Outerbelt

Speedway soars

without pit or champion.

Glow of dashboard.

Echo of centrifugal force.

Cars never cross the finish line

bleached with tire marks.

White-knuckled steering wheels.

Endless narrow-eyed loop.

At night there is no grandstand. 

I am the only fan.  Awake.

Dizzy with silent exhaust.

Inhaled secrets.

Drivers envy the cool

underside of my pillow.

I hide under the covers.
Dream headlong.

tk/November 2014


Charming read by R.A.D. Stainforth and Amy the cat...

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morris minor gray

Naming nail polish would be a delightful occupation. I've never actually met anyone with a career in polish, but I can imagine them, deep in thought, scribbling notes on dinner napkins, much like a poet. Mine would be a bit on the odd side, like "Burnt Toast" or "Old Penny".  I got a fun new nail color this week called "Gray by Gray". Now, if I was naming this color, it would be "Morris Minor Gray".

I can easily see myself buzzing around Central Ohio in a life-sized Morris Minor just like this one.  It's so very English, so very quirky, so perfectly me. The Morris Minor was a British economy car that debuted at the Earls Court Motor Show, London, on 20 September 1948. Designed under the leadership of Alec Issigonis, more than 1.3 million were manufactured between 1948 and 1971.

Years ago, I had a 1967 red VW bug convertible. Gosh, I adored that car. It was partially converted to an automatic. The floor clutch was removed, but I still had to use the gear shift; the best of both driving worlds. I wish I still had it. They say the Morris Minor is the Volkswagen Beetle of Britain.  Anybody have an old dusty one laying around in their garage they might want to give me?

Alan, is that you in the back?

school days and cars

My sister and I were chatting last week about the start of the new
school year. With my last son starting his (hopefully) last year of
college, it was a relatively smooth process to get him off to school.
A far cry from the days of getting three on the bus for their first day
with new haircuts, shoes, lunch boxes and freshly sharpened pencils.

A twinge of nostalgia comes over me this time of year. I long for
the good old days, when the kids were mortified to be seen with us
in public. This conjures a memory, of just such an occasion, when
our youngest son was a freshman in high school. He hadn't yet
turned 16, and still rode the bus most mornings. One particularly
dark, frosty morning, he was running late, so WT agreed to give him
a lift in my car.

.

It was my second favorite car ever; a cute red Volvo 240, with the
recognizable square body they used make. (That's it in the above
photo, parked at Indiana University, one of the many times I drove
my daughter.) Sadly, my oldest son totalled Old Red and she went
to the great car lot in the sky with nearly 200,000 miles to her name.

My all time favorite was the little red VW convertible I owned in the
late 1970's. It looked just like this picture I found online. Oh, what I
would give to still have that sweet baby today. I have a funny story
about my sister and me in this car, but it will have to wait for another
post.

Anyway, I digress. So, being trash collection day, WT packed a
gigantuous load of trash barrels and junk, having cleaned out the
garage the day before, into the open trunk of Old Red. I am not
exaggerating, it rose 10 feet in the air; all he would have needed was
Granny Clampett in a rocking chair on top.

Son and WT hopped into the car, but being 6:45 a.m., a bleary eyed
WT forgot to stop at the end of the drive to deposit the junk yard
rising from the trunk, and continued out onto the road heading
toward school. As they approached the school drive, filled with sleek
Beemers and Jags depositing kids, Son says,

"Um, you can just pull over and I'll get out here."

"I don't mind driving you up to the door."

"Dad, take a look in the mirror."