I lost my Dad three years ago today. We only knew for about 2 months that he had cancer, although I suspect he knew longer. He was always protecting his girls, if he could. It was a few days before Thanksgiving, but of course that was American Thanksgiving anyway which Daddy only celebrated under duress. Thanksgiving, of course, is the second Monday in October!
Was I still thankful? After I lost my second and last parent, leaving my sister and me to wipe up our own tears and hold ourselves together? Yes, always thankful. He gave me more than I ever realized growing up. He gave me appreciation of British automakers, despite their being a fussy bunch. "That's not a car; that's an Aston Martin!"
Thankful for the gift of confidence. Daddy would offhandedly say, "well yeah, we'll give that a try" at any challenge presented. Building a hydroplane, making a flight that was departing in 5 minutes and we were 10 minutes from the gate, cancer. He just wasn't afraid of much. And never asked for help. Like ever. I KNOW he gave me that trait.
Thankful for the gift of inquiry. If you don't know something, keep your mouth shut. Then go look it up, and know it. And still keep your mouth shut. He believed in an old English theory that you're only given a certain amount of words to use per day. I bet he always thought I'd used mine up by 10 am.
Thankful for the gifts of cursing. Daddy worked in a copper mine in the summers in college. Learned a whole lotta blue language that his minister grandfather was unaware existed. I learned quality cursing from Daddy when he was hammering things or working on his car. It's important to be able to express oneself through language.
Thankful for the gift of minimalism. He didn't know it, but he taught me a lot about minimalism. He was NOT a minimalist, as his extensive book collection can attest. But after our family cabin burned in 2011 and we lost every brick and board of that building, Daddy silently affirmed that we don't need things or a structure for memories, we just need to be. It's all still there. The cabin rose again like a phoenix, and at that point I realized it's never about stuff. It's about people and places. And memories. I decided I wouldn't assign value to material things again.
I miss my parents like crazy. But knowing they were honorable and loved each other till their deaths is comfort. They gave me gifts of travel, college education, and love for cars and chocolate, and for those, I am eternally grateful. If all their books (Daddy's), sewing notions (Mom's), and anniversary china (bought by Daddy but for Mom), vanished tomorrow, it wouldn't change one thing in my heart. Because thankful.
Sunday, November 19, 2017
Thursday, November 9, 2017
The Journey of the Lotus
For those who don't know, I am the second owner of a 1970 Lotus Europa S2. Here is her story.
My father had always been a motorhead. He didn't have a car as a teen in rural British Columbia where he spent his childhood, but he built and raced hydroplanes on the nearby lake, surely giving his mother conniptions as he would roar by spewing water and exhaust. By the time he went to university and met and married my mother, he began eyeing cars for his own. Along came my sister, so the sporty plans went to the wayside, and in their place an affordable Volkswagen. Fortunately safety concerns weren't really stringent in the 60's, so the fact she was rolling around on the back seat as an infant wasn't too concerning.
A degree each, a job, and another kid later (me!), my parents found themselves in the outskirts of London, with Daddy working in town and Momma minding the children. Daddy had done some reading about Lotus' racy two seater, the Europa S2, and decided to check them out. Off we journeyed to the factory about 30 miles east of London. I am assuming he wrote them a check that very day, and they began production on HIS Lotus.
The lore I have been told over the years is that he got to visit the car as it was being assembled. Admiring the transmission, commenting on the Renault engine as it was installed, and choosing the paint color. The color was listed as "Bahama Yellow", but it always looked orange. Never yellow. It is yellow in its current state, finally.
It was delivered to him in May 1970, as the little plaque mounted between the seats still declares. He drove it all over England, and he and a buddy took it on a ferry across the channel to destroy the roads in France, Germany, and of course, Monte Carlo. A high point of racing for him was a day at Brands Hatch in Kent near where we lived. Jackie Stewart was racing that day, too. Daddy felt among the British racing elite.
My family explored much of the English countryside in that car, with me sitting astride the transmission hump and my sister between my mom's knees. Again, safety not a big list-topper in 1970-71. I am told I would yell "Car running! Car running!" when Daddy would fire her up. With its rear mid engine, it produced an enjoyable race car soundtrack that's still music to me.
