Tag: GTO

Locking My Bedroom Window

In life we ultimately discover that problems require solutions. However, the solution to all problems are many times perplexing and difficult to uncover.

There are times when I feel like Sherlock Holmes attempting to solve a case. One such mystery has me quite stumped and in the tradition of Dr. Watson I will name this case…The Night Prowler and Mystery Biter.

I assure you my situation is not unique. I have spoken to countless friends and acquaintances that find themselves faced with a similar conundrum and no solution in sight.

After studying many of these puzzling acts, I find myself close to a solution.

It all began when I turned sixty-five. Sure, Social Security was now on the horizon, but I couldn’t seem to find any correlation between my case and the monthly stipend from the government. So no conspiracy theory here.

I continued my investigation.

At first it was intermittent.

A bite here, a pain there. I took little notice thinking it was something that had happened during daylight hours.

Yet after a time I realized the events were occurring closer together and far more often.

I would awaken with a large red itchy mass on my cheek. Or a sharp pain in my rib or even an inability to actually move my arm.

I became more mystified as time went on.

More frequently the first words out of my mouth in the morning were OUCH! What the hell?

Not wanting to overreact to these nighttime attacks on my body, I attempted a reasonable explanation for these occurrences.

Aliens? Not so much. I had heard they probed earthlings through the belly button and nope, no evidence of that anywhere.

Having the hassle of working sans Dr. Watson my theories often came up short.

But I persevered. My determination was inspiring. Not quite certain to whom, but I digress.

First things first. How were these interlopers entering a locked residence in the middle of the night.

Possessing a secure entrance where I must buzz someone inside, it seems rather impossible. But, of course we know that if one is determined nothing is impossible.

The bedroom window I thought. They must be climbing up and sneaking in to beat me. Yet, I     thought I might hear noises if that was the case.

I examined the possibility someone was driving a car through the window at such rapid speed it was like a flash going by in a dream. Too quickly for my eyes to even perceive.

Maybe that dream about participating in the Formula 500 wasn’t a dream after all?

No matter how I tried to imagine a plausible scenario, I couldn’t seem to come up with a viable reason why I awakened in the morning bruised, battered and full of ouchies.

I definitely wasn’t imaging these mystery bruises.

They weren’t there at night, but in the morning, I couldn’t turn my neck. Or my foot hurt, or a big red itchy bump was on my shoulder.

Was I running in my sleep? Who and what was sneaking in at night to beat the hell out of me?

What the heck, was my mattress made of, steel?

It’s not as if old age doesn’t afford you enough aches and pains, at night ghosts, goblins or ghouls are partying on my bed and kicking the hell out of me.

OUCH!

I once hopped out of bed in the morning. Eager to begin a new day. Filled with energy and ambition and tanked up with enough coffee to run a fifty-mile marathon. Okay, maybe not fifty miles.

Now if I simply turn my head to look at the clock it takes five minutes to stop the pain and another ten to turn my head back.

I’m beginning to think it’s not aliens at all. Or teenagers doing wheelies over my entire body with a GTO. I’m beginning to suspect it’s my body punishing me for not working out in college, or after. My body sees young girls with spandex on walking to the gym thinking, serves you right to suffer aches and pains after the way you neglected me.

But who knew?

To us exercise was walking back and forth to school four times a day. Riding our bikes to the drug store or playing dodge ball in a neighbor’s back yard.

It was walking to a friend’s home six blocks away and returning home before the street lights came on.

Running home from school when you got all ‘A’s on your report card.

Walking to the store for a quarter’s worth of penny candy and wax teeth.

Or chasing the Good Humor man down the street. “STOP! I need a Strawberry Shortcake Bar.”

It was going on the bus with a friend to that new giant mall and walking around there all day.

Or swimming in the summer because there was no air conditioning.

I believe that would qualify as exercise.

So why do I feel like I’m in horrible shape?

Why is my body so angry that it wakes up each morning with a chip on its shoulder, a bite or a big huge OUCH!?

We ate healthy, played healthy and there were no video games to keep us glued to a screen. Our feet were our mode of transportation and they worked great. Now it takes me ten visits to the shoe store to find a pair that doesn’t kill my feet.

Ageing is difficult enough when you can actually see the ravages of time. But the ones that are stealth, well that’s totally over the top.

I have to go now so have a great day. I’m setting up a teddy bear nanny cam in my bedroom. I’ll catch those suckers now!

Can This Old Broad Parade Down The Avenue in the Woodward Dream Cruise?

“Next year, Ferrari’s ass is mine!” Carroll Shelby

Our daily activities always seem to change with the years.

Young; school. Teen years; hanging out. Married; chauffeuring kids, fifties; empty nester activities, sixties; travel and visiting grandchildren, seventies; doctor appointments. If you’re lucky and reach your eighties and nineties, whatever you can physically handle. Anyone noticing the driving theme here?

