Coming to Terms with a Moody Wagoneer

Ah, the peace of the wilderness. No sounds but birdsong and the wind whispering in the trees. Certainly, no engine noise from your broke-down car.
It had been the last straw between myself and my Significant Other. We had argued, he had put on his coat. I asked, "Where are you going?"
"I don't know."
"Are you coming back, this time?"
"I don't know," and he fixed me with a glare that said, "See how well you do without me around!"
I shrugged and told him, "Then you better take your stuff." It was early evening, in the Blue Ridge area of the Coconino Forest, not quite dark. S.O. left, walking down the winding dirt road that led to Highway 87.
I waited until he was out of sight, then waited another 15 minutes or so to give him a chance to get onto the highway. I found a cardboard box, put all his things that he left in it, including his pride-and-joy leather bomber jacket, and set it outside on the grass. Then, I got into the Jeep, hooked up to the trailer, and my son and I left for another campsite. As far as I know, that box is still there.
I had never tried to pull a trailer before; I didn't try to go far. I was also leery of crossing paths with S.O. if he was still in the area. As it turned out, he must have gotten a ride pretty quickly. He was back in Michigan in 3 days.
I got the trailer down the road a piece, got it parked and unhitched. Maybe Edna found what I had done unethical. Maybe she was just ticked with me for dumping her pet mechanic. But, sure as shootin', when I tried to start her up and move her to a more appropriate parking spot, she gave me the big no-fire. All crank, no catch, her points were fried. And we were nearly 20 miles from Payson. So my youngest son and I went to our respective beds.
The next day, we got up, got dressed and had some breakfast. Then we started walking to Town. We got a ride pretty quickly; a woman and a small boy aren't threatening. I was not naturally inclined to hitchhike, but when you're faced with that many miles and a small child, what else are you going to do? It turned out to be one of many people who regularly got lunch at the drive-through of the Taco Bell where I worked, so I breathed easier.
On getting to Payson, I got hold of my daughter and her boyfriend. She had been staying with his family. Again, not my favorite solution to a situation, but the alternative was The Woods, so I had let that be. Craig, the boyfriend, went with me for parts, and then back up to the Ridge. After he left, I sat down, facing Edna's grille and sighed. Nate, my son, stood running his fingertips along the blue stripe on Edna's driver-side fender. "Mama, why is she mad?"
"I guess," I said from the ground in front of the car, "she's upset because Bob's gone, now." I turned my attention to the front end of the Jeep. "Look," I frowned at her, "What's done is done. I can't have you throwing temper fits like this. I'm on my days off, right now, but I have to be able to get to work. I have to be able to move the 'house' around. You're all I've got for that, I can't just go move in someplace and be comfortable. Things just aren't set up like that for us right now." Something about the way the front end looked changed. If you really looked, the change wasn't there. But, if you were seeing with "soft" vision, it was there: The ends of the bumper seemed to droop, the headlights seemed to express sadness. "I'm sorry...." came a whispering voice into my mind.
"Mama...I think she's not mad anymore," said Nate, who had come round the front of the car.
There was another change, the bumper ends seemed to come up, and the headlights appeared to all but physically shift to look at my little boy.
"I'm sorry. I'll try to do better." The whisper was a little stronger, a feminine tendency to it, but not in the least human. It was unsettling, to say the least, for me, but Nate was all smiles.
"It's gonna be okay, now, Mama."
One could only hope. But at least my car wasn't going to outright fight with me. She had become my teammate now.

