The last week has been interesting to say the least. I’ve been working on finding a new normal, a new routine, a new way to cope with these extraordinary times.
As one of those who still has a job but has been forced to work from home, I am thankful to still have my job. At the same time, I have much that needs to be accomplished at my actual home. A place I don’t spend much time at. The grass is growing, there are trees I need to cut down, and there is a car that needs to be finished.
So I began going “home” from my girlfriends house for work every day. Almost like a reverse commute. I have a desk there, I have dual monitors I have all of the “things” I need to do my job with much more efficiency than I do at my girlfriends home.
I used a lot of my “in between” time, which is time I’m not helping someone by scanning photos. I have an extremely large backlog of family photos and photos from my girlfriend. Ones she cares about deeply. Her album is quite literally falling apart, so I began with that, and have almost finished.
My trusty flatbed, one of 3 scanners I own
Between trying to get through this backlog of photos that has felt insurmountable for many years, the grass is certainly growing again. It’s something I actually hired out last year. The first time ever. After having a surgery that effectively removed my ability to sweat in one underarm I could not physically take the heat of the summer. I had no choice. I am not one to give up easily. I have to get back on that saddle and try again.
The Camaro has been sitting on jack stands for months now. I’ve finished replacing the rear brakes. I just did a modification to the proportioning valve that is supposed to increase the line pressure to the rear brakes, making them work better. I just need to bleed the rears, and change the sway bar bushings and end links. Then I have to begin on the front work I have planned.
I’ve had my youngest daughter with me for almost two weeks now. Her mother and I agreed on a temporary custody agreement to keep her from jumping back and forth between households. I will have her for one more week before she goes to her mothers house. Her school completely shut down at the start of this pandemic, but will re-open on the 14th of April to remote learning. For her, that means paper packets of learning activities she must do. No e-learning here. I’m happy to have had this time with her, but at the same time feel like I haven’t used it to benefit my relationship with my daughter. I’ve been away a lot, or working.
One thing I did do, was open up her ability to use e-mail. When her mother and I divorced, I created an email account for her for a multitude of reasons. I wanted her to be able to have one with her name instead of something with numbers on the end. I also wanted a way to send her messages from the heart that nobody would see. My intention was to give her the password when she graduated high school.
I successfully hid those emails I have sent her from view, but linked her email to her computer and her phone, giving her instructions on how to email her teacher that only produces a path where her teacher is emailed.
She has enjoyed this new ability, and has been writing her own pandemic journal, directly to her teacher. I think this has been helpful, as she was showing some major anxieties about her teacher. These kids miss the experience of school.
I noticed something yesterday, something that I used to think was very strange. My father used to be very aware of the price of fuel. So much so that a 5 cent change would alert his “spidey sense” as it was.
When I was a teenager, we drove 50 miles 1 way to Paoli for fuel. It was the brief period of time in my life when the price of fuel dropped below $1 a gallon.
Shortly before he passed away, he actually called me once and used the phrase “end times” about the price of fuel. A local gas station had made a mistake, listing the price of fuel at $9.99 a gallon.
These words highlight one of the quirks about my father, always paying the utmost attention to the price of things small and large.
Throughout my father’s life, he had a lifelong connection to Bedford, and would often fill his gas tank there, as the price was always cheaper and he was always traveling there. Much like what I do now, with my youngest daughter living there. With the costs of living only going up and up, I have been trying to save costs where possible.
I have found myself purchasing fuel in Bedford, purposefully for the past few years. On average it is 20 cents a gallon cheaper, and sometimes more. I have had occasions where on a trip there and back, I have seen the price in Bloomington be close to what the price is there, only to return to find the price has spiked by 30 or more cents a gallon.
Yesterday Amelia had her first ever Robotics competition there. I filled up my gas tank for $2.999 a gallon, where it is $2.559 here.
