Dwight is a friend of mine who runs the frame shop in Birnam Wood. He has written some Sherlock Holmes novels, a memoir, and a book on theology, and also built this great bed for my perennials while I move. We were on the way to the diner and talking about Dwight's new novel when I saw this vintage Ford Galaxie parked alongside a gingerbready Victorian house.
I love vintage cars. I asked Dwight if he minded if I pulled over to photograph the Galaxie.
He said not at all. By some freakish stroke of luck, the owner had just pulled up in a more recent model car. I took her to be in her sixties. I asked if I could photograph the Galaxie and she said sure--and --would I like to start it up?
Would I? You bet I would!
But I wasn't able to start it, even with the owner, whom we'll call Anne Marie--after the Elvis song--coaching me to give it a little gas. She said she would get in and start it up for me because she knew the feel of it.
She also said that she had bought this car new in the late 1950s, and had kept it running all this time. She was 98, she said, and had been born in 1918.Dwight pointed out later that makes her only 92. Sad that our elderly should be so given to mendacity and braggadocio...
Dwight gave some input as the car was reluctant to start.
I took this picture at the exact moment the car started.
Sweet, sweet greenhouse gasses!Seriously, it was a thrill when the car started.
After the triumph with the car, Anne Marie asked if we wanted to see her dog, too.
We did. I think she said it was a Norwich Terrier.Meeting Anne Marie and her dog, and taking a (stationary) ride in her car was a great start to the week--one of those rare, magical confluences that go a long way toward balancing the grief life likes to dole out. I am eager to persuade myself that there are enough good and pleasant things in the world to balance the dismal things.
But of course, there are no scales large enough to contain the misery and joy in the world, even for purely subjective research purposes.
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