My husband’s old work van, an ‘89 Ford Econoline, is about to die. It’s been on it’s last legs for some time, and before it dies on the road, it’s time to put it out of it’s misery.
Nicknamed the the Bismark by my husband and also the ficken-wagen* by my husband’s old neighbor, it has seen better days. But somehow it has lasted this long.
It was purchased in 1993 used, a replacement for it’s predecessor, an ‘81 Ford Mustang, a.k.a. The Bitch Magnet. It has been sideswiped several times and in 3 accidents. One accident totalled the car that rear ended us, while The Bismark remained mostly unharmed, aside from a tail-light bulb needing replacing.
It has 130,000 miles on it.
It has dents on every side.
The air conditioning doesn’t work.
The heat doesn’t work.
The shocks are gone.
The body is rusted.
The overdrive hasn’t worked in years, so don’t bother trying to take it on the freeway.
The cooling system was jimmy-rigged together with nuts and bolts by a crazy mechanic.
It is entirely covered with paint spills.
The cassette player eats tapes.
The interior trim is falling apart.
The rearview mirror falls off periodically, no matter how much we reglue it.
Only one speaker works.
The steering column had to be replaced last year, and it didn’t exactly match, so you can’t tell when you are in neutral or drive or reverse.
And, to add insult to injury, some goofy punk snapped off the antenna last week.
So…..
This week, we hunt for a new work van. Another Ford Econoline. Good-bye, Bismark, it’s been good times.
*In “proper” German I think it should be Fickkleinebus but I’m not quite sure.
My mother just gave me this picture of my recently departed grandmother on a cruise ship in 1988 (I’m assuming with some performers on board, but who knows).
This photo was taken on the last cruise she took with my late grandfather, before his dementia worsened. And as you can see, that little 5-foot woman had a marvelous time on this one.
After my grandfather passed away in the mid 90s, Omi decided to finish off all of the equity in her house enjoying herself on cruise ships. She sent to me this picture from one of them in 1997, standing next to a native of Pago Pago (Samoa).
In the accompanying note, she writes,
Dearest Kira,
How does this pic grab you? I am holding a turtle that is over 100 years old and tries to get under my blouse! I wish the guy would have wanted that! Is he gorgeous, or what?
Love You,
Omi
If he only knew.
The woman dancing with me in this photo, wearing the wig (and that very see-through, hand-crocheted-by-herself dress), is my grandmother, Gerda, whom I called Omi. This picture of us is from my wedding in 1998. She died today of heart failure at the ripe old age of 87, and was my last living grandparent. It was unexpected, after a short illness.
Quite a character, she was not an easy person to have as a family. Overall her life had had some tough spots, and I am sure that was partly a consequence of that. However, the person we called Hurricane Gerda — a tiger of a woman who put fear into the heart of many a waitress, city council person, and family member — grew into a mostly sweet, appreciative little old lady with dementia who was much easier to love. She was able to reconcile somewhat with her son the last years of her life (they hadn’t spoken to each other in over 30 years, until my wedding).
Up until a few days ago, she lived fairly independently in a senior home, despite her dementia (which I wrote about this past December). She was just getting to the point where my parents thought it might be time to move her. Thankfully, she was spared having to go through the stress of adjusting to assisted living or a nursing home, and suffered little at the end. Although I miss her, I feel very happy for that.
A culinary genius (of plastic food).
I hate to admit it but I have a problem with piles.
And no you sicko with a dirty mind, I am not talking about hemorrhoids, I’m talking about piles of paperwork and stuff that needs to be put away.
Right now I’m at record high for piles… A total of 5. Here’s Pile #1…
I bought the stacking pile thingy to solve my pile problem originally. Unfortunately , piles propagate like bunnies and the file thingy overfloweth.
This pile on our dining table seems to ebb and flow like the tide. I almost killed that one.
One of these piles was stuffed under here when I needed to entertain at our dining table. Of course after the guests left, pile #3 returned as pile #2. Pile #4 in the box is the oldest pile, and I usually leave that one alone and pretend like it isn’t there. If there is something that I can’t find in the house, that is the last pile to be searched.
This is my upstairs pile which exists because I am too lazy to bring things down to my downstairs pile.
As you can see, blogging about being disorganized is much more fun than actually getting organized.
This is what one of my dear friends did to my yard Xmas Eve (unbeknownst to me).
(click to enlarge the top image)
When your house is under 600 square feet, everything gets minaturized.
