Also, The Beast, as I have affectionately dubbed the brown '79 Ford F250, has given me the opportunity to wax nostalgic about a time when I was about Dave's age and my own mother's main form of transportation was a 70's model moss-green Ford that only played AM radio and got us from our apartment in Milton to Des Moines where the greenhouses are and where I attended school. There is a smell to these old Fords that is like warm vinyl comfort and greasy valor. It reminds me of a time of childhood nights traveling down Military Road and it's abundance of stop lights and the beginning of what is now a traffic nightmare in South King/North Pierce County, listening to golden oldies on the AM dial. In the mornings we'd stop and get hot cider for me and coffee for my mom at the 7-Eleven in downtown Milton and head on our way to our other home in Des Moines. I enjoyed this time with my mom because it felt like we were comrades sharing a journey. More so a journey of tenacity for my mom, I now realize, but an exciting one for me. You develop a lot of grit when you tough things out. Looking back on it now I realize that old Ford was likely not my mom's preferred mode of travel, but she did what she had to keep us moving. It was winter for the majority of the time that we drove that truck and I remember the frost on the hood but we were almost too hot in the cab, singing along to The Beatles or Janis Joplin. Winter is a tough time for anyone in the plant business in Washington state. Not a lot of people out beautifying their yards. We always suffered a bit in the winter. Summer was obviously profitable and the most "comfortable". But, winter was my favorite. The bitter cold of not just the weather, but also of our circumstances forced us to be closer. I revel in the knitting together we do when things are at their worst, to keep from unraveling.
I have been reminded of that time while driving this mammoth of a vehicle that elicits stares and causes heads to turn as the axles groan and squeak as I turn the no-power steering wheel in whatever direction I'm taking. Winter is a natural part of life and without the coldness to remind us how good the warm sun feels when we do get it, we might take it for granted. The spring after that winter we drove the old green Ford my mom got a brand new gray Honda Accord with a fancy *CD* player. We bought a Bodeens CD and played the crap out of it during every commute. We still would stop at 7-Eleven. We moved into a place closer to Des Moines while my Grampa remodeled our old house for us, and life moved on and we carried on, sometimes up, sometimes down, but we kept moving. That year might have been one of the last years I didn't think anything was "wrong" with our boho lifestyle, because around the age of 13 I started to roll my eyes at what I perceived as my mom's patchwork quilt way of life. It drove me nuts, the lack of routine or fluidity to our daily life. I believed that if I kept on the straight and narrow I would fair better. This is partially what lead to the puckering up of my 20's. While I have learned to let go and embrace more bohemian rhapsody into my life I am by nature a creature of habit and find comfort in routine and following traditions. I realize I can be both things and more. I have a greater appreciation for my mom and other single parents and couples down on their luck who have had to live a patchwork quilt life. It may lack congruency but it is unique and familiar to those who make it. I count myself lucky to not only experience the cold winters of life, but for the vigor it instills. My day will come when we get our fancy "Accord with a CD player" and I know I will appreciate it even more for having driven The Beast.
No comments:
Post a Comment