When the oil business summoned him back stateside, the Lotus was carefully shipped back with us. It was a left hand drive, as Daddy predicted a return to North America within a few years. We spent a few years in Calgary, and Daddy found some race tracks to test her mettle in Canada. The Lotus was driven a fair bit back then, but after a subsequent relocation to Houston and its intolerable heat, Daddy found his Cadillac Coupe de Ville and its wicked air conditioning more palatable. The Lotus was relegated to the garage bay, protected with a car cover. Friends (especially the boys) would come and admire Daddy's cool car. I remember him driving it some, but not much.
Fast forward to the early 2000's. Daddy had found a Hungarian guy who liked to work on Italian sports cars, and agreed to get the Lotus running again. It was in his shop for many months fixing this and that. I remember Daddy would call me and report he took the Lotus out on the toll road to open her up. And then he'd say "the damn thing overheated again. I MUST have Karnack look at the radiator". Karnack wasn't his real name. I think that was Johnny Carson's mind-reading character, but Daddy couldn't pronounce his Hungarian name.
My mother was diagnosed with lung cancer in 2002, and the years preceding her death did not bring any joy in driving the now 30 + year old Lotus. After her death in 2006, he did do some driving, but the Lotus had to live in an off site garage as their townhome only had room for two cars and did not permit street parking. Daddy belonged to a Houston area Lotus owners group, and enjoyed taking the Lotus to a few events. He ALWAYS showed it off at the annual Daughters of the British Empire Car Show, as my mother was a card carrying DBE member, and Daddy organized the show even after her death.
When Daddy was diagnosed with cancer in 2014, he, even from his hospital bed, was organizing the trophy purchase for that car show. It was to him, after all, his responsibility. Someone need to get that "Best in Show" award! He died much too quickly, leaving us with heartbreak and memories, and of course, the Lotus. Here is where my grown up life comes in.
I had to go and bring her home. I went to the garage where the car was, dragging my husband and younger son along for moral and physical support. I had literally only started that car probably once in my life, and now I was going to try to load it on a borrowed car trailer and take it 250 miles back to my house. Oh, and I'd driven a car up on a trailer a total of zero times prior to that day.
The car hadn't been started in I have no idea how many months. I brought jumper cables, hooked them up, and prayed (and I am not a praying type). She started. She freaking started! Hallelujah! But then, reverse. Where was reverse? Why would it not go in reverse? Put it in neutral and push (she only weighs about 1400 lbs). Wouldn't hardly budge. Warned my son about her fiberglass body and that she could break with too much pressure.
By this time, I am yelling at everyone, especially the car, begging Daddy from beyond to tell me HOW THE HELL DO I GET THIS THING OUT OF THE GARAGE. Finally, after shoving and cursing, I got her to slide out of the storage unit. As if guided by the spirit of my recently deceased Daddy, I drove her around the block of storage buildings and up on the car trailer. First try. Success.
I stared at her in the rear view all the way home that day, which was Valentine's Day 2015. We got her off the trailer successfully and tucked in my garage, safe from the elements. Of course, she would now only start off and on, and my level of car knowledge peaked at where to put gas and how to check oil and tire pressure (and now how to drive on a car trailer!). I reached out to some folks at the North Texas Lotus Group, and several were kind enough to offer input, and one even came all the way to the house to work on her (Thanks, Bryan!).
Once in my care, I named her Moneypenny. Daddy never named his cars. He said he had enough trouble naming the daughters he sired; he sure wasn't naming something made of steel and rubber. Psshhh. I name my cars. Moneypenny was James Bond's secretary, and since Daddy was a Bond fanatic and I would be spending money and pennies to get this car going, it was totally appropriate. Moneypenny needed work. A friend recommended British Auto Specialists here in Fort Worth, and we patiently waited for them to have room in their schedule for my classic car that needed some serious ICU care.