Newspapers and TV stations have ran stories on the oddity of the price of fuel in Indiana, and locally we are told that it is “hard” to deliver fuel to Bloomington, causing the increase in costs. I have seen the same spread in prices locally, which takes that equation out of the mix.
Even though my old man seemed crazy about the price of fuel, and had oddities about his purchasing habits. He was right all along. I miss ya pops.
Last week, I took a trip to my familial homeland. It’s a place that much like Rodney Dangerfield, doesn’t get any respect. I respect it though, and it will always have a place in my heart. So much, that I have it tattooed on my body.
Keep it easy on the gas ’round these parts or Joe P Law will make you pay
I didn’t have many reasons to go, I just needed a break. I felt as if I was sinking deeper and deeper into a depression. Nothing that I tried would get me out of it. I knew this would.
The one reason I went however, was to give my uncle the driver’s seat out of dad’s IROC. It was ripped on the edge, and trust is more important than anything else to me on this car. I trust the man with my life, and I trust him with dad’s car. After looking it over, he believed the best route would be to completely replace the seat covers with new ones. Something I didn’t want to do, but his experience is trusted and valued. So I bought new seat covers for the front seats, a $600 expense I wasn’t expecting. They will be custom made and sent directly to him. Where I will then come back in a few weeks with my other seat to have brand new seat covers on the front seats.
I spent some wonderful 1:1 time with my 3 beautiful aunts, all of which I love and adore. They feel like the only family I have left sometimes.
I then went on a mission. Something I had thought about but never attempted. I went to Tahlequah, marched into the Cherokee Nation headquarters and asked what it would take for me to become a member. The staff was wonderful and very helpful. I knew my great-grandmother was on the Dawes Roll, which is the requirement for entry. They told me that I actually could enter via my grandfather. I just needed his death/birth certificate, the same for my father and my birth certificate.
One of my aunts provided me with my grandfather’s death certificate. Another gave me a copy of his birth certificate. When I returned home, I ordered a death certificate for my father and birth certificate for myself. Now I wait.
I felt refreshed and ready to take on the world, my trip was over. But why stop the adventure there? I decided to take a route home that I had never taken before. I decided to take a southern route via I-40 to Memphis, where I visited a place of eternal rest.
The most peaceful and calming cemetery I had ever been to.
It was a rash decision, based on my happenstance. An author who appeared in Ken Burns’ Civil War is buried there. His colorful and vivid oratory sparked interest in the subject for me from an early age. I felt it was a duty to pay my respects and thank him in the best way I knew how, for the gift he provided me as a young boy.
I’ve never been a big reader unfortunately, and had never read any of his works. I just purchased one of his novels and can’t wait to read it. If his writing skills were as good as his vocal ones, I know I will love it.
I’m back home now, where my amazing girlfriend missed me. I missed her as well. I’m finding my soul to be as complex as it is empty at times. I need quiet reflection. I need times completely alone and quiet, and I need ways to escape the mental anguish I continue to face. I accomplished that during this trip.
Now to begin a period of financial self restraint, which I’ve never been that good with.
That’s a quote from Will Rogers, celebrated son of the state of Oklahoma.
My youngest daughter last spring break, at the state line.
Right now, my mind is on nothing else. With all of the stresses life has thrown at me, it’s time I get out of dodge and escape for a while.
It’s a trip I’ve made since before I can remember. My first memories of Oklahoma involve my first time flying. We boarded a TWA flight out of the old Indianapolis International Airport, with a connecting flight where we then boarded an Eastern Airlines flight. I don’t know where the connector was, but to this day there is no direct flight to Tulsa from Indianapolis. So I drive.
Depending on factors of children or others along on the trip, it typically takes between 8 and 12 hours. I know the route by heart, the road frees my spirit. It’s a big reason why I often considered being a truck driver when I was younger.
Don’t let the contrast fool you, this woman is a bodybuilder! I know her as my aunt.
