I grew up dreading nuclear war. I don't remember bomb drills in school, but I remember when magazines regularly ran articles about how to stock your backyard fallout shelter. I remember the black and yellow signs adorning public buildings, telling us we could take refuge there, and I remember the boxes of non-perishable food and barrels of water that you could sometimes glimpse passing through such areas. I remember the Cuban missile crisis, and my mother sitting on the edge of the couch, watching the news reports back in the days before 24-7 coverage, when a news bulletin interrupting a regular broadcast means something really momentous was happening. I remember Three Mile Island and Chernobyl and anti-nuke protests.
But I never imagined it being like this: a holocaust brought on by an event already tragic in its own right, a melt-down of such vast proportions, one that seems to spiral ever towards apocalypse. The NY Times says it's not yet as bad as Chernobyl; maybe it's just the non-stop pictures and commentary and the story of the last 50 workers left trying to prevent further catastrophe that make it seem much worse. Or maybe it's that I'm older and catastrophe seems more real to me, finitude more certain.
Nothing comes without cost; the people of Japan have more than once paid a tragic price for whatever good has come out of humans' ability to spilt the atom.
Lord have mercy on the people of Japan. Lord have mercy on us all.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
Friday Five~All about cars
I think I've written about this before, back when memes were all the thing, but here goes:
1. The earliest recollection you have of a family car
A black Plymouth two door sedan--probably a 1950 model? The front seats just folded forward without any kind of latch for us to get in the back, and I can remember sitting in the front by my mother who would always throw her right arm out when she braked, as if to hold me in place. No seatbelts, no car seats in those days. That car was replaced by a white 57 Ford with blue interior. I vividly remember my mother bringing my youngest brother home from the hospital in that car.
Later we had this car (56 Dodge wagon; apparently tri-tone paint was all the thing.) From this picture you can't really tell how absolutely HIDEOUS it was. We got this used and had it from the time I was 7 or 8 until I was in 8th grade. By then I was mortified to be seen in it. I was ever so grateful when my parents replaced it with a boring blue Chevy wagon--the car my dad drove into the river (see below).
2. The first car you drove when you could (legally) get behind the wheel yourself.
A green 1963 Corvair--with lots of rust spots that I covered up with daisy decals--hey, it was 1970, what can I say? I loved that car, but it used as much oil as gas and broke down frequently. THAT one was replace by a 1971 Pinto--did my parents know how to pick them or what?
3. A memorable road trip
When I lived in Iceland we decided to take a camping vacation around the island in our 72 baby blue Beetle (I've written about that trip in detail before.) The first day out a rock flew up and broke the windshield, but a local repair person was great about getting it fixed pronto. We forgot a piece of the tent pole and were bailed out by some great folks at a local hardware store at our first overnight stop (Akureryi). We forded a stream. We tackled back roads that led us to remote places. The Beetle was great, and thus my life-long love of VWs (I've had a Rabbit and a new Beetle since then, and they've been my favorite cars.)
4. The car you drive now. Love it? Hate it?
I drive a dark grey 2010 Subuaru Legacy and I like it a great deal. It's the only brand-spanking new car I've ever bought on my own, and it has amenities I've never had before--heated seats! a sunroof! among others--and AW drive which is why I chose a Subaru. It's a pleasure to drive. BUT I kinda miss my little red Beetle which I owned for 9 years. That car had personality!
5. An interesting story that involves you and a vehicle. (No, I do not have a dirty mind!)
How about the one where I was driving to my grandfather's funeral with my three kids, then about 11, 8, and 5--we pulled into my parents' driveway and my older son said, "Mom, there's smoke coming from under the hood!" I scoffingly said, "Oh it must just be some steam or something." He insisted so I popped the hood and sure enough, there were flames in the motor. I ran into the house yelling for someone to come help--my car was on fire! My father and brother-in-law thought I was just being an hysterical female and took their time, but when they got there the whole motor compartment was engulfed in flames. The firefighters arrived quickly and got it out before it reached the gas tank (!) but the car was a total loss.
Bonus story--my parents gained some notoriety when I was in high school when my dad drove our car right into a river. Out for a Sunday drive they stopped at a small one-car ferry, and my dad left the car running while they waited for the ferry to get back to their side of the river. He heard a noise under the car, and when he opened the door and leaned out to check on it, his foot sipped off the brake and hit the gas, and into the river they went. Now my dad couldn't swim, so it's probably a good thing that he fell right out of the car, but my little brother and my mother sat in the car while it sank--which I don't think took too long--and then rolled down a window to get out (I worry now about what would happen with electric windows!). I was at home and my dad called me to say they'd be a little late because they had run into a "little bit of water" Ha! Later they arrived in a state police car, dressed in what I remember looking like the Beverly Hillbillies clothes. Of course I was mortified when it was on the front page of the local paper.
