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My dear old Grandma loved her cars. And she had a lead foot! In my earliest memories she was tooling around in a 3rd gen Thunderbird. That was followed by a ’69 Camaro before her sons stuck her in a Monza to slow her down. It didn’t.
She always had ’40 Ford around that we all learned to drive on. Three on the tree.
A favorite memory of mine is the time she had to drive me to the hospital to sew back on a finger. With no one else around and no other cars available, she had to drive the Ford – by that time, she had diminished in height and could not see much over the wheel. But after she left the yard she never touched the clutch, driving that flathead with perfectly synched shifts fast and smooth.
I still have that Ford along with her ‘New 23rd Psalm’ tribute to the car. I hope no one takes offense – I know she didn’t mean it. It goes something like this – I’m sure everyone can relate:
New 23rd Psalm -
The Ford is my auto, I shall not want.
It maketh me to lie down in muddy roads; it leadeth me into trouble; it draweth on my purse; I go into the paths of debt for its sake.
Yea, though I understand my Ford perfectly I fear much evil lest the radius rods or the axle might break. It hath a blowout in the presence of mine enemies. I anoint the tire with a patch, the radiator boileth over. Surely this will not follow me all the days of my life, or I shall dwell in the house of poverty forever.
Moral---Equip your Ford with one of the improved cuckoo clocks; when the car reaches a speed of 25 miles an hour, the bird will come out and sing “Nearer My God to Thee”; and at 40 miles an hour “Lord I Am Coming Home.”
Awesome! What a great Saturday morning read. I like the part about no clutch. She must have been a real character! A lot of New England Yankees in my background too.
