Very bizarre dream last night. I was down in the barn - I can't remember what I was doing, when I heard the loud freight train sound and looked out to see the sky black and swirling and the huge tornado funnel coming down. I knew I couldn't make it to the house and was trying to crawl under a table that I knew would give no protection at all.
I woke up in a panic.
It's odd. I certainly don't like tornadoes after I dodged the one a couple of years ago (and know many people who didn't), but they're usually not something I think about.
I eventually got back to sleep but I'm a little groggy today. And unmotivated. I'm still trying to figure out a bit what's going on with me - my chest aches a little (more emotional than physical, a heartache), I'm aware of my breathing, I've even taken recently to just going to lie down in the middle of the day, clutching cuddle pillow.
Trying to wonder what's wrong with me. Well, duh. It's just grief. I know how that feels. I miss the jeep. I remember that I cried for two days after giving up the old Honda (and, honestly, I still miss it). I remember the heartache of watching Bob's truck going down the drive for the last time. Even the sadness of realizing that the kayaks were a little too heavy for me to manage by myself and letting them go.
But that jeep. 1943 Willys. Such a unique piece of kit. And, after 46 years, so many memories. Parades - lots of parades. That strange overwhelming feeling (a burst of patriotism?) when you rounded the corner onto the main parade route and saw thousands and thousands of people waving flags and cheering. Me in my Rosie the Riveter getup, honoring the women who kept this country going while the men were off at war, giving (and getting) the "Rosie salute." Lots of flag waving. Giving rides to WWII veterans (and, as time went on, and there were fewer and fewer of them, replacing them with VietNam vets).
I found myself today remembering when we took it to get restored, the way that Bob and I could turn a bad situation around.
We had it for about 15 years, Bob sort of putzing around with it, sometimes getting it running, before we bit the bullet (and had some cash ahead) to take it to a restorer. At the time the only one we could find was in Tampa. We got a cat sitter (we figured on driving there, staying the night with my parents, and coming back). We were a little over halfway, in the small town in Chiefland, when I looked behind us and said "Bob - there's smoke coming out of the truck." Bob swore, and pulled over, and said "We're screwed." I looked around and said "No, we're not." Because we had pulled over - into the parking lot of a Ford dealership. So we finished pulling in, explained our situation, and they let us know that they probably wouldn't be able to work on it until the next day. But then they saw what was on the trailer, and everyone had to come out and look at it. They even pulled it into the garage that night, rather than letting it sit out in the parking lot.
After we talked to them, and were thinking "now what" we noticed that there was a Hotel 8 just across the street, with a Denny's beside it. So basically we were set. I think most people would have been frustrated and angry; somehow after we accepted our fate, and knew things were going to work out, we just decided to enjoy the unexpected gift of each other's company, with nothing we needed to do. The next morning after breakfast we walked back to the Ford place to get a time estimate, and were told it would be ready in a few minutes. The mechanic said he knew we needed to get back on the road with that jeep, so he came into work early to get our truck done before the day's schedule work.
We were told to take it easy - not go above 45 miles an hour, and don't use the air conditioning (fortunately it was early spring). So we just moseyed our way (being nice enough to pull over for a bit now and then to let traffic through). And going slowly, with the windows down, let us breathe in the fragrance as we drove past acres of blossoming orange groves.
Good times. Good memories. And, because of those, grief when it's over.
I'm OK with that.
No comments:
Post a Comment