Finally in May of 2017, we had the Lotus towed over to their shop. The brakes were darn near clamped down, so it took me and the 250-lb burly tow truck driver to get her out of my garage. I waved good-bye as she trundled off down my driveway to the car hospital. Many months and moneypennies later, we got the call she was roadworthy. I had ordered all new tires to be shipped to the repair shop, and the guys got Moneypenny's new shoes on, so she was ready.
I drove over to get her and cried half the way there. The Lotus restoration also restored a piece of my broken heart. I would get to drive her again and channel Daddy each and every mile. Funny, I never was permitted to drive the car when he was alive, but now it's my piece of him. The upholstery even smells just like I remember from my childhood.
I hugged the British Auto guys, demanded they pose for photos, and carefully boarded her for the drive home. I have to drive without shoes, because the accelerator and the brake are insanely proximal to each other, plus my feet are big anyway. I made it the 15 miles home with no untoward events and didn't even stall out, despite it being years since I drove a standard. Only cried about 1/4 of the way home; I was too busy waving and feeling like a badass that I had mastered making a left turn and not killing the engine.
When I got home, I armor-all'd her interior and vacuumed the carpet. I reattached the "Built to Order for Gordon D. Feir, May 1970" plaque to its spot between the headrests. I wiped out the boot, polished the chrome, and proudly told her: Welcome Home, Moneypenny. I do solemnly swear to drive you regularly, treat you with respect and care, and love you forever.
I think Daddy would be pleased and proud that she is finally resting with me, and I am honored to be entrusted with her safety.
My father had always been a motorhead. He didn't have a car as a teen in rural British Columbia where he spent his childhood, but he built and raced hydroplanes on the nearby lake, surely giving his mother conniptions as he would roar by spewing water and exhaust. By the time he went to university and met and married my mother, he began eyeing cars for his own. Along came my sister, so the sporty plans went to the wayside, and in their place an affordable Volkswagen. Fortunately safety concerns weren't really stringent in the 60's, so the fact she was rolling around on the back seat as an infant wasn't too concerning.
A degree each, a job, and another kid later (me!), my parents found themselves in the outskirts of London, with Daddy working in town and Momma minding the children. Daddy had done some reading about Lotus' racy two seater, the Europa S2, and decided to check them out. Off we journeyed to the factory about 30 miles east of London. I am assuming he wrote them a check that very day, and they began production on HIS Lotus.
The lore I have been told over the years is that he got to visit the car as it was being assembled. Admiring the transmission, commenting on the Renault engine as it was installed, and choosing the paint color. The color was listed as "Bahama Yellow", but it always looked orange. Never yellow. It is yellow in its current state, finally.
It was delivered to him in May 1970, as the little plaque mounted between the seats still declares. He drove it all over England, and he and a buddy took it on a ferry across the channel to destroy the roads in France, Germany, and of course, Monte Carlo. A high point of racing for him was a day at Brands Hatch in Kent near where we lived. Jackie Stewart was racing that day, too. Daddy felt among the British racing elite.
My family explored much of the English countryside in that car, with me sitting astride the transmission hump and my sister between my mom's knees. Again, safety not a big list-topper in 1970-71. I am told I would yell "Car running! Car running!" when Daddy would fire her up. With its rear mid engine, it produced an enjoyable race car soundtrack that's still music to me.
When the oil business summoned him back stateside, the Lotus was carefully shipped back with us. It was a left hand drive, as Daddy predicted a return to North America within a few years. We spent a few years in Calgary, and Daddy found some race tracks to test her mettle in Canada. The Lotus was driven a fair bit back then, but after a subsequent relocation to Houston and its intolerable heat, Daddy found his Cadillac Coupe de Ville and its wicked air conditioning more palatable. The Lotus was relegated to the garage bay, protected with a car cover. Friends (especially the boys) would come and admire Daddy's cool car. I remember him driving it some, but not much.
Fast forward to the early 2000's. Daddy had found a Hungarian guy who liked to work on Italian sports cars, and agreed to get the Lotus running again. It was in his shop for many months fixing this and that. I remember Daddy would call me and report he took the Lotus out on the toll road to open her up. And then he'd say "the damn thing overheated again. I MUST have Karnack look at the radiator". Karnack wasn't his real name. I think that was Johnny Carson's mind-reading character, but Daddy couldn't pronounce his Hungarian name.
