Feeling a bit better. Vague headache still. Gloomy outside
too. Hollie is fixing the family birthday dinner. We usually go out for this
celebration but she wants to do the cooking. She asked us each what we wanted;
I said potato salad, Megan said steak, Chuck wants barbecued chicken, and she
is making herb brochettes for herself. Megan is baking a chocolate cake. She
loves her oven. I will go to church and get at least a walk around the block.
Palm writing
When I was 15 years old I came home from school to find an
old beat up car in front of our house. When my parents came home from work I
asked them what it was doing there. They said they bought it for me. It belongs
next to the garbage can, I said. It was old and ugly, looked like the red paint
had been applied with a broom, raggy top, just plain not what a young girl
wants. We had private property and I learned to drive there. I had to learn to
advance the spark, pull out the choke, step down hard on the starter, and other
old fashioned ways to get the engine to work. Once I had to crank it. I
discovered that filling the rumble seat with friends, having others sitting on
top of the seats and hanging off the back, and driving all over the place was
fun. It leaked in the rain and had a hand driven windshield wiper that required
skill to drive and see through the rain at the same time. Then I was 16 and
drove the car to the DMV to get my license only the inspector wouldn’t get in
it. He told me to come back with a “real car.” After I had my license I drove
it to high school but parked two blocks away and walked, as it was an
embarrassment, that is, until I learned that boys thought it was neat. It was
my car until I graduated when my parents bought me a used 1949 Ford and the
1929 Model A Ford was purchased by a guy who made it into a hot rod, painted it
hot pink, and showed it off at car shows.
Our family of four
Our four birthdays in a row
All close together
