These are the last, beautiful days for a ride in the convertible. The 2-door, red, ’65 Plymouth with a white, canvass top has been part of our family since Ken spotted it on Rockford’s used car row during the seventies. The previous owner had left information in the glove box and my husband phoned him before we became a two-car family.
The Fury’s snappy and fun to drive with its 4-on-the-floor transmission. One day, I pulled into a service station to fill up. A pair of old gassers sat on a bench in front of the convenience store. I overheard one of them say, “Wow! Look at that old girl. Somebody’s sure taking good care of her.”
I was the mother of teenagers and appreciated the compliment. I stood a little straighter as I stepped out ot use the pump.
The senior citizen spoke up, “Ma’am. what year’s that car?”
“A ’65 Plymouth Fury.” I slumped as I realized it was the automobile the man was admiring, not me.
The following spring, a gray Corvette stopped along the curb in front of our house on a Sunday afternoon. I didn’t know anyone who drove a sports car. A tall, slender man got out and headed toward the garage where Ken was working. I thought the fellow must be seeking directions. When my husband came into the house, he said, “That was the guy who used to own the convertible checking that it had a good home. He’s probably in his forties, single and farms over by Popular Grove.”
The old rag-top aged into a classic and needed fixing up. Ken found a fellow who restored autos at reasonable prices. The two of us walked a lot of junkyards looking for replacement parts.
Do you do something that makes you feel young and carefree for a few hours?
Lolita: What I am about to say is only for your eyes, but I would say that lying in bed with Sid is the only thing that makes me feel young again. It will be too bad when those feelings die.
Good for you. Ken’s prostate surgery ended some good things but I’m glad to have him alive these 24 years.