One thing that I forgot to mention during my account of my weekend is that while I was in San Jose, John bought a Land Rover while I was there. He'd found it in the paper Saturday morning, and it was out on Vashion Island. It had sounded pretty good and so he called the guy and it sounded even better.
Part of the 'better' was that the guy was selling it for the right reasons. He was a guy who worked on cars for a living and had just gotten a shop on Vashion Island. He wanted to live in the area but found that the housing on the island was pretty expensive and that if he bought a boat he'd be able to live much more cheaply and sail at the same time, whenever he wanted to. So the main reason he was selling the car was to raise money for the boat.
Why this is the better thing is that the guy knew his car and knew that he could get more money for it, but also knew that at the price he was asking, he could sell it quickly. Which meant that the price was damned low. This also meant, however, that the guy was selling it first come first served, and if John was going to go all the way out to Vashion Island, which is a ferry hop across bits of the Sound, he'd better go prepared to buy it instantly. John talked with him for a while and thought for a while and by the time he decided that he might want the truck, it was about 1:30.
Our bank closes at 2pm. So he took the Stoat (our ex-British air base diesel 90, the ugly beast has more coats of paint than some people have clothes, as Bob once put it, grunts in the Army go around cleaning everything and when it's not moving, painting it) out to the bank and got a cashiers check for the amount that the guy was asking, after he cheked to make sure that it would be okay to bring it back unspent. After that he went uot looking for someone to drive him out to the Island so that he could drive the truck back if he bought it. He had to call three different people and then called the first back before he found anyone at home. Seattlites like to be be out when it's sunny out. But he finally caught his dad at home, and drove over there, to get driven out by his mom and dad, who both wanted in on the adventure.
When they got to the ferry dock, the ferry had just come in and was unloading, so they were able to get on relatively quickly and got to the Island in the mid-afternoon. John spent the next several hours going over ever inch of that truck and driving it and talking with the guy. At the end of that time, he turned over the check and started driving the truck towards home.
Whey the two cars reached the ferry dock the ferry was just about to pull away, and they actually reraised the gates to let them get on as the last two cars onto the ferry. Talk about great timing. Or, perhaps, fortune favors the bold. John got it home around midnight.
It's a 1964 five door station wagon in the original red with some extra work on the paint job done by the guy's girlfriend with several pots of greens. She painted giant grass stems all along the lower half of the truck. It's actually very pretty and very unique. The back seats unfold into a bed, there are curtains on the windows, there is a pavlion that can be built off the side, and there's plenty of equipment for getting it out of trouble. The puppy is an older truck, so the second and sometimes even the third gears need to be double shifted going up and down. Just easier on the old gearing. The truck also has a safari roof top, a cattle catcher, a fan and heater (always a nice option to have), a radio that has a power take off between the front seats and is strapped to the bottom of the seats with a sewn in strap, completely newly done interior, and all kinds of interesting odds and ends in the collection.
One of which is a small plastic Buddha with upstretched arms and a joyous smile and a big tummy. So we call the truck The Happy Buddha and we'll see if its personality will live up to its name.
Victor is utterly enthralled with it, and Jane loves it and has extracted a promise from John and I that we'll never change the paint job. And we haven't painted any of our vehicles, yet, so I doubt we'll start with this big gem. It's really fun to see Victor's eyes light up with the shape of the beast. There's a British car meet at BCC, Bellevue Community College, this coming Saturday, and we'll likely go to it with the trucks. <laughter> If anyone's reading this from the Seattle area, you'll likely be able ot find a red 109 with giant grass blades painted on it with a sea haired girl and a 130 lb Newfoundland dog by it. We'll be... uhm... unique. Say hi. I'd like that.
Last night, when I was talking with John about a woman that had stopped me in the cafeteria simply to as 'WHY?! did you dye your hair that way?', I suddenly laughed and said, "Hey... it was supposed to be blue, but I just couldn't get depressed enough." We both laughed until we nearly cried. Sometimes some things just have to be laughed about. What's funny is that after having said that, it's true. The power of being able to put something into words.
I'm not depressed enough to be completely blue.
Something that Cera wrote made me start to think. The thought that it is actually possible to call radical the ability to say that one is good at something kinda confounds me. But then Cera has said that I think a lot like Earl does, which is quite a compliment, as far as I'm concerned, but I can also see something of the truth of that. To be overawed by ideas just flabbergasts me, too. Ideas are to be examined, marvelled over, worked with, grown on, and used. Why should they surprise anyone? Which, of course, marks me for the technogeekgirl that I am, where ideas are my lifeline to reality.
What amazes me is the simple fact that for most of my life I've believed and worked on the assumption that if anyone could learn it and do it, I could. <chuckle> Jon Singer grinned at me when I said that to him and nodded, "Yes, and that's a very powerful statement to be able to make." I had kinda looked at him baffled, and thought to myself, How do people live without being able to believe that? Even Mark has some of that hubris, that ability to know that he could do whatever he really set his attention and interest on; his only stumbling block was 'is it worth it?'
Since I've now spent a lot of time with a lot of the folks on TooMUSH and a few in Temple Square, I've found out how people live when they can't believe that of themselves. And it's a rough life.
With the CTS, I've had that belief tempered by some of the limitations of reality. I have to admit that I never really thought of physical things as a part of that thought, until I hit soccer and have been learning the game ever since and love it deeply and dearly. It's really odd, people on some of my soccer teams look at me as if I'm 'naturally atheltic' when, in high school, I was the kid with asthema and who always, always, always failed utterly the Presidential Fitness Award. I just never thought of my control of my hands as being in the same league as all that sweating and grunting.
My hands were my allies, through most of my life. I thought they'd last longer than anything else I had. I was wrong.
Mark's value system would have me kill myself it I lost my hands. I cannot walk that path anymore or that belief. There's a lot more to me than my hands or my writing or my spinning or my music or the things I create with my hands. <grin> Yeah, you've just run headlong into one of the reasons I've started this daily journel. I need to redefine myself. Take myself and draw the lines between what was him and what is me, drawing with a knife, to seperate me from my shadow.
John's never been terribly analytical about people. He simply loves me and can never really tell me why, which is sometimes frustrating and sometimes very good to know that I'm never being critqued.. The time with Carl is always healing, because there's always an exchange of ideas, of delight whenever I'm with him. Just talking with him gets me to grow and think and come up with new ideas and new stories and new things that are fun to figure out. His relationship with me heals me because it's always so obvious that he enjoys being with me as much as I enjoy simply being wtih him. I read Buckaroo Bonzai a long time ago, and I loved it a lot. I found out later that the guy that wrote the book was actually someone that had told stories about Buckaroo and his crew for years and years and years at Cons and had only ever written then one down. I often wish there was more; but I suddenly realized, with the gaming, that the gamers often do the same kind of thing. Tell stories with no one to really record them.
There are several of them that I'd like to write up and see how they're received by the folks that played them...
© 1997 by Liralen Li
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