My mother was diagnosed with lung cancer in 2002, and the years preceding her death did not bring any joy in driving the now 30 + year old Lotus. After her death in 2006, he did do some driving, but the Lotus had to live in an off site garage as their townhome only had room for two cars and did not permit street parking. Daddy belonged to a Houston area Lotus owners group, and enjoyed taking the Lotus to a few events. He ALWAYS showed it off at the annual Daughters of the British Empire Car Show, as my mother was a card carrying DBE member, and Daddy organized the show even after her death.
When Daddy was diagnosed with cancer in 2014, he, even from his hospital bed, was organizing the trophy purchase for that car show. It was to him, after all, his responsibility. Someone need to get that "Best in Show" award! He died much too quickly, leaving us with heartbreak and memories, and of course, the Lotus. Here is where my grown up life comes in.
I had to go and bring her home. I went to the garage where the car was, dragging my husband and younger son along for moral and physical support. I had literally only started that car probably once in my life, and now I was going to try to load it on a borrowed car trailer and take it 250 miles back to my house. Oh, and I'd driven a car up on a trailer a total of zero times prior to that day.
The car hadn't been started in I have no idea how many months. I brought jumper cables, hooked them up, and prayed (and I am not a praying type). She started. She freaking started! Hallelujah! But then, reverse. Where was reverse? Why would it not go in reverse? Put it in neutral and push (she only weighs about 1400 lbs). Wouldn't hardly budge. Warned my son about her fiberglass body and that she could break with too much pressure.
By this time, I am yelling at everyone, especially the car, begging Daddy from beyond to tell me HOW THE HELL DO I GET THIS THING OUT OF THE GARAGE. Finally, after shoving and cursing, I got her to slide out of the storage unit. As if guided by the spirit of my recently deceased Daddy, I drove her around the block of storage buildings and up on the car trailer. First try. Success.
I stared at her in the rear view all the way home that day, which was Valentine's Day 2015. We got her off the trailer successfully and tucked in my garage, safe from the elements. Of course, she would now only start off and on, and my level of car knowledge peaked at where to put gas and how to check oil and tire pressure (and now how to drive on a car trailer!). I reached out to some folks at the North Texas Lotus Group, and several were kind enough to offer input, and one even came all the way to the house to work on her (Thanks, Bryan!).
Once in my care, I named her Moneypenny. Daddy never named his cars. He said he had enough trouble naming the daughters he sired; he sure wasn't naming something made of steel and rubber. Psshhh. I name my cars. Moneypenny was James Bond's secretary, and since Daddy was a Bond fanatic and I would be spending money and pennies to get this car going, it was totally appropriate. Moneypenny needed work. A friend recommended British Auto Specialists here in Fort Worth, and we patiently waited for them to have room in their schedule for my classic car that needed some serious ICU care.
Finally in May of 2017, we had the Lotus towed over to their shop. The brakes were darn near clamped down, so it took me and the 250-lb burly tow truck driver to get her out of my garage. I waved good-bye as she trundled off down my driveway to the car hospital. Many months and moneypennies later, we got the call she was roadworthy. I had ordered all new tires to be shipped to the repair shop, and the guys got Moneypenny's new shoes on, so she was ready.
I drove over to get her and cried half the way there. The Lotus restoration also restored a piece of my broken heart. I would get to drive her again and channel Daddy each and every mile. Funny, I never was permitted to drive the car when he was alive, but now it's my piece of him. The upholstery even smells just like I remember from my childhood.
I hugged the British Auto guys, demanded they pose for photos, and carefully boarded her for the drive home. I have to drive without shoes, because the accelerator and the brake are insanely proximal to each other, plus my feet are big anyway. I made it the 15 miles home with no untoward events and didn't even stall out, despite it being years since I drove a standard. Only cried about 1/4 of the way home; I was too busy waving and feeling like a badass that I had mastered making a left turn and not killing the engine.
