MUSCLE CAR

Ours was a used car. Mom and dad had no use for new cars. They weren't broke in yet. All the kinks weren't worked out. When the calendar showed my 16th birthday fast approaching, they went and bought something big. And powerful. Something their baby girl could handle. That's right. Our family car became a 1970 Dodge Challenger...light gold metallic with a 440 hemi engine. Oh yeah, the muscle car. With mag wheels. What on earth was my father thinking? I handled that baby like butter. And don't let me leave the house p.o.'d at anything. I could burn rubber with the best of them. Oh so many memories in that car. I was designated "cool" and became everyone's "wheels" when there was anywhere to be going. My baby took us to the beach, the drive-in, the mall, and even church. I always carried an eclectic group of friends in high school. Robyn, Matthew, Danny, and I were buds. We would cruise the strip in Hollyweird and pretend we were celebrities. We would pile into the car on a hot summer day, windows rolled down, boom box radio blasting on the console, and head down to the beach. Rides home were always interesting as we would maneuver to change into our street clothes, brush the sand from our feet, and keep tempo on the dashboard to the tunes of Van Halen, Queen, and the Eagles.

I will never forget the feel of the wind blowing in my long blond hair, seeing my best friends slumped against the door, sound asleep after a long day of surf and sand and music. Woven into this tapestry of memory is music, always music... and the sound of that powerful engine as I fought to keep it under 90 on the way home. As the years rolled by, that car was my companion on a lot of clandestine journeys. Stalking trips past a certain boy's house, stopovers at the local pool hall to try and beat the house video games, ditching church, stripping down to our hidden bathing suits, and heading for Huntington Beach and the pier for some serious boy watching. Trying to convince mom and dad that the sand was there from last week's trip and the sunburn was from hanging out on the church patio listening to Sister Dorothy tell us about her children. Memories were created in that car. Sunsets watched. Nighttime city lights twinkling in the distance as we snuck up to Chantry Flats. Education happened in that car. I learned how to roll the mileage back so dad wouldn't realize we had burned a whole tank of gas headed out to a mall 70 miles from home. Distance was covered at 66 cents a gallon as we all set out on summer time adventures. Mojave Desert. Disneyland. Huntington Beach. Santa Barbara. I think my dad knew of our escapades. He trusted the car to bring me home... and it did just that. Regardless of the day's activities, secrets, or mysteries, I always slept safe and sound in my own bed. Dreaming of tomorrows - and the places we could go in my 1970 Dodge Challenger with the 440 hemi engine and the mag wheels that could burn rubber.

Kindle Dreams

I've always had a love affair with books. Since I was a baby and my brother would prop me on his knees and read his science texts to me, I've loved books. It is the feel of them in your hands. The smell as you turn the pages. The joy of scrunching under the covers and reading by flashlight. I've loved books as long as I can remember. They've been my companions. My confidants. My lovers. My friends. They soothe, frighten, enlighten, and amuse me. I peruse free and used book shelves. I explore the bowels of my local library. I can read three or four books at a time and I don't worry about keeping the stories straight. It makes for interesting and sometimes confusing nightmares about espionage, romance, and science fiction all rolled into one huge subconscious free-for-all of a night. Which is why it is curious, even to me, after nearly two years of contemplation, study, and such that I broke down and purchased a Kindle. One thousand four hundred books can be stored in the palm of my hand. I argued with myself for a long time. I would miss the smell. I would lose the joy of turning a page. I would... but I finally did it. I got the electronic thingamagig and started downloading. Fun books. Word games. Mysteries. Romances. An entire Bible. Religion. Philosophy. Meditation. How-to.

And I read. I read on the bus to and from work. I read eating my lunch. I read before I go to bed. I read waiting for dinner. I read... well, you get the idea. I can finish a 300 page book in about 2 days with my Kindle. I'm not sure how. The page turning is seamless and, before I know it, I'm coming to the end of another book. I'll start six or seven books before I settle on the one that piques my interest at any given moment. And I can download free books from my library. And free books from Kindle. I feel as though my reading horizon has suddenly expanded. But you know what I discovered? A hidden benefit. No longer am I tripping over books already read, stacked in my livingroom, bedroom, and closet. No longer do I wonder where I left off or where I left the book I was reading. No longer do I lug around a heavy book, trying to figure out how to cram it in my tiny purse. Excuse me now. There is a dashing young gentleman getting ready to propose to an serial alien killer who knows how to chop vegetables and puree cats. And somewhere, there is a five letter word that describes all of that. There I go - mixing up my stories again. But hey, it makes for interesting dreams!

Cherry Red Dreams

There is a fever brewing in town. It's cherry red. It's ebony black. It roars in the heads of locals like twin cams on a tricked-out Shelby. Old men in khaki shorts with tube socks and sandals and expensive cameras pressed against their good eye are milling about. The privileged ones wear their shiny badges on a twisted lanyard hanging proudly around their thick necks. Guys with unlit cigars dangling from their lips and women with silly hats and ridiculous shoes traipse through the lobby of the convention center. All focused on the cars. The automobiles that remind them of their teenage dreams. The tricked-out Porches that can only be driven by the very rich, very foolish, and very fast circuit jockeys. Concepts. Ridiculous. One-of-a-kind. It is an auction of these fine specimens of Italian and German and, yes, even American ingenuity. No price tags. As they say on Rodeo Drive, if you have to ask, you probably can't afford it. But wishes are free. And dreams are plenty. And for a moment, on a sunny, breezy, summer afternoon, I too wandered through the maze of elegance, gawking at the things that go vroom... reliving the desires of my youth listening to the self-proclaimed experts expound the virtues of their favorites. Shelby. Jaguar. Mercedes. Porche. Not a Volvo or a Pinto in the bunch. I've caught the fever. I am there, amongst the serious and not-so-serious. I too will wish and dream and remember. I even have a silly hat to wear.