Tag Archives: Mount Pisgah

Is This the End?

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I’m afraid it might be the end.

For my good little car.

I have a history of shabby, old, rattle-trap cars.

I had a Volkswagon Beetle once – a stick shift, before I knew how to drive a stick shift – that had no heat, no windshield wipers and no floor. Driving it down the freeway was like standing in 70 mile an hour winds. I’d wear everything I could, on winter days. I’d get off at Oglethorpe Drive to pick up my friend, Linda. She’d come running out with a grin, an afghan her mother had crocheted…and ski masks! If the tires from a passing truck doused us with slush, we’d have to pull immediately off the road to chip the ice off the windshield. The gas gauge didn’t work. We often had to be rescued from the side of the road, out of gas. I drove it to and from college classes in Flint for an entire year, jerking and stalling whenever I had to switch gears.

I had a Ford LTD that burned more oil than gas. With that car, I stopped at every single gas station I passed, and bought the sludge oil that had been drained from other cars during an oil change. This was back when you could get an oil change at most any gas station.

I had a truck the first winter my husband and I separated. It had wooden side rails on the back that would fall off into the street every time I went around a corner. Not completely off, so that I could consider abandoning them. No, the back corners were firmly attached, so that if I didn’t stop and re-load the rails, I would be dragging them alongside, like broken wings. That truck also had very poor brakes. Luckily, though, it also had a horn that would blast, loudly and without reason. My daughters like to tell the story of when the priest absent-mindedly stepped into the street in front of us. I started furiously pumping the brakes, but it didn’t look good. Then – because there is a godthe horn blasted, the priest looked up, broke into a run, and made it safely to the curb.

These are not the very worst vehicles I’ve owned, nor the most colorful. Just a random sampling.

One lousy car after another.

The car I’ve been driving for the last few years, though, has been an exception.

It has been good transportation, for about five years, now.

My friend, Ruth, and her husband, Jack, sold it to me.

It was neat as a pin, got excellent gas mileage and had a good engine.

It had one major flaw. The radio stations could not be tuned in. “I’ve got it on a station now,” Jack told me, “just don’t move the dial, and you’ll always have radio.” Great!

Five hundred dollars. Exactly my limit when looking to purchase a new car. Worth every penny!

It’s a stick-shift, and I now know how to drive one! It has front wheel drive, so gets around well on Beaver Island roads. I know for a fact it will hold at least nine adults when, after closing the bar, we decide it’s necessary to go out to the Port of St. James and climb Mount Pisgah. We tested it!

There have been expenses, of course. I had to have the heater fixed, and I bought a set of new tires before the first winter. I replaced the battery after a year or so. I spent almost a thousand dollars getting the brakes fixed, before they were finally really, truly fixed, but it now has some of the best brakes I’ve ever experienced!

There have been a few unfortunate incidents.

My grandson got mad at me – for a totally non-car-related reason – and deliberately (might I say maliciously?) spun the radio knobs. That was the end of the music.

My windshield wipers worked great for one year, then worked independently for the next two. That meant I had to stop frequently to disentangle them. When the passenger side wiper quit working altogether, I considered it a blessing.

Driving home from work one summer evening, a deer jumped in front of my car and I couldn’t avoid hitting it. The accident crumpled the hood, broke out most of the plastic grill and shattered the headlights. From that time on, the hood didn’t quite latch properly.

A few months later, driving down the King’s Highway, the hood flew up and wrapped itself around the windshield. I had experienced that several times before with a Subaru I’d owned, so it didn’t scare me as badly as it otherwise might have. In fact, it took a bit of the crumple out of the hood, though it was left with an upward slope that held quite a bit of water.

From that time on, the hood was secured with a length of rope, compliments of my friend, Laura.

I had, at that time, only one working headlamp, and it aimed directly into the treetops. I’m not often out past dark anyway, but when my sisters visited, that was not acceptable. The nice repair job – not really visible in the photo – involves three small blocks of wood, two new headlamps and a half roll of duct tape.

The very day I quit my job at the hardware store, the rope that secured my hood snapped in an extreme gust of wind, and again sent the hood flying up to the windshield. This time, the glass cracked – pretty severely in one corner, with a long crack at just below eye level across the front. It dented the roof of the car, and sent the rear view mirror flying. I whipped over to the roadside and reconfigured the rope. Good as new.

Except that, in snowy weather, the rope gets frozen in place, making it very difficult to check fluid levels. Regular maintenance gets neglected. The last time the oil light came on, it took me two days with an extension cord and my blow dryer just to get the rope off! What I found when I got under the hood was not good.

About that same time, my only remaining windshield wiper quit working.

That was followed by consultations with professionals and friends and a day trip to the mechanic’s shop for an oil change.

The rope has been replaced by a stainless steel bolt for a hood ornament, holding a slick black rubber bungee cord to secure the hood.