When I got home, I armor-all'd her interior and vacuumed the carpet. I reattached the "Built to Order for Gordon D. Feir, May 1970" plaque to its spot between the headrests. I wiped out the boot, polished the chrome, and proudly told her: Welcome Home, Moneypenny. I do solemnly swear to drive you regularly, treat you with respect and care, and love you forever.
I think Daddy would be pleased and proud that she is finally resting with me, and I am honored to be entrusted with her safety.
Me, in 1971, already the driver's seat.
Daddy looking professional (he was 29 here) and me hopping in again.
Calgary Hill Climb
1971
Daddy at a car show in Houston.
November 2011
Loaded on the trailer and ready to leave Houston for Saginaw!
February 2015
Finally roadworthy and ready for her trip home.
Lloyd and Jeff from British Auto Specialists are with me.
November 2017
We Get it. You're Busy. Enough Already!
Welcome to November, Minimalist friends! Is your calendar starting to fill up with school events, a party or two, and of course, family time for Thanksgiving and Christmas? And yes, if you come from a numerous-parent household, doesn't the fun seems to exponentially grow as your patience decreases similarly? You have our sympathies.
Busyness is a much discussed and maligned concept. As minimalists, we want you to feel less busy so you can enjoy your time on the planet and decrease stress and freak-outs. Yet, for some reason, it's still this honor badge people want to wear on their Mommy scouting uniform. I recall a school volunteer parent meeting I attended in a room clogged with parents trying to hide under desks to avoid nomination to a committee. One of the lead mom persons asked for volunteers for something, and added, "Look y'all, I am like THE busiest person in the universe, and I can make time for this". Seriously. She actually threw down that sword and asked a room full of parents to step over it. I tried to organize a coup, but instead I hid under the desk with the others.
I am not having a Busy Olympics with you. I'm just not doing it.
I have found most people who blather on about how busy they are do it for two reasons. One, it's the honor badge. You're super important and you have so much to do and everyone wants your time and what a star you are (sews badge on MomUniform) The other is that you're a shirker, and you are looking for an excuse as to why you can't do something. I always believe you have time for what you want to have time for. If you want to work out, you'll find an hour to do it. If you want to watch the entire second season of Stranger Things, well, you seem to eke out the time, don't you?
Busy Mom is a bullshit term anyway. What person do you know who has grown an actual human, or been chosen to raise one, who is not busy? You are completely responsible for the needs of shelter, food and companionship for a whole person?!? That sounds like a busy day to me. Whether you stay at home, work outside the home, or even as an heiress, because you have to hire and fire staff all the time. It's work, people.
So take how busy you are and stick it -- deep in your calendar. Make some time for what's important. For you, it may be exercise; it may be a friendship or spouse you have ignored. Carving out time shows you actually care about what you're making time for. And whatever you do, do NOT tell us you're so SO busy. Because we will organize a Mom coup and take you down.
Busyness is a much discussed and maligned concept. As minimalists, we want you to feel less busy so you can enjoy your time on the planet and decrease stress and freak-outs. Yet, for some reason, it's still this honor badge people want to wear on their Mommy scouting uniform. I recall a school volunteer parent meeting I attended in a room clogged with parents trying to hide under desks to avoid nomination to a committee. One of the lead mom persons asked for volunteers for something, and added, "Look y'all, I am like THE busiest person in the universe, and I can make time for this". Seriously. She actually threw down that sword and asked a room full of parents to step over it. I tried to organize a coup, but instead I hid under the desk with the others.
I am not having a Busy Olympics with you. I'm just not doing it.
I have found most people who blather on about how busy they are do it for two reasons. One, it's the honor badge. You're super important and you have so much to do and everyone wants your time and what a star you are (sews badge on MomUniform) The other is that you're a shirker, and you are looking for an excuse as to why you can't do something. I always believe you have time for what you want to have time for. If you want to work out, you'll find an hour to do it. If you want to watch the entire second season of Stranger Things, well, you seem to eke out the time, don't you?
