I left the house without using the bathroom first which isn’t
a good idea for young children, pregnant ladies, old people and dogs who can’t
ask how far it is to the next rest stop. I was running errands---the post
office, the bank, dropping stuff off at Goodwill then at plastic recycling,
paper recycling and media recycling---none of which had bathrooms. Well, except
for Goodwill if I’d gone inside the place but they practically do body
cavity searches with their eyes before they’ll unlock the door for you. What exactly are they looking for, a magician's coat with pockets big enough to hide rabbits and doves? A fake pregnancy bump? A hollow leg? If they sold high-end goods I could understand the twice-overs but there isn't anything in the place that costs more than twenty bucks.
Across the street is my favorite grocery and big box store but I avoid that place between Thanksgiving and Christmas because it’s as crowded as a well-tended worm farm so after the above errands I was headed to my second favorite grocery store, next door to the Guy-Land Cafeteria where I planned on having lunch. But they were five miles away and I didn’t think I’d make it there without peeing my pants. That’s when I heard the donut shop calling my name. It’s been open for three years and that’s how often I’ve been inside the place. There's something about sitting in a place that sells sweets with no redeeming quality that's embarrassing when you've been a “fatty-fatty-two-by-four” at different points in your life. But my bladder made the motion to stop and my brain seconded that proposal saying, Diet Season is less than a month away. A little sugar on your hips won’t stay there for long.
Across the street is my favorite grocery and big box store but I avoid that place between Thanksgiving and Christmas because it’s as crowded as a well-tended worm farm so after the above errands I was headed to my second favorite grocery store, next door to the Guy-Land Cafeteria where I planned on having lunch. But they were five miles away and I didn’t think I’d make it there without peeing my pants. That’s when I heard the donut shop calling my name. It’s been open for three years and that’s how often I’ve been inside the place. There's something about sitting in a place that sells sweets with no redeeming quality that's embarrassing when you've been a “fatty-fatty-two-by-four” at different points in your life. But my bladder made the motion to stop and my brain seconded that proposal saying, Diet Season is less than a month away. A little sugar on your hips won’t stay there for long.
There were twelve people in the donut shop, all skinny or near enough
to it. Why, oh why can’t I be one of them? I lamented as I ate the best lemon bismask I’ve
ever had. It may have been the only lemon bismark I’ve ever had and as I tried to
find an answer to that question in my Lost Memories File I heard a young mother
laugh and tell her daughter that she was wearing her donut on her face. She was
and it seemed to please the cutie pie immensely. When I left the place that little girl struggled
to hold the door open for me. I thanked her and couldn’t help adding, “You
ARE wearing your donut on your face. That’s a pretty shade of pink.” Her mom laughed
again or maybe she never stopped and I wondered how long that frosting would stay there before it got washed
off. I also wondered if the lemon bismark had time enough to make it to my hips
because that’s where I wear my donuts.
My trip to the bank, by the way, was to deposit money (minus his commission) my friend Tim
brought over for selling an item for me. It was a 12” x 9” x 28” model of a Fisher Body Napoleonic Coach (photo above.) These models were built in the early1930s and
submitted by high school students to Fisher Body (once a division of GM) using a
set of plans provided by the company. The students were
competing for significant scholarship money and many of those who participated in the contests went on to get design and engineering positions in
the auto industry. These craftsman's guild coaches don't come up for sale often and
this one was unusual because it had all its documentation and patterns plus the original shipping crate that was also built to
the specifications given by Fisher Body. I wanted to keep that custom painted crate in the worst way with all its freight labels back and forth still plastered in place, but it was the only one we'd ever seen and I couldn't bring myself to be the one who separated it from its coach.
The day my husband came home with that Napoleonic coach he was one
proud American Picker The thrill of the hunt was running high and it remained
one of the jewels in his crown of glory that other pickers envied. But 87 years
takes a toll on glue and I spent nearly a full day rebuilding wheels and
hanging window shades and putting other trim pieces back in place. As I worked on the coach I debated between selling it and donating
it to the Gilmore Car Museum. I’d already donated a large, framed grease and maintenance
chart for a 1905 Reo Motor Car and was sure they’d welcome this coach too. But past tax breaks for
donating stuff like this doesn't work in the Trump era so I felt I had to go for the
cash in hand.
The person who bought the coach took a plane from Florida
to pick it up, then rented a car to drive it and himself 1,400 miles back to Florida because neither he, Tim or I was willing to trust something
that fragile to get shipped. He's an investment broker who will display it in his office. I'm glad it has a new home where people will see it, even though a museum or GM executive's office would have been a cooler ending for me. However, no one goes to that much trouble to acquire something without knowing its place in the history of auto transportation and I'm sure its story will be retold many times. The torch has been passed....and just in time for Christmas. ©
 |
| This was not built from a kit. The boys had to manufacture every part out of wood, metal or fabric and they had to sign a pledge that they didn't have any help. |
 |
| Inside where passengers rode. The window shades and door locks even work. |
