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Wit Love, Kath

~ My love letters about the funny side of life

Wit Love, Kath

Category Archives: Driving

Dipping into the grab bag of life

04 Tuesday Aug 2015

Posted by Kath Carroll in Baking, Driving, Humor, Inspiration, Shopping, The Formative Years, Travel, Vacation

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

grab bags, humor, Inspiration, nostalgia, vacation, Volkswagen beetle

In the 1960s to early ’70s, my mother, sister, and I were living the cliché. Packed into a red Volkswagen Beetle, we took to the open roads snaking across the country from Hollywood, Florida to St. Louis, Missouri for our annual summer vacation. We stuffed the frunk (front trunk) with sturdy suitcases and bags full of mangoes, grapefruit, and avocados from our backyard that steadily ripened in the searing heat. The odor each morning was so repellent we had to air out the car before driving away from the motel.

But once we got underway, the meandering back roads led us through quaint country towns like we never saw in Florida, over rolling farmland lush with summer crops, into one-radio-station no man’s lands where a farm auction or Paul Harvey was the only thing on, and to hours of charades, license plate games, car bingo, daydreams, and imagination.

WitLoveKath - Corn Dish - car bingo III

One and a half days into our 3-day odyssey, in Hardin, Kentucky, stood The Hitching Post & Old Country Store—an oasis of marvels with cool drinks to quench our thirst, a Conestoga wagon and stocks for fun photos, and shelves and shelves of trinkets and knick-knacks to mesmerize any child with an allowance to spend. But all those wonders paled in comparison to the mysteries of the grab bags heaped in a basket near the cash register.

I was always enthralled by the unknown: Nancy Drew was my heroine and Adam West’s Batman was my muse (what could be more enigmatic than a superhero with his eyebrows on the outside of his mask?). So, I was instinctively drawn to those unmarked, brown packages. By the age of 8, I was a hard-core grab bagger. Picking each up in turn, I carefully weighed the pros and cons of every box. The long one could be a doll or maybe a necklace; the short one a smaller doll, earrings, or maybe a stuffed animal….such wonderful treasures danced in my imagination.

As we pulled away from The Hitching Post, I’d open the box and peek inside. Of course it was never something as magical as a doll or a secret box. My mother, watching through the rear view mirror as tears rimmed my eyes, always had ready comfort: my father would like the reproduction antique bottles; the corn dish would be perfect for pickles and olives on the dinner table.

Ah, the corn dish!

WitLoveKath - Corn Dish - dish

One year, to my elation, I actually did discover a doll in the package, and back at home I added it to my collection. I now realize that it was one of those celluloid numbers with the glued-on clothes, creepy open-and-close eyes, and nightmarish haircut. It is long gone, but the corn dish still stands on a shelf of my kitchen breakfront.

Its shiny paint has not been faded by pickle or olive brine or from repeated washings. The rim has suffered no chips. In fact, the dish may only have been used once or twice—that first summer. But the corn dish is one of my favorite possessions. For me it symbolizes many things—and what kind of reader/writer would I be if I did not find symbolism in even the most common household objects?

Dipping into a grab bag represented everything life is supposed to be: unknown and unknowable until you explore, a little scary but thrilling, random, sometimes disappointing, always surprising…

And the corn dish? For me it symbolizes persistence in the face of disappointment (the life blood of any hopeful writer), longevity, compassion, idealism, hope, and humor.

I joke with my kids that the corn dish will one day be their inheritance, but really I couldn’t wish to hand down a better heirloom.

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Tales from a Car Gone to Seed

04 Friday Jul 2014

Posted by Kath Carroll in Driving, Travel

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

antique cars, Classic Car shows, gambling, humor, Jeremy Meeks, slot machines, Toyota Sienna

Yesterday, I received my property tax bill, wherein I was reminded once again that my car—a 1998 Toyota Sienna minivan—has hit rock bottom in depreciation and will soon qualify as an “antique.” I realize we live in a youth culture, but an antique? So what does that say about me?

