The bar for peaches was set impossibly high for me in the late summer of 1967 when I tasted perfectly ripe peaches for the first time while my old man and I were picking prunes in Utah.
Sometimes I feel a LITTLE (only a little, sadly) guilty when I think of the things we did in the 60s and 70s.
Bill and I drove his '65 Chevy from New Jersey to California (before we were married). We had to push the car to start it; we parked it on downhill slopes all the way across the nation... we were young! and in love! Somehow we survived!
Thanks always for the great writing and wonderful way you generously share your life history with your readers.
Great to hear from you, M. I am delighted you like my writing. I had no idea you and I such traditional Catholics these days did similar wild things during the 60s and 70s!
I had a car that wouldn’t start either. After we got a place in San Francisco, our van stopped starting. We replaced a lot of parts, the usual suspects, such as the starter, and the battery, but finally the problem was found to be in the solenoid. George didn’t want to put any more money into getting the van to start with a key, so the only way left to mechanically start the car was to crawl under the car with a screwdriver and short out the connection between two posts on the solenoid. If George was with me, he would do the deed. Otherwise, I would be the one crawling under the van.
Then I got pregnant and eventually, I couldn’t fit under the van anymore. George would push the car if he was going someplace with me, while I popped the clutch when the van got rolling fast enough. San Francisco has a lot of hills, so sometimes I wouldn’t need any help to get the momentum going. When I needed to start from a flat spot, I developed strategies when I wanted to go anyplace alone when I was obviously pregnant. I would ask strangers passing by, "Can you give me a jump start? My car won’t start.” As if that was anything new.
Sometimes I would join a helpful person in pushing the car until it picked up enough speed for me to jump into the driver’s seat and shift into first. Other times, my helper would use his car to push my van until it was up to speed.
From MM:
Loved it, Roseanne!
Made me nostalgic, actually.
Sometimes I feel a LITTLE (only a little, sadly) guilty when I think of the things we did in the 60s and 70s.
Bill and I drove his '65 Chevy from New Jersey to California (before we were married). We had to push the car to start it; we parked it on downhill slopes all the way across the nation... we were young! and in love! Somehow we survived!
Thanks always for the great writing and wonderful way you generously share your life history with your readers.
We appreciate it! (I know I do.)
Great to hear from you, M. I am delighted you like my writing. I had no idea you and I such traditional Catholics these days did similar wild things during the 60s and 70s!
I had a car that wouldn’t start either. After we got a place in San Francisco, our van stopped starting. We replaced a lot of parts, the usual suspects, such as the starter, and the battery, but finally the problem was found to be in the solenoid. George didn’t want to put any more money into getting the van to start with a key, so the only way left to mechanically start the car was to crawl under the car with a screwdriver and short out the connection between two posts on the solenoid. If George was with me, he would do the deed. Otherwise, I would be the one crawling under the van.
Then I got pregnant and eventually, I couldn’t fit under the van anymore. George would push the car if he was going someplace with me, while I popped the clutch when the van got rolling fast enough. San Francisco has a lot of hills, so sometimes I wouldn’t need any help to get the momentum going. When I needed to start from a flat spot, I developed strategies when I wanted to go anyplace alone when I was obviously pregnant. I would ask strangers passing by, "Can you give me a jump start? My car won’t start.” As if that was anything new.
Sometimes I would join a helpful person in pushing the car until it picked up enough speed for me to jump into the driver’s seat and shift into first. Other times, my helper would use his car to push my van until it was up to speed.
As you said, somehow we survived.
- Roseanne
Roseanne:
Wow. An interesting story. Thanks for sharing it.
We have the blessing of fruit this Sunday. Maybe I should get some Trader Joe's peaches!
God bless!
Father Anthony