Monthly Archives: August 2025

Zen and Automobile Maintenance

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During my married life, which was most of my adult life, I was not in charge of anything. I pretty much had all the responsibility but none of the authority. When the person who was in charge was out of town, which was a lot of the time, often I had to assume charge. Like calling a plumber. Then forever thereafter, he was referred to as “your” plumber and I was blamed if any of the work he had done didn’t measure up.

I also did not have the authority or the wherewithal to maintain the car I drove to get me and the children to school and to work. For a long time it was a big Oldsmobile diesel station wagon. (I loved that car!) And reliable maintenance did not occur. During that period, we pretty much drove our cars into the ground.

Yesterday, I had the Subaru into the dealership for its semi-annual oil change and check up. You know, tires rotated, fluids topped off. They printed out a list for me of pending services in order of need. I opted not to replace a tiny red plastic reflector on the rear bumper for $120, including labor. I came home and ordered one from Amazon for $15. If I can’t do it myself, I can return it to Amazon, no questions asked. The power steering fluid is “discolored.” I think I’l research that on Chat GPT. I can probably do that myself. Usually, this time of year, I have everything on the list done prior to my road trip to Montana. Not traveling this year, so I deferred a number of things. Nevertheless, I plan to maintain my old red Subaru with the kayak racks optimistically waiting on top. My plan is not to drive it into the ground but to drive it into the sunset.

Brand new.  No kayak racks on yet.

Dave’s and my boats loaded up.  We were  heading out .

School Days

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Every year at this time, I remember back-to-school.  Usually, I buy myself a new box of eight crayons just for the back-to-school smell.

My mother had very particular ideas about the beginning of the new school year. I well remember when I started first grade.  I think there’s a picture somewhere.  We lived very modestly right then.   We had just moved to Healdton, Oklahoma, into a tiny furnished rental house.  I had new clothes from head to toe and a “book satchel,” as Mother called it.  I only remember using it on the first day of school.  We bought the required school supplies at the drugstore.  Work books, Big Chief tablets.  Daddy had beautiful handwriting and manuscript printing, and it was a special thing for him to get out his drafting kit on the tiny kitchen table and write my name on the front of everything. I took my supplies to school that first day in my satchel.
And I remember my very last undergraduate day of school too.  My parents expected me to take very full loads every semester in college, graduate as fast  as possible, and get to work.  I did.  I remember one term I took three history classes, three literature classes, and worked for an English professor as his assistant. I’m pretty sure I never slept. I barely made my grades, but I graduated in three and a half years and, in fact, actually started teaching school in January before my teaching credentials had even arrived in the mail, the week before look my last final on a Saturday, because I had started work that week.
I always loved going to school.  Reading and writing and arithmetic. History.  Science.
I particularly loved geography. I can name every state on a map that has no printing on it.  I could name every country on the globe too.  I think it’s very annoying that Africa keeps changing.
And we had music everyday in grade school.  This consisted in singing songs from songbooks.  I know all the patriotic songs and “service songs.”  Anchors aweigh, my boys.
Later, I loved being in a marching band.  No kid who was out drilling on the football field at seven A.M. every morning getting ready for FNL’s had the time or energy to stray far from the mark.
I didn’t know when I was in grade school that my state had the poorest schools in the country.  We used both sides of the paper.  Worked problems on the black board. Shared text books. I had some really good teachers.  I wanted to be one.