Weather Girl

The blonde is my aunt Irene. She would only wash her hair with rain water. She swore by it.

Against the Tide

 Once I had a school assignment to create an imaginary island. I didn't know where to start. My dad was the parent who helped on science projects and geography. We did a science fair project about osmosis. I don't remember the scientific principle, but I carry a torch for scientific glassware. My dad's idea for the imaginary island was to have all of the place names be words spelled backwards. Inspired. Then he came up with a name for the island and it was shocking and funny. Could I really to go to school with an island named TRAF?  A tantalizing invitation to cross a line. I suspect that my mom drew the line. 

So Much Riding On It

Mr. Beard is etched in my memory...tall, thin, crew cut with a small bald spot, and natty in a white dress shirt. Probably on his way home from work. Mr. Beard was stopping to look at my aunt and uncle's pink and ivory '57 Chevy. My aunt told me that If we were going to go on the planned vacation tomorrow, she had to sell the Chevy today. And she and I couldn't let on. She talked and I willed Mr. Beard to buy the car. 

Bobbie and Harold

OMG

There wasn't much art hanging on the walls. Wall paper was the dominate decor in our house. This was the picture that hung in my bedroom. I think it sent the wrong message. Every night I'd see those kids on this treacherous bridge, alone in the middle of nowhere, after dark. If that wasn't bad enough, if they look over their shoulders they are going to be scared spitless when they see that huge hovering thing. I thought that was God.

Sixties Field Trip

Robert Kennedy at Portland State, March 1968

Terry picked us up in her dad's car. We were headed to Portland to see Bobby Kennedy. We were stoked. We were skipping school and, we were driving a '67 Pontiac LeMans 2-door hardtop with bucket seats. Primo.

Three high-school seniors mingling and tingling amidst a sea of college students. RFK! RFK! Candidate and prince. Heavy.

At the end of the day, Terry and Kris dropped me back home and before they got a mile away, they were rear-ended. They weren't hurt, but that pristine, turquoise LeMans got creamed. Bummer.

Quicksilver

Uncle Douglas brought over a vial of liquid mercury and poured it out on the kitchen table. Don't touch. He and my dad teased it with pencils, but it was stubborn and elusive. They were conducting an experiment. I took it to be an illicit experiment. 

 
Loading mercury with a pitchfork 

your truck is almost full. The neighbors

take a certain pride in you. They

stand around watching.

Richard Brautigan

They Don't Make 'Em Like That Anymore

Jim's VW convertible

My friend, Jimmy, died this week. He was sweet and funny and a ray of sunshine. Wherever he is now, I like to think of him driving with the top down and his dog, Sammy, hanging over his shoulder. Nothin' but blue skies...

Kelso -- Smelt Capital of the World

News that the smelt were running . Grab the gear, pile into cars and meet near the river.


The fish could be there and gone in a flash.

Women and kids lined the top of the bank holding thermoses. Dads, grandfathers and uncles balanced on the bank or edged into the river. Straining to get the net out far into the channel, and to lift a net sagging with pounds of swarming, silver fish back in.


Cross over the bridge, cross over the bridge
Change your reckless way of livin', cross over the bridge
Leave your fickle past behind you,
And true romance will find you,
Brother, cross over the bridge

Patti Page hit song, 1954

Driven to Distraction

Evasion by Alan Dausson. 1990

I turned 60 yesterday. Wonder where I'm headed now.

My blog project is done. Wonder if I'll miss the work.

My Road & Track arrived. Wonder if I can contain myself.



Thanks for reading. I'll be posting every Friday for a while yet.

Carold

Harold & Carol

All along, I was supposed to be named Peggy. Or, Alan, had I been a boy. The story goes that when I arrived, I just wasn't a Peggy. So, I became Carol. (Carol Ann, if I was in trouble). My aunt's name was also Carol, but I wasn't named after her. Anyway, that's what my mom would always say. Maybe it was a zen koan. Early on, my nickname was George. It seemed to be an inside joke. I must have been like some George. Seems unlikely that it was taciturn Great Uncle George. I'd prefer that is was George Gobel, the dry-witted comic actor.

I Read It for the Pictures

Road & Track data panel

Dad had this idea to buy an old Porsche and put a VW Beetle engine in it. That was the first I'd heard of Porsche. I bought my first copy of Road & Track at a swap meet not too long after. I wanted to read more about foreign cars, but I didn't want any guff about it. So began my years of hiding a guilty pleasure. "It's for my cousin. He's a shut in." Each new issue was delicious for its photos, off-the cuff writing, and magazine design. My comprehension of performance details never really improved, but I could name almost any car on sight. And, if Road & Track liked it, so did I. I was a slavish devotee and it served me well.

The Portable Life

Bring back the VW Squareback

At some point after college, I inadvertently adopted a minimalist lifestyle. I only bought furniture that would fit in my car and the total volume of all of my belongings had to fit inside said car. Hatchbacks worked best, but I didn't choose my cars based on cubic footage. I bought the car I wanted and reduced the amount of stuff to fit the car. Valid for renters only.

Journalism Major

Moving in. McMahon Hall UW. 1971

My carefully considered college wardrobe was this purple jacket, two pairs of Levis cords, one wheat and one rust; two coordinating blouses made by my mom; and, I'm guessing, moccasins. Mom and Dad set me up with a portable stereo and traveller's checks I would cash every two weeks for spending money. We had lunch at IHOP before they headed back home. You can take the girl out of Kelso, but you can't take Kelso out of the girl.