The one constant in your daily activities has and always be, transportation. We move about daily from place to place doing, accomplishing and living.

There is however one little difference as all this movement is a constant in our lives.

Young zoom zoom. Older, OY!

At my age I‘ve noticed my body is now like an old car that spends most of its time in the repair shop.

Sure, there are more spare parts available now. New knees, hips, shoulders, hearts, kidneys, etc, etc. Being Bionic would seem to be the perfect way to keep this old clunker running at optimum speed. Yet for some reason, it doesn’t seem to do exactly what’s promised.

Hmm, this new knee is a little better for sure. The pain isn’t so bad now and I can almost do what I used to…and yet. Nope I can’t run a mile, I can’t hop over fences and Lord knows I can’t leap over tall buildings at a single bound.

Okay so I couldn’t do those things before my knee went bad, but still shouldn’t a brand-new part work like new and inspire me?

Shouldn’t my hip let me twist the night away and allow me to beat someone to the black cashmere sweater on the sale rack at Bloomie’s? Yet I’m not seein’ it.

What I am seeing is that every time I replace one part on my body another part becomes jealous and wants to get a new makeover too.

After my knee was done my hip started complaining.

“I’m not working so hard anymore. Let your new knee carry the burden. It’s new and state of the art, I’m old and tired, so screw you.” Nice talk from a hip I pampered for years.

But this isn’t about body shaming, it’s about body bitching.

I know as we age things break down a bit, but perhaps it’s because I’m from Detroit that I see things in terms of cars.

Years ago it wasn’t uncommon to see old cars broken down alongside the road. People had abandoned or simply given up fixing them over and over. No matter how much they tried to bring them back to life they never seemed to have the old get up and go. It simply got up and went. I get that.

So I became certain that fixing and repairing old cars wouldn’t achieve the desired result. Perhaps we should all just force that door open and accept that newer cars would drive past us as though we were standing still.

That is until I went home years ago and spent the day with my brother watching the Woodward Avenue Dream Cruise.

In case you aren’t from Detroit and have no idea what I’m talking about, I shall explain.

It happens one day a year in August when those who have spent oodles of money refurbishing classic cars parade them down Woodward Avenue in the Motor City. Over 40,000 cars show up from places as far away as Australia. They proudly display the original beauty of cars like a GTO or classic Corvette as they cruise the avenue while auto fans admire their handiwork.

I must admit it’s pretty impressive to see the way these old cars shine and perform like dogs at the Westminster Kennel show.

It’s as if they know it’s their day to show off for the masses and they do so proudly.

The two-tone cars, the muscle cars, the luxury, and not so much all seem to have the same glow about them.

Inside and out they sparkle like they were showroom new.

It’s not just the fact they look amazing; it’s the amount of work that obviously goes into the process. The love it took, but most of all the memories they provoke.

Because Detroiters seem to measure years in car stats, the conversation will turn to, “I remember when Chevrolet added the 409 V8 engine to the Impala Super Sport in 1961.” Or someone tell his friend “What a thrill it was when my father let me drive that Ford Fairlane two-tone blue and white on my first date with my wife.” Or, “Seriously was anything cooler than a Shelby AC Cobra?”

You might see that dreamy ‘56 pink T-Bird you never stopped wishing for. Or Ford savior Lee Iacocca’s original Mustang convertible you begged for when you got your license.

Or someone say, “Oh my goodness I learned to drive in that Chrysler with the push button controls.”  Or find yourself tearing up as you realize your cousin who was murdered had that ultra-cool blue Chevelle.Motowners,

Cars aren’t just something to drive to a Detroiter. Motowners measure their life experiences in terms of makes and models. I imagine most people do the same from other cities, but it’s not the same. Cars are in the DNA of the Motor City. Even if you leave Motown the cars never leave you.  

I went on a date with a man to see Ford Versus Ferrari. I was so engrossed and happy watching all the players I recognized from my youth, and of course I cried at the sad ending. Then I looked over and my date was sleeping. “You liked that movie?” He asked when he woke up. Needless to say, we parted ways.

Sure, to some cars are just metal and rubber, but to us they are the keeper of the memories. But as we age, they are much more.

They are a symbol of what we were and might become again. Youth, vitality, excitement.

Seeing an old Corvette sparkling like a showroom diamond restores one’s belief maybe some new parts and taking the time to fix ourselves up, we might look and feel like we just drove off the assembly line. Could zoom zoom still be in our future? I’m revving up my engine to give it a shot. Anyone know where I could find a pink ‘56 T-Bird?

