I could crab about my challenging, over-the-top, swamped day at work and how I didn't think I'd ever get everything done I had planned to do, much less the 'surprises' I had. But I won't.
Instead, when I got home from knit group tonight (definitely dusk) I spotted this in the parking lot next to my house:
Look closely at the license plate -- it's the same age as me and sure looks a whole lot better!
Check out the sidewalls and hubcap:
No doubt about which model it is:
This picture is a truer color than the first few. The owner is no doubt getting ready for the Woodward Dream Cruise coming up next month. That's when everyone who owns or loves classic cars comes out to take in all the chrome and smell all the fumes.
Most of us growing up in the Motor City relate closely to automobiles. We remember the cars our parents had when we were kids or the cars our grandparents would drive to visit us. Everyone remembers the car they learned to drive on and most assuredly recalls their very first car.
My Dad worked for Chrysler so we had plenty of their products. Dad drove a 1968 purple Charger, Mom had a 1971 orange Challenger -- say aren't those cars in production again??! The first car I owned was my grandfather's 1966 Dodge Coronet. I had no misgivings about it -- it was darn ugly. But it got me where I needed to go. It was also my first accident when I got sandwiched on the way home from school listening to Beach Boys on my 8-track player. The guy behind me pushed me into the rear end of a giant white Pontiac Catalina convertible driven by a girl from school that I loathed. I broke my front tooth and split my lip, bleeding all over my new powder blue raincoat that I had just gotten for my birthday. Waaaah.
I bet you have some fond memories of the cars from your past, too.