I miss my aunts and uncles. They have a southern twang in their voice and hospitality in their hearts. My oldest cousin is having a birthday, he always looked up to my dad. I try my best to keep the traditions alive.
This is my American Gothic, and I cherish it tremendously.
One of my uncles will be receiving a gift of sorts too, the driver’s seat out of the Camaro. It is in need of repair, and he’s the man for all things upholstery in the area, and the only person I trust with such items. I’ll drive back sometime later to pick it up. I’ve done the drive in 48 hours before, I can do it again.
I think a week with these folks will do my heart and my mind well. The trappings of life have really gotten to me lately. Maybe this is why dad and I made so many trips when I was younger and he was my age?
Since around Thanksgiving I have seem to been accumulating trash. The orange trash bags required for the system of trash disposal I use seem to have been a unicorn around here.
It’s a good system, a system I have used and been involved with my entire life, ran by my county’s solid waste district. They sell rolls of these orange bags at local retailers. They also provide many recycling options. They even have an area where you can leave things that still have use for others to pickup and take.
I try, and always have to recycle as heavily as possible. With the recent holidays however, the amount of trash in this house has become too much!
I had a conversation with other people on the social media site NextDoor about this, which made me no longer feel like I was going crazy. Through them, I discovered that I was right. There was only 1 retailer in the county that seemed to have any, and they were literally a 30 minute drive away.
People have since posted images and stated they have been seeing them at closer locations to me, so I shall venture out to once again try to find these mysterious Orange Bags.
Once I accomplish this task, I hope to get back to working on the IROC. I want to get the installation of these speakers completed. I also might remove that sagging headliner in preparation to recover it. I then have to take my little piece of sunshine back to her mothers, something I loathe but such is life.
I’ve had nothing but killer sinus pain coupled with post nasal drip.
So while I’ve been surrounded by children who have done nothing but drive me crazy, I feel like crap on top of it.
I did get some really good presents however. I got a clip that attaches to my handgun that lets you carry without a holster, and a Wyze Cam Pan. I’ve found recently that I need to keep a better eye on my home when I’m not around. I also got some much appreciated things to help me with the Camaro.
So, where ever you are, no matter what holiday you participate in – I hope you got to spend time with your loved ones. Appreciate the time you have with them, because tomorrow is never guaranteed.
For some reason, I’m feeling all nostalgic today. Reading a post on reddit reminded me of the second car I totaled. Today I will write about my first. You never forget your first.
I have to setup the scene of how we ended up with my first car however, as that is a story in itself.
It’s summer 1995. We (my mother, stepfather and I) had just moved to Main Street in Ellettsville, IN from our home on the south side of Bloomington. Rent was $150 less a month there, the area had less questionable activities happening around us. My stepfather wanted to take a vacation to the Smoky Mountains, so we did. It was a good vacation. It was the only “family” vacation I really remember.
My mom and I.My now ex-stepfather and I. I’ve only randomly ran into him twice since he split with my mom.Me on my new bike at our campsite. I still have that bike, and it’s still in like new shape.
It was a good vacation, and we all had a good time. There are memories from that trip that I’ll hold with me the rest of my life. What happened when we arrived home however, was frightening but gave me another memory. One that I’m writing about right now.
Where we had moved to was right behind Jack’s Defeat Creek, a defining feature of the town. While we were gone there was a massive storm. The creek swelled to levels I didn’t see until I was in my mid 20’s. We lived in a duplex, our neighbors car had been flooded to the roof line. The water didn’t recede for 2 days. He had changed the fluids and done what he could to dry it out, but the insurance company totaled it out. He offered it to us, since I was getting close to the age to legally drive. The price? $383. My stepfather bought it without hesitation.
The car was to serve as a backup vehicle for him and my mother until I got my drivers license, then it would be my car. But I had to work for that car, it wasn’t handed to me. It was my job to turn this flooded out car into a running, fully operational vehicle that anyone would be proud of, and I was totally up to the task. So I got to work.