Bonus: Good car music = oldies rock and roll, but often when we travel the Kid and I listen to Harry Potter--no matter how many times we've heard it, it's still good.
And a fwiw....I have never been a car buff, but I have an uncany ability to recognize cars from the 50s through the 70s. It's weird, but the Kid will verify it.
A black Plymouth two door sedan--probably a 1950 model? The front seats just folded forward without any kind of latch for us to get in the back, and I can remember sitting in the front by my mother who would always throw her right arm out when she braked, as if to hold me in place. No seatbelts, no car seats in those days. That car was replaced by a white 57 Ford with blue interior. I vividly remember my mother bringing my youngest brother home from the hospital in that car.
2. The first car you drove when you could (legally) get behind the wheel yourself.
3. A memorable road trip
4. The car you drive now. Love it? Hate it?
I drive a dark grey 2010 Subuaru Legacy and I like it a great deal. It's the only brand-spanking new car I've ever bought on my own, and it has amenities I've never had before--heated seats! a sunroof! among others--and AW drive which is why I chose a Subaru. It's a pleasure to drive. BUT I kinda miss my little red Beetle which I owned for 9 years. That car had personality!
5. An interesting story that involves you and a vehicle. (No, I do not have a dirty mind!)
How about the one where I was driving to my grandfather's funeral with my three kids, then about 11, 8, and 5--we pulled into my parents' driveway and my older son said, "Mom, there's smoke coming from under the hood!" I scoffingly said, "Oh it must just be some steam or something." He insisted so I popped the hood and sure enough, there were flames in the motor. I ran into the house yelling for someone to come help--my car was on fire! My father and brother-in-law thought I was just being an hysterical female and took their time, but when they got there the whole motor compartment was engulfed in flames. The firefighters arrived quickly and got it out before it reached the gas tank (!) but the car was a total loss.
Bonus story--my parents gained some notoriety when I was in high school when my dad drove our car right into a river. Out for a Sunday drive they stopped at a small one-car ferry, and my dad left the car running while they waited for the ferry to get back to their side of the river. He heard a noise under the car, and when he opened the door and leaned out to check on it, his foot sipped off the brake and hit the gas, and into the river they went. Now my dad couldn't swim, so it's probably a good thing that he fell right out of the car, but my little brother and my mother sat in the car while it sank--which I don't think took too long--and then rolled down a window to get out (I worry now about what would happen with electric windows!). I was at home and my dad called me to say they'd be a little late because they had run into a "little bit of water" Ha! Later they arrived in a state police car, dressed in what I remember looking like the Beverly Hillbillies clothes. Of course I was mortified when it was on the front page of the local paper.
Bonus: Good car music = oldies rock and roll, but often when we travel the Kid and I listen to Harry Potter--no matter how many times we've heard it, it's still good.
And a fwiw....I have never been a car buff, but I have an uncany ability to recognize cars from the 50s through the 70s. It's weird, but the Kid will verify it.
Wednesday, March 09, 2011
Ash Wednesday
So my 40th high school reunion is this year (yes, I am THAT old, and I expect that this reunion will provide much blog fodder in the months to come.) I haven't been back to the town where my high school is in more than 20 years. My parents moved away from there not long after I graduated, and since I was divorced from tFoMC (my high school sweetheart whose parents lived there) there has been little reason to return. I haven't attended any reunions. I'm not sure why I didn't go to the 10th; at the 20th I was in Florida in grad school and pregnant with the Kid, and if there was a 30th I didn't hear about it. But thanks to FB, this one is attracting a lot of attention and I'm seeing names of people I havent' thought of it, well years--40 years for some of them.
Tonight just before my last service of the day I clicked on a FB message from our Class of 71 group, only to find a list of class members who have died. Oh my. Seeing those names of classmates, friends, crushes, even though I haven't thought of them in years, was sobering. The girl who tried to commit suicide in 10th grade. The guy who married his 8th grade girl friend. The funny girl who rode my bus. The president of the student government. All gone on to greater glory.
I went into church and sat in the quiet before the service and I thought about ashes. Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.
Rest in peace Leslie, and Susan, and Susan, and Joey and Ralph, and Kenny, and Audrey, and Trudy, and Lee, and the ones whose names are unknown to me. Rest in peace.
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