Miss Lena Falcon
Here it is 2011 and the world is still a’rotatin’. I don’t understand what all the fuss about a new year is. All’s I know is I get some time off; time to spend with my gal down here in South Florida. That’s Lena. She’s a Falcon convertible; been part of G’s family since ’65, the year she rolled off the Ford assembly line. Man, you should see the body on this gal! Whooee! Course she is patched up a little here and there. Humans ain’t the only ones who need a little plastic surgery to boost their spirits now and then. I guess that’s why they celebrate new year’s. Everybody gets to reconnect and wish each other good health. I don’t know about you, but at our age, both Lena and I need a lot of loving care to maintain our health. Oh, I know, there’s a lot of new and improved out there but should a body be discarded just ‘cause it needs attention? G says we should appreciate rather than depreciate what we already have. Strikes me that this particular philosophy is a hard one for humans to practice. Even G who takes real good care of me and Lena, abandoned me in the California desert for 9 months.
San Diego Bolders
It was back in 2005. G had this project in San Diego that he was all charged up about. So dead of a Montreal winter we hit the road, loaded to the trusses with tools - smooth sailing all the way. We get there and G decides to camp on the site of the future house. He needs to ‘commune’ with the land or some such mumbo jumbo. So everyday he’s pacin’ back and forth round the property, layin’ out neon pink ribbon like it’s a little girl’s birthday party, talkin’ to what I figure is himself. Somethin’ about the property bein’ heavily tiered and all the boulders and how’s he gonna marry the house to the land without blowin’ the place up. Marry? I didn’t know there was such a thing as inter-entity marriage. Anyway, turns out he’s talkin’ to the boulders. Now I’m really confused. I figure these architect types must need all the help they can get. Everyday G gets up and starts pacin’ round the property and every day he gets to the swimmin’ pool area and stops dead in his tracks and looks all forlorn and confused. Some local excavator guys come by one day – the ones blowin’ the crap out of other sites, the ones G doesn’t want anythin’ to do with ‘cause he believes in preservation not intervention and they start mockin’ him and all his pink ribbon. G ignores them and keeps pacin’ and talkin’. Honestly, I don’t get these people sometimes. It only makes sense that if you’re lookin’ for answers it’s best to listen first. I mean how can anybody hear anything if they’re always yabberin’ away in their heads? Well, ole G, he finally figures it out and after a night spent listenin’ to all them boulders – a veritable rock concert - he finally figures it all out.
Sketch of San Diego Project
Problem is the housin’ crash hits California big time and the project is tanked. G flies back to Montreal leavin' Ole Blu all alone to sweat it out in the desert for nine months. Nine months, abandoned in the sand while the desert heat sucks all my joints dry. G finally shows up and I can tell he’s thinkin’ about ditchin’ me all together. But he airs up the tires and charges up the battery and miraculously, off we go. G’s got a big grin on his face like this time he’s fooled the gods. Hmmph! Little does he know Ole Blu travels with his own set of gods. And they were not happy! They know I need more attention than a spark of electricity can give. Three hundred miles later they show their disapproval when Bham! the back tire blows, ripping off the back fender and takin’ out the hydraulic brake line. There’s me loaded down and careenin’ all over a two lane desolate country back road like a drunken tower of Pisa on wheels. Folks, I gotta tell you – no such thing as a quick fix. Still, I gotta hand it to G – he’s a fast learner. He remembers our history together and all the tight situations I’d gotten him out of and realizes I am as valuable as ever. So with the help of a couple of good mechanics, he coddles and babies me all the way back to Montreal. Now it’s six years later and I’m runnin’ better than ever as we barrel down Alligator Alley. Where’re we off to? Stay tuned folks ‘cause that’s another story.