WitLoveKath - Sienna - sienna side I

I've watched enough Antique Roadshow episodes to know that you should never clean an antique. As you can see, my Sienna retains its original "dirty patina" for maximum value.

I’ve watched enough Antique Roadshow episodes to know that you should never clean an antique. As you can see, my Sienna retains its original “dirty patina” for maximum value.

Soon I will be able to get one of those specialty black and white license plates with a picture of an old jalopy on it. It would be a welcome replacement for my front plate, which this winter fell off and became lodged in the snow bank near my garage every time I backed out and had to perform an 8-point turn to navigate the ever-narrowing passage our driveway became after multiple snow events.

WitLoveKath - Sienna - antique license plat

Wouldn’t this plate look better than the one below?

"Hang on. Let me get the plate and put it on again..."

“Hang on. Let me get the plate and put it on again…”

The new designation may have other advantages too. I could become involved in a whole new community—meet new people, go new places. I could take my Sienna to weekend car shows, tooling around unfamiliar towns and highways at 25 miles an hour just for fun. My air conditioner isn’t working at the moment, so I already have that nonchalant “arm out the window” look going on. I can picture it now—the old girl parked on a lush, green lawn in line with other beauties of bygone eras. The sliding doors will be open for better inside viewing, and I’ll be standing next to her, ready to answer any questions, such as, “Hey, pops (I know I’m a woman, but doesn’t “Hey, pops” sound more antique-y than “Hey, mama?”), how old is that stain on the carpet? What was that—a Wendy’s frosty or a brown crayon?”

I’ll mosey over to investigate the designated spot, and, with my hand on the youngster’s shoulder, say (in my newly adopted drawl), “Ya have a good eye, son. That is indeed from a melted crayon. It was 2002, and my family and I drove to Hersey Park. Crazy times. I remember Kids Bop 1 rockin’ the CD player—that was when the CD player still worked, mind you—and we stopped off at a Friendly’s restaurant for one CheesyMac, one CheesyMac and Frank (“don’t grill it”), one Chicken Quesadilla appetizer size, and one Reuben Supermelt, plus two Cone Head Sundaes. A’ course the kids were given crayons with their placemats and in two seconds they’d solved the puzzles and were on to drawin’ dinosaurs and such.

Yeah, the ol' girl has seen her share of Friendly's parking lots over the years.

Yeah, the ol’ Sienna has seen her share of Friendly’s parking lots over the years.

“I always tucked those crayons into my purse (note to self: change that to man bag?) as I slid outa’ the booth ‘cause ya never know when the car might careen into some ditch and we’d have to eat ‘em to survive.

“That partic’lar crayon raght there was used by my son to draw a Tyrannosaurus Rex. The kids did a lota’ drawin’ in those days. As ya can see, DVD players weren’t installed in these here vee-hicles.” At this, my young friend’s eyes will grow wide with astonishment and, probably, there will be the hint of a superior smirk tugging at his lips, but I’ll continue on and tell him how the crayon was dropped and then crushed under a little foot and how it fused with the carpet in a melted, matted, mound of goo. He’ll nod appreciatively, say something snarky like, “Thanks for the history lesson,” and move on to the 1993 40th Anniversary Ruby Red corvette from the National Corvette Museum Skydome sinkhole next to me.

See? Disaster can strike anywhere. Ya gotta have that survival kit. Image provided by the National Corvette Museum

See? Disaster can strike anywhere. Ya gotta have that survival kit ready.
Image provided by the National Corvette Museum.

She may be banged up--but what a story! Image provided by the National Corvette Museum.

The Ruby Red may be banged up–but what a story!
Image provided by the National Corvette Museum.

With 162,208 miles on her, the Sienna’s been a good car and is still going strong, despite a little neglect. I recently had to take the seats out to pick up a tall bookcase my daughter bought. I decided to take advantage of the open space, so Sunday I pulled her out of the garage to give her a good cleaning (inside not out, Keno brothers)—and made a bizarre discovery.

