Again, my dream made me a young man. I was with others, driving in cars on wide, busy boulevards. Sunshine blessed us so we had the roof down on my car, which was turquoise. An entertaining time was being had. It was all about a car show. All these old model cars were there to be judged. We guessed there were hundreds, maybe thousands. Old Porsche variations and European sports cars and GTs dominated, but there were also 1960s and early 1970s American muscle — Mustangs, Camaro Z28s and SS, Firebirds (including Trans-Ams), Cougars, GTOs, Cudas, and Chargers. All the cars were silver except for a few black, white, and turquoise ones, with one other exception. Silver abounded, making us laugh.
We had a list of the cars and were driving around to see them but the cars being judged were also being driven around, creating an entertaining game. Friends had their cars entered, and so did Dad, and old silver Thunderbird. Although I was sometimes driving, I was a passenger at one point, looking at the list of cars. I call it a list, but it was like a small newspaper. The car’s make, model, and year would always be in bold. I was running my thumb along the lists, exclaiming as I noted friends and celebrities’ cars, when I looked up.
Traffic was going in three lines in each direction, very busy. Ahead of us was by several car lengths was the car, I believed, the rarest and most exotic. I said, “That’s it! Catch that car.” The driver (don’t know who it was, never saw them) accelerated. Dad, who was in another car, which was gold, the single gold car in sight, said, “You’re never gonna catch them.” I replied, “Watch us.” Our car shot forward.
But the car we were chasing — was it a Jaguar, Ferrari, Lamborghini? — accelerated more. Pulling away, like they were trying to evade us, they began cutting in and out of traffic. “They’re going to crash,” I said. Dad, from the other car said, “That car is never going to crash. It can’t crash.”
Just then, the car we chased spun and flipped. Wildly, it righted in air and landed neatly. Now facing the wrong way, straddling two lanes, and now black, it sat there as cars went around it. Then it executed a backflip with a twist, landing on its wheels, now silver again, back in the right direction, in one lane, and accelerated away.
So cool, we shouted with laughter in my car. So cool.
The sun had been coming up, coming, coming up, then — wham — at 6:45 AM, sunshine lit up the trees and mountains, and exposed a clear blue sky.
Welcome to Wednesday, March 2, 2022.
It’s 53 F now. We expect ten more degrees to show up on the thermometer today before the sun’s disappearing act comes around again at 6:02 PM. They say we have a 58% chance for scattered rain showers, but the few thin clouds drifting into our realm don’t really seem interested in delivering rain.
I have several songs orbiting the morning’s mental music scream, but then read of Dee Snider’s proclamation authorizing the Ukrainian people to use “We’re Not Gonna Take It” in their fight against Russia. Though it’s a repeat as my theme music, I thought I’d use the 1984 Twisted Sister song as a to support Ukraine.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, when needed, and get the vaxes and boosters when ye can. Here’s the music. I’m slipping away for a cuppa. Cheers