Okay, so maybe you can relate to the fact that I have a terrible time losing weight. It really is a balancing act, eating right, getting enough exercise, working for a living and managing to do all of this while keeping up with the demands that family place on you. Life is hard, but God is good. We probably all can remember a time when we were young, when our mother told us to get out of the house. We could disappear for the day, playing with friends, swinging on the swing, playing ball and just enjoying the warm summer breezes and great outdoors. I try to remember those times especially when I am totally stressed. Who would not want to be an eight year old again, with little or no worries or cares in the world? And having written that, it isn’t going to happen. If I had not been taught all of those early lessons and values as a child I probably would not have become the person that I am today. I was taught to play just as hard as I worked, that if I wanted something, like my first car, I had to go out and get a job to pay for it.

I will never forget my first car. It was a Corvair with a black convertible top and canary yellow color. The car had a little lever on the dashboard for neutral, reverse and go. It was much more of a toy than a car in thinking back about it. I worked for most of a summer to pay for it as a cashier at a local grocery store. You can imagine my delight at purchasing my first car, which I did not waste much time in test driving. After having driven the car for about a month and getting that fever to want to always be out driving around in it, I decided to take a trip to the Adirondacks with acouple of friends. Mom and Dad said fine and gave their blessings with the usual severe warnings to drive carefully, be responsible. Okay! Well my friends and I stayed in a quaint little town that had a gas station, a grocery store, a bar and an old hotel. The drive there was so much fun with all of the twisting and winding mountain roads. The farther we drove the more remote and desolate it became. We were keeping a close eye out for black bears, deer and other woodland creatures. We would stop occassionally, pull over to the side of the road, get out and stretch. Arriving at our destination was thrilling. We had made it. A fantastic feeling of pure satisfaction. My friends and I had a great time in the Adirondacks, except for the black flies that swarm at night. But during the day there was kayaking, swimming and exploring the woods and small towns nearby. What a wonderful adventure. It wasn’t until we had begun our journey back that things started to go wrong. After this long weekend of fun and excitment the unthinkable happened. The transmission block of my new used car cracked causing the car to not move faster than about 30 miles per hour. These roads just proved to be to much for the Corvair. A drive that should have taken 5 hours wound up taking more than 11 hours back to Central New York. We arrived home late at night, feeling defeated. The biggest disapointment for me was that it was going to cost a fortune to fix the car. So instead of fixing the car, I gave it to a farmer who made it into a flower planter which he placed on his side yard near his barn and chicken coops. It was bitter sweet to say the least. I recall taking long bike rides into the country to go by the farmer’s farm to see the canary yellow corvair sprouting impatience and other assorted flowers. It was some consolation to know that the flowers thrived there and that the chickens seemed to enjoy it. The farmer used the hub caps to scoop feed corn out of a large drum. The farmer was happy, the chickens were happy and my next car was a Volkswagen Beetle.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s