As is often the case, a small mistake led me to uncover a shocking fact: my car has been turned into a gambling establishment by some very enterprising mice or chipmunks. By following the evidence left by a careless casino patron or inexperienced attendant, I uncovered that a slot machine is cleverly concealed behind the plastic panel in the hatchback section of the van.

Here’s how the vice raid went down: one day on the carpet I spied a small spill of birdseed. This was not suspect in itself as I have hauled 40-pound bags of Lyric seed on many occasions. Indeed, a large bag can usually be found slouched near my car.

Exhibit 1: Birdseed exposed

Exhibit 1: Birdseed exposed.

As I began to vacuum up the little pile, however, the suction drew more seed from its hiding place, and soon I realized that, recognizing opportunity when they saw it, the little varmints surreptitiously have been moving product from the bag into my car to support their casino games. A little digging dislodged more seed, and deeper digging revealed more seed still. I had uncovered a goldmine. I can only think that the poker tables are kept in the spare tire tool box and the roulette wheels stashed in the backseat cup holders. I don’t even want to think about what kinds of illicit activities take place in the wheel well.

JACKPOT! Watch that seed pour into the seed tray!

JACKPOT! Watch that seed pour into the seed tray!

I don’t despair of this turn of events. On the contrary, I consider it just one more notch in the lore of my Sienna. On the classic car circuit I’ll have some notoriety, and the crowd standing on the lush, green lawn will buzz with excitement as I regale them with the story of when my Sienna went over to the seedy side.

Maybe, they’ll even make a movie. It could be called The Car that Spewed Birdseed or Birdseed Jackpot or—given a Hitchcockian twist—The Birdseed.  It could star Jeremy Meeks—expanding on his modeling career—as a handsome felon with a heart of gold who recruits a bunch of mice (chipmunks have been done) to run a mobile casino that stays just one mile (one kilometer for the European market) ahead of the law. When they are finally caught, Meeks’ character inadvertently takes a glamour mug shot and his meteoric rise to fame begins. I’m thinking Disney might be interested. Mickey Mouse could play the evil pit boss in yet another dark, revisionist character treatment.

Darn that Mrs. Meeks!

Darn that Mrs. Meeks!

Yes, the ol’ Sienna has many tales to tell. She’s not getting older; she’s just getting better.

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Driven to Distraction

09 Thursday Jan 2014

Posted by Kath Carroll in Animals, Driving

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Connecticut, deer, distracted driving, driving, humor, peddle pubs, squirrels

January 1st ushered in a new wave of laws across the country, many of which involve distracted driving. It’s no different here in Connecticut, where our politicians have begun cracking down on unsafe motoring practices.

One such law aimed at eliminating a common winter hazard states that drivers must now remove all snow and ice from the hood, roof, and trunk of their car or face a fine of $250 to $1,250. This is a good thing. After a snowstorm here, it’s not unusual to find yourself driving video-game style, swerving left and right, to avoid the home-plate-sized chucks of ice launched from the vehicle in front of you or plowing ahead temporarily blinded by a Star Wars-brilliant blast of the white stuff or both at once.

WitLoveKath - Snow - car with snow on top

Image courtesy WTNH

Image courtesy WTNH

That’s why I’m glad to see our representatives finally recognized these obstacles for what they are: a detriment to maintaining optimum commuting speed.  I mean, how can drivers tool along at the unposted but generally agreed upon 80 miles an hour when they have to worry about an unexpected avalanche? 75 maybe, but 80? no way.

While this law is a good beginning, it doesn’t go nearly far enough. Due to the quirks of our highways and byways—from super raceway I-95 to the narrow, hilly, winding back roads—there are many other harrowing and absurd driving distractions I’d like to see our state government deal with.  One concerns Connecticut’s diverse population.