Driver's Ed

Our brand new 1966 Beetle which I would own one day.

I'm posing. I hadn't learned to drive yet. Clutches made it difficult for me. I'm wearing my Lassie sweater. Lassie, as in a Scottish girl, not the canine TV star. Kelso High highlanders, scotties, lassies, etc. We Lassies sat in the bleachers spelling d-e-f-e-n-s-e and making an organized ruckus for the laddies.

I thought the sweater was a good look on me.

Red Dog Cottage

Here's Bevie with our first dog, Rudy. We'd just picked up the rental truck for the move from our Capitol Hill condo to a house with a yard on Beacon Hill. If not for Bevie, there wouldn't have been Rudy. If not for Rudy, there wouldn't have been the house and Benny. As Bevie likes to say: "It's all worked out beautifully."

Happy Birthday, Bevie!

Summer Rituals

Drive-in movies; new pair of Keds; spotting a falling star; the mosquito fog truck; squirt guns; snow cones; birthday picnics with chocolate cupcakes; a loop around the Seaside turnaround; Ella Mae, wearing a pith helmet while mowing her lawn; and the blimp. Once every summer a blimp would fly over Kelso. The unmistakable sputtering sound of the props was my cue to run outside and follow its odd transit.

21-foot Cabin Cruiser

Dad christening the L'il Carol

It must have taken him two years to build the boat and trailer. Nights and weekends in the garage. Steaming wood in the bathtub, de-burring stainless steel welds, laying fiberglass, sanding and varnishing.

The launch physics were complicated. He'd back the trailer in until you could begin to hear the car's tailpipe bubbling in the water. One last shout of instructions. With everyone in place, he'd jerk the Chevy forward to shake the boat loose. The freed boat's momentum would rarely favor the person holding the bow line. Success was measured by how dry you could stay.

Mom & Eddie's Driveway

One in a long line of Eddie's Chevy pickups

On Christmas Eve, my grandparents' driveway filled up with cars. Everyone wanting to get close to the door to unload for the parties and overnight stay. I could keep watch on the arrivals from our house on the hill above. No sense rushing into the tangle. Closer to party time, our driveway and yard filled up with my dad's family. Party clothes, borrowed chairs, electric skillets buffet, and Mahalia Jackson.

Mom & Eddie's House

My grandmother, Mom, me and Nickel

I didn't have to knock.
I didn't have to do or not do anything.

Legendary

www.aerocarforsale.com

"Look, there's the Aerocar." Moulton Taylor lived in Longview and sometimes flew his Aerocar out of the Kelso Airport. I saw it being driven one time, but it wasn't towing its wings. The Aerocar wasn't a commercial success and only five were built.

Probably sick of reading Golden Books to me, Dad told me stories of the underdog car makers like Taylor, Kaiser, Tucker and Amphicar. Ingenuity trumps success.

Aggravating Circumstances

When Dad got a hankering or as relief on hot evenings, we'd head for the Dairy Queen. "One soft chocolate cone, one dipped cone and a chocolate shake." And, when a hot fudge sundae made it into the lineup, that was a special kind of wonderful.

I don't think Uncle Jerry had such wonderful  memories of the Dairy Queen. He took my mom and me out for burgers in his new 1956 aqua and white Chevy and I put the first blemish on it. When you aren't tall enough to see over the front seats, you must stand on the backseat. It was the discarded pickle I was standing on that bumped my infraction up to a felony.

Photo from Uncle Atom on Flickr.

Clam Fritters

Mom & Eddie's 1950 Chevy

It was a day trip from Kelso to Long Beach. We'd drive right onto the beach and set up for the day. The car served as windbreak, chuckwagon and dressing room. But more often, our beach trips meant digging for clams. We were prodigious clammers. If we had one, our family crest would feature a razor clam.


Clam Clan: (counterclockwise) Me on my Aunt Carol's lap, Uncle Tommy, Eddie, Dad, Mom. My grandma, "Mom," is the photographer.

Social Studies

Mrs. Jackson sometimes sang in class. She had a determined, yet warbly, vocal style. Even though I tried to stifle a laugh, there was no tamping it down. On each occasion, it devolved into full-throated laughter. I regret being unkind, but I am perversely proud of that Zero.

Things I Thought I Would Be But Never Was

Able to hear dogs speak to me. Adopted. Left handed. Red headed. A prodigy. A tennis pro. An archaeologist. A Californian. A high school teacher. A naval officer. A feminist. A journalist. A radical. A medical technologist. A meter maid. An artist. A cartoonist. A cartographer. A world traveler. An interpreter at the UN. A beach volleyball pro. A poet. Fluent in Esperanto.

18 Degrees Below

We lived with my grandparents while my dad built our house on the lot next door. I grew up running between the two houses. Mom and Eddie always had dogs and cats. One day Eddie came up with a present for me. Under his jacket was a puppy, my first dog, Butch. That's Butchie in between Eddie and the white dog on a hay truck. This photo was taken the year Mom & Eddie tended a ranch in freezing cold or blazing hot Dairy, Oregon.



Butchie of Sunrise Street
Sire: Bobby Cawlfield
Dame: Nickle Ribary
Grand Dame: Cocoa Ribary

George Booth

One of my favorite New Yorker covers by a favorite cartoonist.

S.I.S.T.E.R.

This is me as a nascent, feminist lesbian. My car wore a bra, but I didn't.