Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

Well, after nearly a year of trying to sell my 1988 Ford Ranger, Red Arrow, it's finally over. We sold it for $50 to a junk dealer.

This wasn't what I had wanted to do, but in the end there was simply no other choice. It seemed as we were going to sell it to a guy who was going to fix it up. He was willing to give us $200 for it. But then he backed out of the deal, saying he'd found himself another car.

So the idea then became that I'd go home this weekend and sign the title over to Dad so that the next time he found a buyer he could take care of it more quickly. But he'd made arrangements, instead, to sell it to the junk dealer and get it over with.

The Gryphon and I arrived at Dad's place Saturday afternoon, and then Dad and I drove down to the junk dealers. Red Arrow, however, wouldn't start, because the battery was low or something. We were going to have the junk dealer jump the truck so he could drive it back.

The junk yard was a small one just to the north of town, in the countryside. We walked inside, which was a big cluttered shop, crammed floor to ceiling with dusty packages containing every variety of auto part imaginable.

Dad spoke to the owner and told him why he was there, and he got us the paperwork to sign. He asked me to step behind the counter to take care of it. But he kept getting called away to deal with customer after customer. Even though there were several employees there, he seemed to be the only one who could give a definitive answer on things.

A woman with her hair done up Mennonite style also passed through to tell him about a mutual friend who had ended up in the hospital.

One of the employees was a really tall, really heavy guy, weighing probably 400 pounds. I wondered how he managed to squeeze between the crowded aisles all the time without knocking anything down.

Finally, the only thing that was left to do was to hand over the keys and get the $50. The junk dealer said we'd do that once we got the truck. So we all went downtown to give the truck a jump.

Now, I had left the truck with Dad under the impression that it would be easier to sell it in a rural area than it would in suburban Philadelphia. Dad agreed to help me sell it from there, and part of the deal was that he'd start it up and drive it around the block once a well. Well, apparently he'd started it up but hadn't driven it at all.

I'd told him about the problem with the steering fluid leak and the fact that you had to put up the hood and put more steering fluid in. Well, he hadn't done this the entire time, apparently. This became completely obvious when the hood was frozen in place and we had to manhandle it to get it open to jump it.

No wonder we couldn't sell it.

I know Dad drove it at least once, thought, because he had moved it from the original position. But he hadn't been driving it around, a fact he finally admitted.

When they drove it away, in addition to the chronic rust, the fact that the hood was now caked with some sort of tree dirt and the fact that the hood was resting loose, the gray exhaust, and the latch to the cap had been broken by the junk dealer manhandling it open, not realizing it was locked ... well, with all that, it certainly looked like it belonged in a junk yard.

It was sad seeing the truck roll away. I had so many memories for that truck and really had hoped to put it into the hands of another owner rather than a junk dealer. I can only console myself that the useful parts will go to people who can use them.

Of course, my dad managed to find exactly the wrong thing to say at this moment: "That sure frees up a lot of space in the parking lot!"

After the unpleasant task was accomplished, we called Mom to talk about plans for dinner. She invited us over to have a meal made from her Weight Watchers cookbook. We only had to pick up a few things at the grocery store first.

We'd considered stopping at the nearby community yard sale, but there simply wouldn't have been enough time. So we picked up the ingredients and drove to Mom's: diced tomatoes, mushrooms, eggplant and bananas, for making a turkey tomato ragout and banana bread.

Mom is getting thinner all the time. I could tell when I hugged her that she's definitely shrinking. I gave her a violet vest I'd been planning to get rid of. While it's a little small on her now, I'm sure it will fit her soon.

She wanted to show us some of her recent watercolors. Mom is very excited about an idea I'd mentioned in passing about writing a book of children's poems and having her illustrate it. But I'm not close to starting it right now, because I'm working on a different poetry manuscript to submit to a publication contest for which the deadline is November.

Then she directed me to the boxes of books she'd set aside. She has shelves of books lining the back wall of her room, so many they're falling all over. I'd told her about my Amazon.com venture, Penn Wood Books, and she's promised to go through her books and give me some. It gives me some free inventory and helps clear out her place.

Most of them were old cook books, but some people may find them useful. When I pulled one of the books out of the box and said, "Oh, cool book," she decided the next day she had to have it back.

After a nice dinner, Dad, The Gryphon and I drove to the local mall to see Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. The movie was a visual treat: a vision of the future as imagined by people in the 1930s. The script was an affectionate tribute to the science fiction serials of that day.

The Sky Captain is a typical movie hero. The reporter, Polly, is determined to get her story. The loyal friend Dex. All straight out of something like Buck Rogers.

More from this weekend:

September 28, 2004 - After the Flood

Copyright 2004 by Alyce Wilson

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