Nature’s humidity blanket got kicked off sometime last night. Coolest morning temps since last spring.
Max, the Wonder Dog, agreed and went on our long walk this morning. He made up for lost time by refreshing scent markings at every turn. It was nice, not to be drenched in perspiration, for a change.
What do you remember about your first car? Was it a hand-me-down old clunker or beater brought back from the dead? Did you give it a nickname? Perhaps Green Hornet, Silver Streak, Old Blue, or the Batmobile?
Only on television did older brothers hand down their classic muscle cars. Latest rendition on “Bluebloods”–Jamie inherited his late brother’s classic, big-block, Chevelle Super Sport; sacrificed in the name of episodic wretched excess.
My first car was a hulking, full-size Ford, Custom four-door sedan. Nothing sexy or dramatic about it–just good dependable, point A to point B transportation. Wonder of wonders, it had power steering and air conditioning. That was luxurious in those days.
The three-speed stick shift, “three on the tree,” had overdrive to go with it. A single dashboard speaker blasted the latest top 40 hits from the AM radio. Only bonafide car nuts, like myself, will appreciate the irony of Plymouth hubcaps on a Ford.