On any day at any given time, you may encounter on our roadways deer, chipmunks, turkeys, groundhogs, raccoons, possums, crows, seagulls, and of course squirrels. Each of these denizens of our great state has their own rules for the road, but I think it’s time for them to be rounded up and formally instructed by the DMV. Their punishment for noncompliance? No free access to bird feeders ought to put a little fear into ‘em.

Deer eating from bird feeder

Chipmunks, however, get a free pass. They already know how to run pell-mell across the road without looking right or left to avoid an oncoming car. Deer, on the other hand, would need to take the advanced course as they seem to have a “surprise party” mentality to the road—hiding patiently in the woods and then leaping out in front of unsuspecting drivers. Groundhogs and possums? Come on, guys. Let’s hustle! You can waddle when you get home.

WitLoveKath - Snow - deer running - cropped II

WitLoveKath - Snow - deer at crosswalk

After taking the Advanced Safety Course, this deer learned the rules of the road.

Birds may take special handling. The big ones—crows, seagulls, and geese—know they can bench press your car if they have to. And they know you know. So they take their sweet time strutting across the road, occasionally pausing to toss you a haughty look before finishing their stroll. I once even had an extra supercilious seagull bombard the road ahead of me with clam shells that broke upon contact. I could hear his echoing laughter all over the neighborhood as I drove into my mother’s driveway with a flat tire.

WitLoveKath - Snow - seagull dropping clam

And then there are the squirrels. What can I say? Just make up your mind already!! They start out. They stop. They go again. They dart to the middle of the road and sit up. They survey their surroundings. They quiver and sniff. Aghh, a car! They look. They run. But which way? Back—no, forward. Forward? Maybe back is better. Their talents are truly lost in the wild. They should run for office.

WitLoveKath - Snow - squirrel

But animals are not the only trouble makers you’ll spy through your windshield. There are all those other nut cases behind the wheel—or handlebars—as the case may be. One day last summer during a pleasant drive along Route 9 to Barnes & Noble, Jenny’s and my witty banter and rockin’ tunes were suddenly eclipsed by a full moon. Passing by—way too slowly—was a motorcyclist whose pants were so low we could tell he didn’t listen to his mother’s advice to wear clean underwear or even any underwear at all.

WitLoveKath - Snow - blank picture

As with any eye-searing astrological event, I warned Jenny to avert her eyes, but too late. If we’d had a piece of cardboard with a pin hole in it, we could have used that, but lacking this we both suffered damaging effects that linger in our nightmares to this very day. Thus, I’d be the first to support a law banning such posterior posturing. In fact, I can see the digital billboard now—COVER YOUR TAIL OR GO TO JAIL.

Maybe that motto could replace the outdated DRIVE SOBER OR GET PULLED OVER signs. Why do I say outdated? Because Wisconsin has found a way to accommodate drinking drivers, and I’m sure other states will soon follow suit. Recently, Governor Scott Walker signed into law “Peddle Pubs.” Yes, one of Hammacher Schlemmer’s “The Unexpected” and one of my very own “If I Win the Mega-Millions Lottery Wish List” items (https://www.facebook.com/kathryn.f.carroll/media_set?set=a.10201524979110529.1073741830.1358367119&type=1).

Facebook - The Isn't This Really Illegal Pedal Pub

Peddle pubs are rolling bars powered by 16 happy imbibers, eight on either side of a gleaming counter where they can rest their elbows and their pints while making their way around town. Perhaps these pubs could even hang dart boards from the roof to further entertain their customers and provide a bit of excitement for passersby. My fear, though, is that these vehicles will just become the human equivalent of the squirrel. Getting 16 bleary peddlers to agree on one direction? “Let’s go right.” “No, left!” “Straight ahead, straight ahead!” “Backward!” “To a restroom!”

You know, now that I think about it, until the Connecticut General Assembly resolves these many road risks, I’m going to walk.

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