My Body is Like Driving an Old Ford

 My Body is Like Driving an Old Ford

Ford Motor Company has always bragged, “We build our cars, Ford tough.”

Although I’d like to think that’s the case I must ponder the phrase Ford tough’s true meaning. Sure if you’re a truck or SUV, but what if you need body work of another kind?

I’ve suddenly turned into an old Ford needing increased maintenance and new parts every time I turn around.

Where one might think it economical to drive an older car, especially with car prices today, replacing every part has become quite a hassle and quite expensive.

It seems every time I fix something on my body, something else breaks.

Don’t even start me on the whole look of the paint job. Even Earl Scheib couldn’t replace the showroom new shine on my face.

You replace a flat tire and bang the brakes go. You put in a new transmission and boom the ignition breaks.

No different with this old tired body here.

You replace a knee and bang the hip goes.

You inject the Botox and boom the neck falls four feet.

The maintenance is constant.

I wonder if there’s enough duct tape to hold up all the parts of my body that have just thrown up their hands and said, “screw it, gravity you win.”

Aging is no fun and although most of us admit we still feel young inside, an old Ford can never look as good as a new Mustang leaving the showroom.

There are those that love to restore old cars. In Detroit there is a yearly ritual called the Woodward Dream Cruise.

Every summer those who have restored the amazing old cars from the fifties and sixties and perhaps older, including the muscle cars, like the GTO and Chevelle, Corvettes and others that looked new and shiny parade them down Woodward Avenue. Amazing what some spare parts can do.

Over one million attend the one-day happening on the third Saturday of August and it is the largest automotive event in the country.

So obviously there is a penchant to restore the old?

Well if that’s the case why not make it easier for us oldies to get replacement parts?

Auto parts stores are everywhere and you can even get the hard to find old pieces in junkyards and places that carry just that sort of thing?

But an old broad like me must search high and low to restore this face and body.

I would like to open a special warehouse for replacement parts for baby boomers.

Need a new knee, aisle three. New hips on special, two for one on aisle six and the Botox drive through is open as you exit the parking lot.

Duct tape for butt and boob lifts two for one on four and laser lifts just past the organic groceries and vitamins near the cash registers.

Blue light special on aisle one for wigs and toupees and Spanx 50% off sale in the rear.

Wow what a time saver this would be. One stop shopping for all your body needs. 

A regular Costco with samples and demos to teach you how to walk without pain, pick out the perfect arch supports and don’t forget the all important tooth whitener for your implants. Oh and implants on aisle eight where all the painful screaming is coming from.

Yep, after a trip to the body parts store you’ll come out shiny as new with your hood ornament gleaming.

Now if Detroit could come up with this and build all the parts Ford tough, I’m all in.

Sadly, it takes more than duct tape to lift your butt or your boobs. Baby boomers are definitely in a conundrum because we all feel so young inside but the outside despite creams and lotions and a healthier lifestyle than our parents can only do so much.

Laser treatments and Botox are not terribly invasive options, but costly just the same.

Plastic surgery prices have gone through the roof and despite how much we’d like to remain uncut, it’s hard not to envy that shiny new wrinkle free neck on your sister on law.

Especially when your chin is now resting on your boobs.

In the end when we pass a mirror we want to match the person we are inside, 21 years old. It’s not so much about vanity as it is about wanting all of our parts to be in sync.

I don’t care how great an attitude you possess about aging, it’s hard for one’s spirits not to sag a bit when there are ten-pound Hefty bags under your eyes and you hardly recognize yourself. Wow, I really look a lot about my grandmother now!

I truly don’t believe it’s about wanting to look ridiculously young, but about wanting to see us as your our self; vibrant and youthful, not old and decrepit.

Hard to get happy when the number of wrinkles is almost equal to your blood pressure reading.

So we must trudge forward because if we’re lucky we’ll get older and continue to be part of the world. To enjoy our family, travel, work, indulge our hobbies and interests and socialize with others of like minds.

So I’m signing up for that new spare parts membership warehouse and filling my basket with all new fun stuff at big-box prices.

And remember; if you can’t fix it, duct it!

Lox and Bagel Bites

2 cucumbers

1 tub pareve cream cheese, whipped or regular

1 tablespoon finely chopped sweet onion

4 ounces approximately of nova lox cut up

Bagel chips

1 hardboiled egg optional

Fresh dill

Caviar

Cut cucumbers in inch thick circles

Hollow out seeds and pat dry and set aside

Mix together lox onions and cream cheese and lightly salt and pepper. Remember lox can be salty so go slow with the seasoning

With a teaspoon or a pastry bag fill cucumber rounds with cream cheese mixture.

Garnish with pieces of bagel chips and a sprig of fresh dill, and if so desired grate some hardboiled egg on top. Add a ¼ teaspoon of caviar for an extra zing.