A Spin in the El Ranchero

 

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My friend and I were exchanging stories about the cars we used to drive. He's a car guy, and I mentioned having a funny car story for later when I had more time. That was a while ago, and yesterday my friend reminded me that he is still waiting for the story, so here it is. It's about one of the cars I drove in my teens. Or was it a truck? The reader can determine the proper terminology after learning all the facts.

Not a bedtime story

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I'm not sure how the book In Cold Blood ended up on my reading list, but it had been there for years. I heard about the murders a long time ago, and I have vague memories of seeing the movie. When I ran across the paperback at the library, I checked it out in a hurry. Funny though, as I was reading it, I mentioned the title to two friends, and neither one had ever heard of it.

        A true murder is not exactly sweet dreams material for someone like me who settles down to read at night before going to sleep. This book is different from the ones I typically reach for, but I was curious enough about what happened to this family, that I gave in to the urge, and I prepared myself for a tough read. 

Time runs faster than I do

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My dear friend from high school and I reconnected after almost forty years, and we decided that for our birthdays, which are two weeks apart, we would celebrate with lunch at a restaurant. With that event in motion, we kicked it up a notch and invited other classmates to join us. We reserved a room, ordered a cake from a bakery, and spread the word. On a Saturday at noon, about twenty of us showed up for fried fish and hush puppies and remembering our teenage years. 

    The lunch idea took off and continues monthly to this day, but because I live in another state, I rarely attend. When I see the announcement of the next gathering, I sigh.

    I especially sighed when I heard that Mrs. Loggins, my tenth grade English teacher, popped in at one of the luncheons. Mrs. Loggins stands out in front of all my other teachers, and I would have given anything to see her.

    Considering that I would never have the chance to meet up with Mrs. Loggins, I settled on writing a letter, to tell her about such things as me sitting on the edge of my seat when she carried us through MacBeth, and that by picking my short story as the best one and reading it to the class, she gave me confidence in my writing. 

    Penning a letter to Mrs. Loggins was always the next thing to do.