CALM SEA


Here's where it reads "this is it - no more ramblings or mottled expressions just for the sake of saying stuff". It simply seems "enough is enough" when the New Year approaches. But there's always a reason found to continue so auld lang shit.

The 'tweener perplex is 1) remaining true to your DNA or 2) tweaking the impetus to stay on common sense and not rocks-off stuff. Going with 2) despite the advantage in the tool chest area.

Killing it with aplomb and flair was akin to last cycles rhythm:

Perhaps this goes back to the early 50s when the unbelievable, monumental thing happened - Dad bought a '41 Oldsmobile, our first car. Up 'til then the only time we ever rode in a car was when Floyd Bevans lent Dad his Kaiser-Frazier (swear!) on a Sunday afternoon when we rode for considerable time to swim in the Perkiomen Creek (AKA the murky Perky). It's as good a reason as any to begin this tale of my beloved, fully restored '51 Olds Rocket 88. OK, who cares about car shit except for motor heads... Yes, this I know and appreciate but this '51 Olds transcends all My Dream Car: The World exhortations - this baby redefined life as I knew it. Let's go back a few years to Atlanta, GA where I first gazed upon the beauty and splendor of this one of a kind. It moved me in a way that I knew my life would never be acceptable if I let it remain separate from me. So I made a conditional deal that basically said when the time was right, I could take a test drive and see if it was as perfect a fit as it screamed out to me. Well, I completed the deal shortly after this affirmation took place in the desert valley across the Rockies where it was driven every day. Those first months were unsurpassed in pleasure and satisfaction, almost like God paired us because we are so perfect together. It wasn't until months, maybe even a coupla years into our beautiful pairing that this gem showed how quirky it could be. It uncharacteristically made funny noises and stopped running with the gauges moved into the red areas, only to return to it's marvelous purr of invincibility the next day. It happened only ever so infrequently, but I knew when it did to come to a complete stop and let it cool down until the next day when everything would be perfect again. You may be thinking that if this was your car, you would find something more reliable, more predictable as to its performance, but you'd be missing the point that it's not just a way to get around - it's a perfect match with my quirky expectations on what a drive should consist of. I love my '51 Olds Rocket 88 and will listen to it unfailingly forever. It's become a part of me - the BEST of all my parts. May 12 as in Twelfth Night, 2008