Busy Mom is a bullshit term anyway. What person do you know who has grown an actual human, or been chosen to raise one, who is not busy? You are completely responsible for the needs of shelter, food and companionship for a whole person?!? That sounds like a busy day to me. Whether you stay at home, work outside the home, or even as an heiress, because you have to hire and fire staff all the time. It's work, people.
So take how busy you are and stick it -- deep in your calendar. Make some time for what's important. For you, it may be exercise; it may be a friendship or spouse you have ignored. Carving out time shows you actually care about what you're making time for. And whatever you do, do NOT tell us you're so SO busy. Because we will organize a Mom coup and take you down.
Saturday, November 4, 2017
'Tis the Season for Consumerism!
Happy Fall, Minimalists! After we toss our melting carved pumpkins in the neighbor's yard, we are awakened by the toll of Christmas bells and TV ads with snowy scenes beckoning holiday shoppers. Seriously, people, it's November. Let me appreciate wearing a sweater with my flip flops before I deal with Christmas cheer, okay?
I think the pressure ramps up every year to buy early and often. Remember our parents talking about Christmas club at the bank? You would actually SAVE money all year in a special account which then in DECEMBER you would use to provide Christmas for the family. Like 11 months of savings and one month of enjoying the fruits of your year of sacrifice. Not 11 months of paying off the credit debt you acquired in November and December, only to repeat the joyous cycle again the following year.
Why don't we do that now? Who decided to start Christmas November 1st? And pay for it until next year (and beyond)?
Many minimalists opine about spending your money and time on experiences, not things (click here for Joshua Becker's great post). I completely agree, although I like a great pair of boots or my new iPhone as much as the next guy. I have noticed as my kids get older, they just appreciate fewer things, and the things have more intrinsic value. For example, my younger son plays guitar, like, all the time. He is pretty good at it, and it is a consuming hobby for him. As with many hobbies, it becomes a place to sink some cash for accessories, lessons, and opportunities. It is also a hobby with a lifetime of joy associated with it. I can't say that for the latest edition of Call of Duty for the Xbox. Sure I spend some of my disposable income supporting it, but it seems actually less disposed of.
Consider this as the ads beckon and the siren song of Black Friday calls to you: buy what you can afford to buy today, not repay a year from now. Avoid the temptation of a great deal or the thrill of the chase. It's SHOPPING for heaven's sakes, not the Indy 500. There is nothing to win. When you die, your family will not be as happy with your collection of Hallmark ornaments as you once were (guilty as charged).
Enjoy November, Minimalist friends! Fall is the time to be like a tree, and let the dead leaves drop.
I think the pressure ramps up every year to buy early and often. Remember our parents talking about Christmas club at the bank? You would actually SAVE money all year in a special account which then in DECEMBER you would use to provide Christmas for the family. Like 11 months of savings and one month of enjoying the fruits of your year of sacrifice. Not 11 months of paying off the credit debt you acquired in November and December, only to repeat the joyous cycle again the following year.
Why don't we do that now? Who decided to start Christmas November 1st? And pay for it until next year (and beyond)?
Many minimalists opine about spending your money and time on experiences, not things (click here for Joshua Becker's great post). I completely agree, although I like a great pair of boots or my new iPhone as much as the next guy. I have noticed as my kids get older, they just appreciate fewer things, and the things have more intrinsic value. For example, my younger son plays guitar, like, all the time. He is pretty good at it, and it is a consuming hobby for him. As with many hobbies, it becomes a place to sink some cash for accessories, lessons, and opportunities. It is also a hobby with a lifetime of joy associated with it. I can't say that for the latest edition of Call of Duty for the Xbox. Sure I spend some of my disposable income supporting it, but it seems actually less disposed of.
Consider this as the ads beckon and the siren song of Black Friday calls to you: buy what you can afford to buy today, not repay a year from now. Avoid the temptation of a great deal or the thrill of the chase. It's SHOPPING for heaven's sakes, not the Indy 500. There is nothing to win. When you die, your family will not be as happy with your collection of Hallmark ornaments as you once were (guilty as charged).
Enjoy November, Minimalist friends! Fall is the time to be like a tree, and let the dead leaves drop.
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