Well, well, well, look who's blabbin' now! If cars could talk I'd have to bribe mine just to keep quiet! ANYTHING not to embarrass me any more than this tale already does. I'd pay her off with the finest grade of oil, premium fuel, and maybe even break down and wash the farm dust off her sweet red body.
If cars could talk, I'd be in a heap of trouble. I guarantee it, as we say here in PA.
What does your vehicle say about you?
What does it communicate about its owner? My father always says with a grin that I'm weird and eccentric. Of course, so are my artistic sisters, but he says I take the cake! Ha! Now looking at all the eclectic things I have in my car, I pretty much think I should acquiesce to this statement. OK. I
agree! First, on the passenger side of my seat is my honey bee hat & veil, a fine stylish set of gloves to the elbow, and a sharp hive tool. Weird? Well, for my Dad.
Every farmer has to have a hunting or pen knife. As an artist, I keep one just in case I come across some squirrel road kill. Must be the little bit of Native American in me wanting to use everything or maybe I'm just a genius! The squirrel fur on the tail makes excellent brushes to hold massive amounts
of washes for water color paintings, too expensive to buy in the stores, in my opinion. I told a man friend this and he said, Sandi, you are so eccentric! I looked at him in horror with a pale face, because I know the definition of eccentric. Webster's' Dictionary says it means odd or whimsical behavior deviating from the
norm. But he saved himself by quickly adding, "But in a charming way." Whew! A big sigh of relief. Guess it's the Tomboy in me.
My car tattled on me!
Here are some other "found objects" my car blabbed about to everyone. Let's see, here is a 1968 Myrtle Beach sweatshirt that was bought quite large so my younger sisters could wear it after me, but I hid it and still have it. All seven of us would travel in my parents' station wagon to Myrtle Beach in
the 1960's and 70's and stay with my mom's sister. Oh, the good old days: care free and innocent.
Amongst the zip lock bags of music tapes in my car are a couple of opera ticket stubs from better financial times. Darn! I miss my pera partner Fr. George. We would hang with the big boys for a champagne brunch and lecture on the opera. Ah, the finer days gone by!
What else is in here? There is an army blanket from Sunny's Surplus with an army issue shovel and choir books with music sheets on top of scattered escaped chicken feed crumbles. Hmmm... there are art pads, a folding chair and TV table for Plein Air painting, a harmonica and...BONGOS?!!!! Well, one must
have something to jam with in case of an emergency. Don't leave home without it, right?
I was always so proud to say that my cousin Tommy was a beatnik! No kidding! We are talking pre hippie days! You know how kids are...I studied his every move. He played his guitar with long grown out fingernails for natural picks. And he played bongos! So very cool I thought!
My mother is a late-in-life child so all my cousins were older than we were. There was always live music with all of us kids and extended family members playing some instrument, doing stand up comedy, singing from my mom all the time, art everywhere and deep discussions for we were all thinkers,
ponderers and doers. A great mix of intellectuals and artists.
Next to the many dollar store sunglasses are the empty water bottles thrown carelessly onto the back seat floor like drunken sailors on leave. My friends laugh when they look at my farm vehicle with the "permafrost" layers from prehistoric days! I call it endearingly, my Vehicular Compost Pile. Now and
then I leave my windows open and rain sneaks in. I aerate the car compost by shuffling my feet in the back...it helps the compost break down much faster. As kids around the dinner table, my sisters and brother would laugh and ask who is going to inherit my father's treasured compost pile. We fought over that one until my
youngest sister, Monica won out! Lucky girl!
My car always says that there just isn't enough time to read. There must be a whole library of books, writing tablets and at least 15 pens nestled nicely next to the eccentric Chinese wax paper parasol umbrella my girlfriend Melanie gave me years ago for use on sunny days. That way I can just say NO to
the Diva of cancers...AKA Little Miss Melanoma. Sounds like a nice Italian Diva's name, but my car said "She is NOT NICE AT ALL! Cars know these things. They talk, you know..."
Girly Car Talk
The one time in my entire life I was pulled over for speeding was in the Fairfield School zone, of all places! I didn't see the flashing lights warning of the 15 mph limit instead of the normal 35 mph. It just figures that was the one time my car's big mouth went mute! I was further humiliated by the
policewoman yelling at me for the mess in my glove compartment when she asked for my registration and all this "very important stuff" burst out of the glove box. Real important things like napkins, plastic forks and spoons, church keys, old Google map directions, flashlight, surgical gloves, hand sanitizers, insurance papers
and registration papers from ...um... 5 years ago? Umm ... I knew I was in trouble ...
Thank God Almighty that my car didn't speak up and tell about the guns, grenades and dead bodies in there. Oops! Only kidding. I suffered through 30 minutes of public humiliation from passersby recognizing me and saying, "Hey, there Sandi, gotcha self a problem? What'd ya do this time?" Others just
screaming my name. I was mortified! Well, at least there were no dead animals in the car ...this time.
And I am proud to say there are never ever any fast food containers in there. My car says she hates that stuff. That would be over the top, way too embarrassing, don't you think? Just plain over the top! Like the rest of it wasn't.
So, as Capital One says, "What's in your wallet"? MY car rudely asks all of you, "What's in YOUR Vehicle"? Now do ya see my point? What's a girl to do? MY CAR TALKS! And it is BIG TROUBLE!
Read other articles by Sandra Polvinale