The wiper is fixed temporarily, but it needs a new motor. Dare I order it?

Sometimes it only takes an expensive new part or a full tank of gas to put the curse on a car.

We all had high hopes. It seemed to be working fine.

Then, leaving town last night after dinner and a movie (Eggplant Parmesan was terrific; “Argo” was sensational!), I had just rounded the corner onto the King’s Highway when lights started coming on.

Check Engine.

Oil.

Battery.

I lost power. The car shuddered, then stalled. It would not re-start.

It may be terminal.

Thank you, dear Liz, for picking me up from the roadside, and driving me all the way home.

Thank you, Tom, for giving me a lift to Aunt Katie’s this morning, so we could get to church.

Michelle and Deb, thank you so much for taking time this morning to push my car off the road!

Bob, thanks for the ride home after Mass.

Thank you, Laura, for offering me the use of your car while you’re on the mainland!

Thank you, Johnny B, for offering me the use of your vehicle – indefinitely – until I can get something else!

Thank you, Doug, for your willingness to go to town three full hours sooner than you’d planned, in order to see that I get to work on time!

Thank you, John R., for always being willing to help!

Finally, thank you, Aunt Katie, for calling just to check on me this evening, because you worried.

I was fully planning a self-pity extravaganza. I was well on my way.

I’m still a bit depressed over the condition of my car.

It’s the best car I ever owned!

Among the good people here, though, blessings abound! It seems you can be down…but you’re never down and out!

One Week in July

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I’ve been entertaining company this last week.

Or, rather, they’ve been entertaining me.

Madeline, Tommy and Patrick arrived on the 15th of July along with my daughter, Jen, who is also Patrick’s Mom.

It was “Museum Week” here on Beaver Island, with special events every day. We went to “Music on the Porch” at the Mormon Print Shop Museum on Monday night to listen to talented islanders sing and play instruments for a “pass the hat” donation. I submitted several paintings to the Museum Week Art Show at the Gregg Fellowship Hall. No sales for me this year, but I had good response from viewers. We planned, all week, on dressing up little Rosa Parks (as a Ladybug, according to the final vote!) and entering her in the Museum Week Pet Show on Saturday, but time constraints and impending weather foiled our plans. Next year, though!

This was also the week for “M.A.D. Camp” on Beaver Island. That is Music, Art and Drama Camp, for lucky children aged seven through seventeen. In five days of day-camp, 9AM to 4PM, the participants create costumes and stage sets, learn songs and dances, rehearse lines and choreography and finish with a wonderful performance on Friday evening. That is all in addition to arts and crafts, creative writing, games and trips to the beach! All three of my grandchildren attended.

The week ended with – Thursday through Sunday – the Beaver Island Music Fest. Jen camped there, with friends she’d known since childhood, and listened to the music all weekend. I attended Thursday evening, with my grand-children, for some early entertainment and to visit with friends. We were home and in bed by 10:30, though. On Saturday, Jen took them again, for special activities planned for the children and burgers cooked on the grill at their camp-site. I took that opportunity for a long bath, a short nap and a frozen dinner all by myself.

Evenings, all week, we tried to fit as much in as possible…and we did pretty good! We went swimming at Donegal Bay, let the dogs swim at Fox Lake, walked the foot bridge down to Lake Michigan for an evening swim, dipped our toes in at Lake Genasereth, collected pretty stones from the beach at the Bill Wagner Memorial Campground and fought the big waves for hours at Iron Ore Bay. We climbed the historic lighthouse at the south end of the island. We visited my Aunt Katie, checked out her dogs, the gardens, pond, gravel pit and sheep on her property. All of the kids climbed the Giant Birch Tree, and all of them climbed the Big Rock. We climbed Mount Pisgah! Not really a mountain, but a sand dune with an elevation of 733 feet, it’s still quite a trek. We had a nice bonfire on Friday night, toasted marshmallows and made “s’more”s. We visited the Beaver Island Toy Museum on Saturday, where one dollar can still purchase dozens of items. The five dollar bill each of my grandchildren carried made choosing what to buy an almost insurmountable task!

Every day we walked the dogs. Sometimes with only one grandchild, sometimes with two or three. One special day, Jen and I walked. Every night, Rosa went bed-to-bed, visiting each child. Whichever one woke up with her would say, “Rosa slept with me all night!”. I’d reply, “Rosa loves you”. Clover usually crowded in with me, but both dogs loved having the children around. More games, more hugs, more attention…I woke up each morning to the sound of their wagging tails as they woke and remembered that “kids are here!”

I worked two jobs each day on Sunday, Monday and Tuesday, then had the rest of the week off. Sunday was a sad good-bye, and back to work for me. The house seems empty, and the dogs are hanging their heads. I slept twelve solid hours last night. It was a wonderful week!