Monday, June 16, 2008
One of the craziest things that has happened to me recently was having my car die at a junk yard called Crazy Ray's. Imagine a parking lot full of mechanics sitting out in the sun in junky cars waiting for their buddy to emerge from a virtual dumpster dive with the alternator needed. Imagine two girls in one of the nicest cars in the lot, my lovely '04 Honda Civic that has never given me ANY problems until the day that the battery decides to die beyond the hope of a charge in a PARKINGLOTFULLOFMECHANICS. Although some might think that it is unlucky to have a car die out of no where, I couldn't help but feel blessed as Walter and his buddy jumped to my aide wielding a wrench and switching another battery for mine until we got the car running (if only for one more trip).
Ray is my grandpa q's name and Raymond would have been my middle name had I (or any of my sisters) been a boy. I was thoroughly enjoying myself at the junk yard thinking about my grandpa's shop, QAC, and all the visits we had there growing up. I love the smell of grease, metal and rubber like others might love the smell of a cigar -- forever linked to the memory of my grandpa. The sweet thing is that being in a junk yard is a fun pilgrimage to remember my grandpa L as well, since he became a junk-man in retirement (dumpster diving, etc, to find treasure for his flea market stand).
Happy father's day, all.