’s program.

Should this not be rated “R” because of the content?  What content?  The fact the all the other reindeer bully Rudolph.  Is this something we want to teach our children and grandchildren.  Absolutely NOT!  Nobody should learn to bully until they are old enough to be police officers.

Looking Too Old?

November 25th, 2011

When I was in high school in Wauconda, Illinois, the school was a combination Junior and Senior High School.  The only school library was shared by both groups of students.  In my Junior year (i.e. 11th grade) at WTHS, I went to the check out desk with a book to take home. The student librarian started looking for my card in the box that held the cards for the Junior HS students.  I was (just a little bit) insulted.

Later in life, I have usually been pleased when my age was guessed to be something younger than it actually was.  The older I got the truer this was.  At the age of 39 I was taken to be 29 by a man interviewing several prospective employees.  Even though I made it clear what my true age was, I believe the younger look got me a job I badly needed and wanted.  I was happy.

Had I been, or wanted to be, a drinker or smoker in my late teens or early twenties, most likely I’d have been unhappy with having my age underestimated.  But I wasn’t, so it was never a problem.

Tuesday of this week, I was surprised to be asked for my date of birth when I purchased 2 cans of spray paint.  I kid you not!  Here is a picture I took of myself when I got home so you can see me as the checkout lady had seen me less than an hour earlier.

I am aware of some locations having ordinances or laws prohibiting the sale of spray paint to minors.  It does not seem to be a Federal law.  I have been unable to find it in the statutes of the State of Indiana.  Nowhere in the on line searches of the ordinances of Tippecanoe County can I find such a regulation.  Likewise, I have failed to find it in the rules of the City of Lafayette.

Please understand that I have not done a truly thorough search of any of these sources of our government issued ‘commandments’.  All I did was a quick Internet search.  I have found reference to such laws in California and some other states.  None for Indiana or any of the sub-government bodies in the Hoosier State.

So the laws may be on the books.  I’m sure the checkout lady only asked for my date of birth because she was instructed to do so.  I’m sure the instruction was given because someone above her, or someone who programed the computer/register she was using, believed it to be the law at some level.

But I have had another thought.  (Two in one day – good for me!)  Perhaps there is a law stating a maximum age for which a person may purchase spray paint.  Several months ago I purchased four cans of spray paint and was not asked for my date of birth.  A month or so ago, I purchased a can of spray paint and was not asked for my date of birth.  Both of these purchases were made at the same store where I made this purchase on Tuesday.

When I purchased the four cans, I did not have a beard.  The beard was present when I purchased the single can, but since then it has grown a bit more.  There is no doubt that I may now look older than I looked at those times.  I must now look too old to qualify for such a purchase.  But, since I was allowed the purchase after supplying the mandated information, it appears I have not yet actually reached the age where the law sees fit to block me from acquiring spray paint.

Perhaps, by the next time I need some spray paint, I will have crossed over the age line our wise legislators have chosen as the dividing point between spray paint responsibility and spray paint non-responsibility.  This shall not deter me from my need to paint some household object a new color.  I’ll just recruit someone to make the spray paint purchase for me.  I have in mind my grandson.  He won’t be too old, he is only seven.