The electronics were ruined in it due to the water. All of the interior soft components were also water logged. The first step was to remove the entire interior. On good days, I would take all of the items outside to bake in the sun. This car had an electronic dash, something many newer vehicles have but at the time this car was built it was fancy and special. I was able to get it dried out and work again, but the radio was a goner. This radio was interesting however. Due to the design of the dash, it was in two pieces. There was a control section and a tuner section. After scouring the local junkyards, I was able to find one and it worked!
Next up was the mechanical. The 2.5L “Iron Duke” engine in it was very sloppy. There was oil and coolant leaks all over. Once I got those under control, I replaced almost every electronic component under the hood. I then changed the brakes, wheel bearings and shocks.
By this time, all of the soft interior components in the car had dried out. I cleaned them profusely and reinstalled them. The car was for all purposes, done. I still didn’t have a license however, bummer.
Summer turned into fall, and fall turned into winter, then winter turned into spring. My home life had changed significantly. The parents of the household were having arguments and serious conversations revolving me and my father. My stepfather at one point said “Maybe we should stop letting Lee see his dad.” That was all I needed to hear. I thought for the first time in my life, my mother had built something not based on alcohol and drugs but on a family. I was only living with my mother because my stepmother “said I couldn’t live there anymore” according to my father.
I would be leaving, the only question was how, when and where. By this time I spent a lot of time on the internet. I spoke to a lot of people, primarily in the Oklahoma City, OK area. I had been talking to a couple of girls around my age that lived in Valparaiso, IN and Round Rock, TX however.
I eventually made a plan. I was to go see and possibly live with this girl in Round Rock, TX. I had never even been to Texas before. Bye bye Indiana, you’ve left me nothing but trauma and abuse. One night, I packed a large duffel bag with clothes and things I would need. I waited until 4 or 5 in the morning, and army crawled into my mom & stepfathers bedroom and took all of her money and the keys to the car. She had just gotten paid, so it was around $400. I pushed the car out of the driveway (it’s a small car) and down the street a ways before I started it. And I was gone.
My first stop was at the Pilot truck stop in Terre Haute, IN. It was my “last chance Texaco” opportunity to turn around and be able to make it seem like nothing happened. I filled up the gas tank, and headed down I-70.
I’ve traveled to Oklahoma since I was a baby. I know the route to many places by heart. GPS wasn’t available to citizens yet, but I did have a map in the car. Due to the lack of sleep, and adrenaline pumping through my veins, memories of much of the trip were not saved in the hard drive in my head. Not until I made it to Topeka, KS. I had made a mistake, that I do remember, and I decided to just keep going.
By this time, I had been driving for a long time and needed a break, some rest. I had talked with someone in Topeka over the internet, and she gave me her number. I stopped at a mall and called her, she gave me her address and I was on my way. I was a teenager at the time, so nefarious things were obviously on my mind – but what I really needed was rest. I arrived, and didn’t know how to act or react. Their home was filled with clutter and trash, literally. There were trash bags everywhere! I gave an excuse that I had to put some transmission fluid in my car and that I’d be back, never to return.
That’s when I got my map out, and I started looking. I want to go somewhere to rest. I can’t rent a hotel room, and I can’t get comfortable enough in the car really. What do I do? Maybe I can drive to my aunt Beth’s house? She my youngest aunt, and has always been a little on the wild side. Maybe she’ll give me a place to stay for the night while I’m on my way? So I found US 75. Wow, pure heaven that road is. I need to take it again sometime. It’s like route 66. It lead me to Tulsa, which led me to my aunts apartment, in the tiny town of Westville, OK.
When I got to Westville, I stopped at a gas station and paged my best friend, with the phone number to the pay phone I was at. He never called back, so I proceeded to my aunts place.
I got there, but she wasn’t home. I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t really know where my other two aunts lived at the time. My grandfather was in the area, but I didn’t know where he lived either. So I left a note on her door and sat in the parking lot, resting. After a while, she got home. I watched her read the note I left and go inside.
