Thursday, September 28, 2006
From Old Habits to Good News
Old habits are hard to break. My left foot still itched to hit the dimmer switch on the floorboard this morning as I met a car in the pre-dawn drive to town. I remembered the first night I drove Daddy’s little Datsun, and almost stomped a hole in the floor trying to dim the lights, to no avail. What old fogey would think to look for such a control on the signal light lever? And what kid would believe where it used to be?
The first car I drove was a ‘28 model Buick convertible. It not only had a foot-feed (accelerator for you young-uns), but a short lever in the middle of the steering wheel for speed control by hand. I don’t remember if it ever had a starter, as we usually turned the motor over with a crank, or gave it a little push. When the brakes wore out, we just geared it down or dragged our collective feet. It may have been the strangest convertible yet, as Daddy soon converted it into a pickup, which I have written about before.
This morning’s drive into Albuquerque ended up in Taos, a quiet artsy town where we strolled the streets along the square and had a delicious lunch at Michael’s. Some of the mountain peaks glowed with new-fallen snow, and colors of gold, orange and red among the varied shades of green were a delightful change of scenery. Driving along the rushing Rio Grande made us wish for a raft, and perhaps stronger bodies from bygone days.
The only memorabilia from the day’s outing is a bag of delicious apples from an orchard in the most enchanting location, a secluded valley beneath towering cliffs of sandstone. Idyllic, serene.
Stopping at the mailbox on the way home, I received a letter announcing the upcoming project of paving our gravel road, the perfect end of a perfect day.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
The first car I drove was a ‘28 model Buick convertible. It not only had a foot-feed (accelerator for you young-uns), but a short lever in the middle of the steering wheel for speed control by hand. I don’t remember if it ever had a starter, as we usually turned the motor over with a crank, or gave it a little push. When the brakes wore out, we just geared it down or dragged our collective feet. It may have been the strangest convertible yet, as Daddy soon converted it into a pickup, which I have written about before.
This morning’s drive into Albuquerque ended up in Taos, a quiet artsy town where we strolled the streets along the square and had a delicious lunch at Michael’s. Some of the mountain peaks glowed with new-fallen snow, and colors of gold, orange and red among the varied shades of green were a delightful change of scenery. Driving along the rushing Rio Grande made us wish for a raft, and perhaps stronger bodies from bygone days.
The only memorabilia from the day’s outing is a bag of delicious apples from an orchard in the most enchanting location, a secluded valley beneath towering cliffs of sandstone. Idyllic, serene.
Stopping at the mailbox on the way home, I received a letter announcing the upcoming project of paving our gravel road, the perfect end of a perfect day.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
