The Car Show

A couple of weeks ago, there was a car show at my husband's place (I like to call it that. Don't you think it sounds better than "facility"?). Now, if there was anything in the world my husband enjoyed as much as swap meets, it was car shows. We have belonged to several car clubs over the years. Some  memberships were formal, some not so much; but, all were fun, entered into with gusto, and included not-to-be-missed special events.

My husband dragged me and our reluctant children to early-morning swap meets to look up one aisle and down the next for that one elusive car part or other. There was much moaning, complaining, and begging to be left sleeping at home in warm beds, to no avail. These car swaps were a hobby shared with his brother, so it was a family affair.

We went to car shows, rallies, show 'n shines, and even a couple of "national tours" with CHVA (Contemporary Historical Vehicle Association), one of which our Mt. Shasta Region club organized. We drove our 1936 Cadillac Fleetwood to Reno, where the tour started after the Reno Swap Meet during Hot August Nights. Our caravan of fabulous chariots wound up through some lovely backroad areas in the Sierras, dropped down into the Sacramento Valley, through Redding, over to Eureka, and down the coast to the Bay Area, where the Redwood Region club had organized their annual classic car show. My husband served as a judge there. He knew his automobiles. I tell you all this because I want to make sure you understand my husband's passion for all things automobile.

Sweet Ride!

The Saturday morning of the recent car show, I drove to my husband's place in eager anticipation. I knew he would be thrilled to see the shiny hot rods and classic cars in the parking lot. As I walked beside him from his place, down the sidewalk, and around the corner to the show, I chatted happily about the vehicles we would see, the people we could talk to about their cars, the beautiful weather, and all sorts of happy things. I could hardly wait to see the big smile on his face and the gleam in his eyes. But while he reacted positively to the '50s and '60s music that was playing through the loudspeakers, he didn't even notice the cars at all. Even when I pointed out this feature or that feature, he barely glanced over.

I was crushed and saddened. I could hardly keep from crying and was grateful for sunglasses and fake smiles. What a letdown! I began to wish I hadn't attended the event, because now all of our past excellent memories related to this hobby would be forever marred by the overriding remembrance of this, possibly last together, car show.

Returning to his place, I could see that he was exhausted from the effort. The caregivers were anxious for good news about his reactions, but I had none to deliver. And then one of them suggested taking him out in his wheelchair and trying it again. What a great idea. Why didn't I think of that? So off we went, at a much faster clip this time and with race car noises coming from me (don't judge me).

Friends, what a difference it made. I won't say that he suddenly rose from the chair, named off the makes and models, examined what was under the hoods, and kicked the tires. Because he didn't. But he most certainly seemed to be enjoying the ride, at least. And seeing a fleeting smile on his face now and then made it all worthwhile. Instead of a bummer being the icing on this cake, it was topped off with an attitude of gratitude. And isn't that so much better?

1 Thessalonians 5:18

Car People

It's a gloriously sunny day in our little town today, so we took advantage of the break in the weather to enjoy a morning stroll along the cliffs by the waterfront on the west side. I thought I would scope out some good sketching places. I've decided the time is right for me to "retire" at the end of the month, for a variety of reasons, and art therapy is supposed to be good. Perhaps both of us will benefit!

But I'm going off on a tangent, as I often do. Back to my main point, which is that you just never know what you're going to see or whom you're going to meet when you go on a walkabout in our small city.

My husband and I were standing on the sidewalk, admiring a house we've (well, to be fair, that should be "I've") always loved. It's a cream and green Tudorish place on a well-situated corner, just a block or so from the water. When we first moved here some 35 years ago, it was for sale but needed some work we weren't prepared to undertake, given that the price of the house was at the very tippy-top of our budget, it only had a one-car garage, and the yard was too small for even the tiniest garden. We bought elsewhere, but every time I walk by this place, I think of what could have been.

At any rate, the next-door neighbor happened by, and we got to talking about the house and how the garage would have been too small for my husband's collector cars (at the time, a '36 Cadillac and a '36 Buick). The gentleman brightened and insisted that we meet his son, who was in their shop working on his pride and joy, a '63 Chevy pickup. It turns out they're part of a car club we'd joined but then were really unable to participate in due to my husband's illness. Who knew? They want to come by to see my husband's projects. Thank you, Julian and Sean, for reminding me that just one small thing in common can bring out such good will in people. I hope you do drop by.

The sad thing, of course, is that my husband can no longer work on his projects. But car people are car people, and they love to kick tires. Even if they don't exactly remember why.