I did a lot of great things today. I fixed the TV reception for our
new home (amazing how much a dipole on my third story deck pulls in!).
I went out and got that shower curtin stuff so that my son, back from
the college wars in Boston, can have his own bathroom. I watered
plants and fixed the answer machine. I read the Sunday Globe and
worked some of the puzzle. But something was missing...
I know! Went next door to see if the grandchildren were up for it.
Nope. Still a year or two. So I decided to go alone.
Hop in the seat, set the (manual) choke, crank... crank... will it
start? A throaty roar answers that. Now the exhaust is a steady
blatt. The needles are all up to their marks... except that damn
tack. A good whack and it is playing too!
Now we're backing out and I can begin to smell fuel and heat. I
hit the pedal and am answered by a responsive growl. Grandfather,
my 1973 MGB, is ready to romp!
Now we're picking up speed and the smells and sights of an early
New England Spring abound. Wind tangles hair as we wave to some
kids at the side. Yup, fun's still alive in Woodville!
Listen to those square cut gears! Funny, my new 16-valve Jetta can
leave this 17-year-old-geezer in the dust. Ah, but does it put a
grin on my face? Environmentally this is stupid. Where am I
going? What vital mission causes me to burn our resources?
Down shift (brakes don't say "use me") and listen to those good
revs. And amazingly it's Spring back at Stanford so many seasons ago
and everything is ahead. The wind and the noise work their spell.
And this 50-year-old believes in life again.
And I'm reminded of our motto: keep them running forever!
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