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My students have named my Ford Escort station wagon the "Space Wagon." We have a running piece of classroom shtick where I pretend that I'm really an alien, and that I return to the mother ship each night to file reports about these weird teenage Earthlings. This is actually painfully close to the truth. Anyway, this allows me to converse with invisible alien colleagues (usually standing near the mouthy kid who isn't paying attention) and to generally convince the kids that they really need to watch the bizarre, mostly harmless teacher lady to see what she'll do next. Back to the Space Wagon. I love my car. It's elderly, yes, but I own it. It has a leaky windshield, because we replaced it after a big rock spiderwebbed it on the way to Taffy and Tootsie's wedding. I allowed myself to be convinced that it would be cheaper to replace if we did it in Mississippi, where Frank's dad lives, while we were visiting. It was cheaper. For a reason. Now it leaks. During a big rain, I keep my coat hood up inside the car. The Space Wagon once saved our lives. We were attacked by a kamikaze possum as we were hurtling down I10 in Florida, late at night. Frank swerved, possum lived. We went into a flat spin, much like the one that killed poor Goose in "Top Gun." (I was actually thinking about this movie as I spun!) We mowed the median (found grass all stuck up under the car later), twirled across the highway, and came to rest facing the correct way, on the shoulder. Never rolled. Never hit anything. Gooood Space Wagon. I know the time is coming for the Space Wagon to retire. She needs lots of oil these days, and her mileage ain't what it should be. I'm going to hate to see her go. Today's Good Read: The Golden Compass by Philip Pullman. Beginning of a trilogy; very original and entertaining. I really want to meet an Armored Bear! Today's Song: Lincoln Town by John Hiatt. White man sings the blues. |
 
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Space Wagon