Gettin' Political

Goddess bless Glen Beck. I love that man! Wouldn't want to live with him, so Goddess bless his wife, as well, and I don't agree with everything he says, but praise be that he goes on national TV and says it!!! And my husband has come around, after only a few missed episodes, to the fact that this guy is tellin' it the way it is. That means I get to watch, too. Geraldine Ferraro's comments about Barak Obama, at face value, were true. He's where he is because he's a Black man. That's not, I'm sure, the ONLY reason he's where he is, but it is part of it. Glen, that's not racism Ms. Ferraro expressed, it's fact. When you're Not White, Black, Hispanic, First Nations, Mixed, whatever, you gotta knock yourself out to get anywhere. It's never anything personal, it's just a fact of life in These United States. And isn't it a wonderful thing, it's still true in this country that if you knock yourself out, you can be President, or at least shoot for it, based on the ideas you have to keep this country great!
I've popped at the people that come into the place I work, from time to time. Ya gotta, they're funny. You know, went on vacation and forgot to pack their brains. But one day, about a week ago, a young lady came in wearing an Obama tee shirt. I told her I liked her shirt, yessiree, and she responded, "Really, and me here in the heart of McCain country!" Well, hon, not exactly. I explained that, in the time I've lived in Arizona, I don't recall anything special Mr. McCain has done for his constituency, and, conversely, I really like the idea of a President who doesn't have 40 years of favors to special interests hanging over his head as he tries to run the country. We all but hugged before she left. If Barak Obama is where he is because he's a Black man, it's because he's a person who HAPPENS to be Black and male, and I really think he's the brightest hope this country has had since Bobby Kennedy, and yes, I am that old. Fortunately, Barak is not, and he doesn't have a history with Wal-Mart selling out to China to overcome, or seven years of running around trying to grab the current President's coattails to live down. I'll take my chances with the New Guy, thanks!

The Adventures of Edna Le Jeep

Once upon a time, in the autumn of 1963, it is believed, there was a birth. It wasn't painful or traumatic, but it was unusual, because it occurred in a factory in the Midwest, probably Ohio, or maybe it was in Detroit, Michigan. It went more or less unnoticed by those in attendance. Their ears were not open to sounds other than those of the machines and tools that surrounded them; they could not have been expected to perceive the stirrings of a soul rousing itself within the machine they were building. In fact, for many years, most people would be oblivious to "the ghost in the machine" that was Edna. She was unremarkable, for the most part, a Jeep Wagoneer station wagon. White, blue stripes down her sides, power window in her tailgate (Woo-hoo!), a Tornado 230 in-line six powerplant that might have seemed a little like overkill, when it comes to torque, for a family car, but that could be chalked up to her military heritage. She also was a 4X4, something else you didn't necessarily find on Mom's Taxi in the early '60's. But Edna would no doubt be any family's best friend when it came to camping out.
Sometime, early on, somebody added a front-end towkit. Perhaps her first owners, perhaps she was ordered from the factory with it. Edna never even mentioned it was there. And I have yet to uncover much in the way of details regarding her adventures before the mid-90's when she came into my possession in Payson, Arizona. She seems to prefer to comment on the present rather than reminisce about the past. Maybe the past hasn't been very pleasant. Or maybe it's just unremarkable.
In any case, when Edna's existance and mine collided in Payson, I was homeless, living in a small camp trailer, and desperately needed a way to move the trailer from one place to another in order to avoid Forestry, while I waited for a spot to open up in one of the trailer parks in town. I had a Significant Other and 2 kids with me. The kids were fine, the S.O. was a jackass, I was finding out, and eventually, he ceased to be a part of our lives. Then, it was me, the kids, Edna and the woods. The catch, back then, was Edna didn't like me much. She preferred the company of the S.O., because he was mechanically inclined. When he left, Edna promptly fried her points and we were stuck on the Rim, literally above Strawberry. And so, the adventures began in earnest.
Tales to be continued....

Merry YULE, Everybody!

