Free Spirit – Pink Freud the Antique Auto

As I watched Layton pack his little bags into Pink Freud, a 1938 Ford, I thought, “He’s a Free Spirit, an Adventurer – Indiana Jones in a Hot Rod.”

I’ll skip over the fact that he had arrived at our house with a pack of luncheon meat and cheese in his Computer Bag, but had forgot to bring a coat of any kind. From our house, he was leaving on a week’s road trip in a car with no side windows, no heat and a broken windshield wiper. (Alberta to British Columbia in early September – rain or snow are both possible this time of year.)  Pink Freud’s battery was dead,  but once boosted the engine roared to life. With a cheerful wave, Layton and Freud were gone.

Texas, Washington, France – Fifty Shades of Grey in Photographs

‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ – I wish I had thought of that title for my blog. Can you imagine how many visitors I’d get every day? Disappointed visitors, of course, when they discovered that fifty shades of grey described my hair colour and not my review of a hugely successful erotic novel – which I haven’t read.

No, to me fifty shades of grey describes the colour of the headstones in  an old cemetery. (This one is in Rodemack, France.)

Headstone inscriptions don’t usually refer to the deceased person’s steamy sex life, but this one in Moultrie, Georgia did (assuming it is true):

Here lies the father of 29.
He would have had more
But he didn’t have time.

Fifty shades of grey also describes the rocks and sand on a beach. (This one is at Deception Pass in Washington.)

Beaches are thought to be very romantic places, though spring break in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida isn’t so much about romance as ‘Sex on the Beach’.

An early morning fog at Lake Conroe, Texas. A comfy Tete`-a-tete´ chair waits for the couple to sit and enjoy their morning coffee. The air is warm, the fog creates an intimate envelope of fifty shades of grey.

I have many more photos that are fifty shades of grey and I suppose human intimacy could have taken place at one time or another in many of them. But I really don’t want to know about it, any more than I want to read erotic mommy porn. So, look somewhere else for a review of “Fifty Shades of Grey!”

Gray hairs seem to my fancy like the soft light of the moon, silvering over the evening of life.
– Jean Paul Richter

____________

Scott Feschuk, a sometimes very funny writer for Canada’s MACLEAN’S magazine, wrote a single chapter of a book he called Fifty Shades of Eh. Here is an excerpt:

I gaze upon him with my intrepid eyes. My mouth, which is also intrepid, curls into a sly smile. ”
Did you remember the clamps?” I ask.

“Canadian Tire was closed. But I found a bunch of clothespins in the garage.”

I swoon. My breathing quickens. My heart beats a frantic tattoo as I surrender myself to the anticipation of languid erotic pleasures and several hours of splinter removal.
– Scott Feschuk –

Crayon Art – Melting

Last fall each of my grown children purchased new crayons and artist’s canvas, and it wasn’t for the grand-children to take to school. No, they used a glue gun, a candle and a hair dryer to create a merger of the crayons and the canvas. Here is what they made:

The result was my Christmas Present last year.  I’m hoping they will do the same this year. I loved the results! One daughter, the one who lives to cook, presented me with this beautiful bundle of vegetables. I can only imagine how long it took to melt the crayons with a candle, then plant each melted bit onto the canvas!

Another daughter glued black, grey, white, green and yellow crayons onto the top of a canvas, then used a hair dryer to melt the pointed ends so they dripped. Note the new colours that formed near the bottom where one colour ran into another.

The third daughter – whose husband rides the same model of Harley that The Car Guy did – chose a Harley Davidson theme and colours. She combined the melted dot technique to outline the Harley logo, then she used the drip method on the ends of the crayons.

The only consultation between the three girls was the size of the canvas they were going to use. It was so wonderful to see how different each piece turned out!

There are lots of websites that explain the process for these projects. Here is one:

Wingledings

Give Me the Good Old Parking Meter, Please!

You know, somebody actually complimented me on my driving today. They left a little note on the windscreen, it said ‘Parking Fine.’
– Tommy Cooper –

Parking Meters used to look a bit like Jelly Bean Machines.

I’ve become the family chauffeur since The Car Guy had his motorcycle accident.  I don’t mind driving, though it would be much more pleasant if all those drivers who never do a shoulder check would stop trying to occupy my car’s geographic location. Arriving safely at our destination, and finding a parking spot is always a relief.

The true challenge comes when it is time to pay for the parking. Gone are the days when I handed my ticket and money to a kindly attendant in a little booth at the exit or plugged my coins into a friendly machine that looked like it could dispense jelly beans. No, today I am faced with the pure evil of electronic ticket machines. They are the silent but efficient guardians of the place where I will abandon my vehicle in order to sit in a Doctor’s office for eternity plus a 3 minute consult.

There is no universal parking ticket machine. Each parking lot is the proud owner of a machine that was designed by someone who failed ‘your grandma might park here some day 101′. This means that each machine is unique in: the order in which you insert your ticket and credit card; the direction you insert said cards; the location where the pertinent buttons are; and the cryptic little symbols that replace a language I might understand. After three less than successful attempts to master three machines in three different lots, I figured out that the easiest way to pay the machine is to turn to the person directly behind me in line and say, “This will be much faster for both of us if you just show me how to pay this &%@#$ ticket.”

There was a time, not so many years ago, that I could board a plane in the Middle East – three layovers and 30 some hours  later, I’d be back at my Canadian home. All by myself, I could buy tickets, change planes, ride trains, even stay in a hotel.  Now I can barely negotiate a trip to the city if it means I have to park somewhere. How pathetic.

If your access to health care involves your leaving work and driving somewhere and parking and waiting for a long time, that’s not going to promote healthiness.
– Larry Page –

LEGO Surgeon Says, This is What is Wrong!

minifigure

The Car Guy was still in the hospital after his Motorcycle Accident when our daughter, The Nurse, gave her dad this Lego Surgeon. If you look very carefully at the x-ray in the Surgeon’s hand, you might see what is wrong with the patient.

We decided the x-ray showed a rib fracture, though if you turn the x-ray upside down, it might be a break in the clavicle. Since The Car Guy had both – rib fractures and a broken clavicle – the x-ray was fairly accurate!

Perfect Storm – The Motorcycle Accident

A “perfect storm” is an expression that describes an event where a rare combination of circumstances will aggravate a situation drastically.
– Wikipedia –

damaged bike HarleyThe Car Guy remembers getting on his motorcycle on a Friday morning and heading east for a short ride on a quiet country highway. He doesn’t remember the ambulance trip, nor much about the day he spent in Emergency. His next 4 days in Trauma were also a bit of a blur, but that was to be expected with a brain injury. There were lots of other injuries too – the  human body isn’t designed for unexpected flight off a motorcycle.

It was the Perfect Storm. In a split second, everything that could go wrong  that morning – did. And, after that, everything that could go right – did too.

Someday, our family will say, “We wish this had never happened. We hope it never happens again. But – we are a stronger family for it.”  Each member of the family will take a different lesson away from the experience. It has been that life altering.

It has been three weeks since the accident. The stitches are out, the wounds are healing, the bones are knitting.  The brain is probably working the hardest, though. It has no problem retrieving the memories of everything that happened before it got bumped, but holding onto everything that has happened since the accident is like trying to capture a stream of water in your hands.

The Harley Davidson motorcycle waits patiently in the garage. Like the owner, it is scratched and dented, but with the touch of the key it still roars to life. With time, and patience, both will be well again some day.