After a few minutes, I decided to knock on the door. Why was I so nervous? This is my aunt, a person who loves me. But I was rattled to my core. Did I make a wrong decision? She was on the phone with my dad. Gah, she ratted me out! My plan is ruined. He wanted to get me on a Greyhound and get me back to Indiana, and worry about the car later.
So she, I and her infant son Alex spent the evening catching up and I finally got some rest that I needed so badly. That was until the police department came knocking at her door in the middle of the night. She answered the door, and they asked for me. She woke me and I went to the door. In my mind, I figured the jig was up. They were going to arrest me. What they did still makes me wonder. They just asked for the keys and left when I gave them to them. It was years later when I found out what happened afterwards.
The rest of my time in Oklahoma during that occasion is something I would do again in a heartbeat however. I won’t go into detail about it in this post though.
My mom and stepfather apparently drove out and got the car while I was there, and left me. My mom then drove out again and got me. How she knew where my grandfather was living surprised me however. This was the straw that broke the camels back with the marriage of my mom and second stepfather. Shortly after my return, he moved out.
I finally get my drivers license, and I’m finally able to legally drive! Yes, we still have this car I stole and drove cross country without a license – and it’s MINE. I’m so excited.
Three days after receiving my drivers license. My best good friend Craig and I decide to go fishing at what’s called the Snake Pit, it’s the day after Thanksgiving. Being freshly licensed teenage males, we are driving aggressively and generally doing things we shouldn’t. That’s when I made a mistake, one I’ll never forget.
The road to the Snake Pit is gravel. It leads to a cove of the largest lake in Indiana, Lake Monroe. The road forks in one spot, with the left fork going in an upward direction. The right fork goes downwards towards the lake. Memories become hazy, but I swear the throttle became stuck. I was losing control and was panicking. I did my best to steer towards the left fork in the road, but the car went in the middle and flipped. In an unlikely turn of events I was actually wearing my seat belt that day, something I didn’t do back then.
I was hanging inside the car. My seat belt wouldn’t unbuckle. I had to get my pocket knife out and cut the seat belt to get out. It broke while doing so, swinging around and cutting my hand. I still carry a pocketknife to this day, just in case something like this happens again.
If you notice, I haven’t said much to describe the car up until now. This car was and is still a very rare car. Not an expensive or exotic one, just rare. It was the cousin of the Pontiac Grand Am. A 1987 Buick Somerset GS, Grey with a Grey vinyl top. Here are the only images I have of it. Taken from the lot it was towed to.
The shadow is highly representative of how my soul felt at the time.
Not all memories fade. Price does not equate happiness. The smallest things can fill the largest part of your heart. My aunts and I still joke about this, and they know I’ll forever trust them with my heart.
That’s been a pure mess, trying to edit and finish the latest video I shot about my dad’s IROC-Z.
First, editing the video on my Macbook turned out to be a hassle without a mouse. So I tried to complete the task on my work computer. It became incredibly slow and quit on me. I lost all of my work.
So I rebuilt it using this different work build we are now using. I was having incredible difficulties being able to open any Adobe applications, and got no help from any of my co-workers on the subject. I figured it out though.
I seem to become a blubbering idiot when I film myself. It’s one of the reasons why I’ve never been a fan of video, or being in video. I’m slowly becoming more comfortable. I started this for two reasons; the kids in my life who are hopelessly addicted to YouTube and to remember my father. He was a man who loved the art of film-making from when he was young. I have large boxes that are filled with his Super8 films.
Here’s my old man, doing what he did best
I’ve primarily used Youtube to watch music videos on, I miss my MTV. I’ve learned through these kids though, and I think it makes them happy to be a part of the whole process.
Winter has come in southern Indiana, and so I’ve put the car away for the season. I have many things to upgrade however. Primarily the brakes and the suspension. I’ll also be taking the driver’s seat out to be repaired by my uncle Ed, a god in my eyes for many things.
