Sunday Gravy #3

Stick shift, Pedal Steel and other things worth saving

This is not the Sunday Gravy you grew up with. This is a week’s worth of my thoughts thrown into one pot. It’s juicy, flavorful, and rich. This is not your nonna’s sunday gravy. Hers is watery. I’m in the kitchen doing backflips over her.

There’s some serious stuff, some not so serious stuff, and some pictures for the ADHD folks.

Stick Shift

The world of machines was something my Dad and Grandpa showed me. My eyes were fixed on the cars, tractors, tools, and engines in our family garage during the early years of my life. My eyes are still fixed on that stuff.

This Friday night rolled around and I was feeling stale. Not restless or anxious - just stale. Like I needed to go somewhere else or do something outside the habitual pit stops. I just wanted to go somewhere away. Didn’t even have to be far, it just had to be out of the ordinary. I wanted to look at the night sky, not hear the noise of my street for 30 seconds, and take a deep breath. So Rex and I loaded up and drove up PCH for a little. We stopped at two gas stations: the first because I saw a Troopy Landcruiser and wanted to take pictures of it, and the second because I got distracted with the photos and didn’t pump any gas at the first one. Drove a little further, got gas, saw another cool Toyota, and drove back with windows down, dog hanging out the side, and Charley Crockett coming through the speakers. That was all I needed. Just to breathe somewhere else and see what a change of scenery would do for my thoughts. I thought of cars, I thought of French onion soup, and I thought of my Grandpa.

There’s always someone with a cooler car than you

Long live Toyota

My Grandpa passed away on June 9th, 2001. I was 4 years old at the time. I don’t recall many memories with him, especially not his last day. It’s not one of those “I remember exactly where I was” moments… probably because I was so young, but I couldn’t tell you what I was doing or even how I felt. While FaceTiming my parents this week, my mom explained how clearly she remembers my reaction to my grandpa’s death: I asked, “What’s gonna happen to all his machines??”. I didn’t really understand the weight of the situation as a 4 year old. I just knew my Grandpa as the master of machines, and apparently he wouldn’t be working on them anymore.

My dad was the one working on everything from there on out. Listening to him explain how things work and how we were going to fix them always floored me… it seemed like common knowledge to him, but it made me feel like I was on a different planet. I constantly thought, “how do you know all this?”. It’s like he always has some hidden rabbit up his sleeve. Porsche engines… Bell Helicopters… International tractors… it never matters what the subject is. He’s the expert on it. Being impressed by his knowledge was one thing, but my favorite thing to hear is the way he recounts stories of my Grandpa. “Grandpa had that car. He raced a Pontiac Grand National once. He always short-shifted from 3rd to 5th. He loved his Porsche 930. He loved his little VW even more”. I’ve heard them all, but I don’t get tired of hearing them. One day I’m sure I’ll tell similar stories of my dad. “He drove me to school in a 1980 Mercedes that had no AC. He taught me how to ride a quad. He taught me how to photograph” and “He taught me how to drive stick shift in the middle of a snowstorm”. I was grateful this father’s day thinking back on how many great memories we’ve been able to share.

But with my grandpa, the time for making memories came and went 23 years ago. I can only tell you what he was like because I’ve heard it from other people. I can’t hear about that little VW from the man himself. I can’t get to know him now, even though I desperately want to. But that’s one of the reasons I love working on bikes, cars, and engines so much. It makes me feel, even just slightly, like it’s still possible to make a memory with him. To know him by knowing the feeling of making an engine run. So I’m planning to carry that on. I’ll teach my kids to drive stick in a snowstorm, I’ll let them know how great Grandpa used to short-shift from 3rd to 5th, and I’ll let them know that it drove my dad crazy. Maybe I’ll even get a Porsche 930 myself.

I wanna be the master of my machines too.

Things Worth Saving

My car is 28 years old. If you’re like me, and you’re relegated to cassette tapes, you start to develop a taste for the novel, unique and forgotten. I try to collect and save cassette tapes that are worth listening to. Here are some other things I personally deem worth saving:

• Steelhead trout.

• A dog from the pound.

• Meat / veg scraps - for makin’ broth.

• A sock that has a small hole but is otherwise 99% good.

• Handwritten notes.

• Manual transmissions.

• Landcruisers with 200k+ miles.

• The playlist I made, listed below.

The dog I got from the pound.

If you know, you know.

Pedal Steel

Pedal steel guitar is worth saving too. These are the 10 songs I’ve played a nauseating amount this week. Get that old school feel in your ears.

Thanks for reading.