Something that has begun to get to me increasingly over the last few years is this "Christmas is under attack" thing that unspecified Christians trot out every year. I say "unspecified" because the news never seems to tell exactly what denomination it is that feels so threatened by the use of "Happy Holidays" vs. "Merry Christmas." As previously noted, I work in retail/customer service. Know what? Just because you look African American, I'm not going to assume you celebrate Kwaanza, nor will I assume you celebrate Channukah, unless you happen to be my cousins, David or Ed. Yet I, who celebrate Yule, must grin and bear it when well-meaning WASPs insist on saying "Merry Christmas" to me, and demand I respond in kind. When guests come through the shop door, I say "Happy Holidays" because I consider it INAPPROPRIATE to assume I know just what Winter Festival of Lights a person may celebrate. In my family, there are (at least, that I know of) three different traditions. Everybody respects everybody's thing-they-do. So at Han's, it may be the Christmas tree, while at my place, it's the Yule tree, and at David's it's the Menorah. IT ALL STANDS FOR THE SAME GENERAL IDEA, THE SPIRIT OF THE SEASON. ALL TRUTH COMES FROM THE SAME SOURCE AND THE ALL-THAT-IS WILL COMMUNE AND COMMUNICATE WITH YOU IN THE WAY YOU CAN BEST CONNECT!!!!!!!!! When I say to you, "Happy Holidays!" I'm not attacking your beliefs, I'm doing my best to respect them. And I'm not even going to try to explain to you why you really OUGHT to call it a Yule tree, because to start an argument with you would be uncharitable, and not in keeping with the spirit of the season. It is, however, quite true that Christian holiday traditions have a lot of Pagan "DNA," as it were.;-D
So, anyway, can we stop all this "Oh, I'm so OFFENDED!!" cacapoopoo, mellow out and have a nice season that focuses, at least a little bit, on Peace on Earth? Please pass the eggnog--and get that mistletoe outta my face!:-))

A Memorble Thanksgiving

Well, it was NOT dull. My daughter's boyfriend kind of spoiled things for us by pulling one of those "Uh, I guess I'm not coming after all" things that just wreck a holiday. And the Baby, (actually a Big Girl of 3), managed to share not only love, but her case of croup. Both Gramma, (me), and Pappa are wheezy and runny now.
On the upside, I also got to talk to my Aunt. She's 93, and our efforts at conversation on the phone were somewhat hindered by her 2 hearing aids, so she ended up telling me, "Maria, you'll have to email me, I can't hear you with these things, and I can't hear you without them!" So I made sure to email her first thing when I got home. It's really great, because, due to a familial upset/misunderstanding about 30 years ago, we hadn't been in touch. I'm ecstatic that I have had the chance to reopen the door with her. I have to admit, too, I get a kick out of my 93-year-old Auntie telling me I need to email her!
I also had the unexpected pleasure of being able to help my son get his stuff started for Voc. Rehab. Who would have guessed a government office would be open the day after Thanksgiving?
So, to trot out the cliches, what am I thankful for this year? A daughter who still appreciates my cooking, even if it's HER kitchen I'm tearin' up; a chance to help my son get the help he needs; a grand daughter who's more than worth the risk of a virus; relatives of various descriptions who, no matter how far away in time or space, are always close; a husband who's proving that the 3rd time really is the charm.
Next cliche: What do I want for Yule? Hmmm...let me see....

Blogging is something new for me, so, anyone reading this, I say in advance, I appreciate your patience. I was fluffing around the net, one evening, and discovered my favorite actor has, in the past, blogged here. I said to myself, "Maybe blogging is something I should try," so that's why I'm here.
I live in a little town in Northern AZ. When I first moved here some years back, we were, quite literally, 75 miles from anywhere. Since then, towns have grown, including this one, and now we're more like 45 miles from anywhere. I worked for a long time in a combination hardware store/tourist trap/snack bar near the town's western exit of I-40, and learned to give directions in a big way: "Going to Prescott? Go to Ashfork and hang a right," or, more often, "Going to the Grand Canyon? Go to Williams and turn left." Sometimes even this kind of simplicity seems to be more than our guests can grasp; I refer to those (sometimes literally) lost souls as Vacant Vacationers. They went on vacation and forgot to pack their brains. For these ones, directions to the restroom can be overly challenging. The giftshop where I work now has a view of the men's room door as you enter the building, and also a sign over the hallway arch that says "restroom," and people will still come and ask me where the bathroom is. And they're not wearing sunglasses. Completely on autopilot.
I mention in my profile that I like needle arts of various sorts. It's probably more accurate to say I am a freak about crochet and embroidery. Anybody out there do Hardanger? I'm just getting started with it. Scarcity of patterns inclines me to think it's a "dying" art.