It’s been four years since my father passed into the afterlife. It’s almost hard to believe when I think about it. Time stood still for me for quite some time after that tragic event in my life story. He was the man I admired, he was the man who conquered all. Most importantly, he was the man I wanted to be when I grew up. With him gone, I didn’t have that example to turn to. I didn’t have that voice telling me to “quit getting the cart before the horse, son.” It rattled me to my core.
I had to start over in life, figuratively speaking. Financially and career wise my life is in the best place it has ever been. But emotionally? It’s a tough tale. That’s where I’m still picking up the pieces.
I try to look at when my grandfather passed, and how my father coped as a guidebook. My dad, did everything he could – including trying to get a 21 gun salute for him. Emotionally, that’s where my dad seemed to be a black hole however. He wasn’t very talkative about how he felt about the situation surrounding my grandfathers death. I know he wasn’t happy with the “family” decisions that basically led to his untimely passing, but that was all I got out of him. When it came time to write dad’s obituary, guess what I copied? My grandfathers. Dad had written it.
His urge to make the trip to Oklahoma lessened after that. He became more about life here, his granddaughters and his First Baptist family. He became the de facto caretaker of his mother, my grandma. His love for me? It never faltered. It never failed. It only blossomed over the years.
So why do I feel stuck in an emotional labyrinth? Why?
Each and every day I feel tormented. Not by the loss of patriarch of my family, but by the feelings of helplessness with my daughters. I don’t feel like I give them enough of me, enough time to enjoy things with their dad, or enough adventures with the man they look up to.
Each and every day I fight it. I try to do something, reach out. SOMETHING. But it never feeds the torment, it only seems to expand it.
I have been embraced by a wonderful, yet crazy family. One that sees me for who I am, and doesn’t give me too hard of a time about it. It helps, but only takes me so far. My experience with the “blended family” situation has not been the most idealistic. I hear this is a common situation. I often feel much more at ease when I am solitary. I think I pushed the healing of my losses, and still need that time.
In the end, I have a roughly set plan for how I want my life to be from here on out. The loss of my marriage and the loss of my father taught me this. If it isn’t going how I want it, I will make it that way, no matter what the costs or consequences are. The torch has been passed, not in a way I wanted it to. It is now up to me on how to handle and direct this sect of the family to proceed. I just have to pull myself up by my boot straps and take care of what needs done.
That is what I’m having trouble with. I’ve never been one to proclaim what I want, or expect anything. It’s part of that humble nature.
August thirteenth. For many, it’s just a normal day. Some years, it’s the dreaded “Friday the 13th.” But for me, it’s my father’s birthday. A day of eternal celebration. Sixty seven years ago, my father was born, at a soon to be decommissioned hospital where me and my children were also born.
That’s me, and that car is only a couple of years old.
From the beginning of my memories, he was my hero. My dad and I were like peanut butter and jelly. Good by ourselves but better together.
I only regret the times that in hindsight I could have spent more time with him but didn’t due to “marital obligations.”
I’m only thankful that his passing has given me guidance on what is important in life, and those are the ones you have, the ones you love.
I have almost every one of his worldly possessions. Some of which are valuable, some of which are not. His clothes are being transformed into quilts for me and his granddaughters. His vehicles are at my house. The thousands of pictures and video he shot over his lifetime are in the process of being digitized. I just need to find a good way to share them with the family – for input on who/what/where regarding a lot of them.
I had to start over in life, figuratively speaking. Financially and career wise my life is in the best place it has ever been. But emotionally? It’s a tough tale. That’s where I’m still picking up the pieces.
His love for me? It never faltered. It never failed. It only blossomed over the years.
The torch has been passed, not in a way I wanted it to. It is now up to me on how to handle and direct this sect of the family to proceed. I just have to pull myself up by my boot straps and take care of what needs done.
