Jen is sick. Something flu-ish. Can’t be the flu, I got a shot over two weeks ago. That’s supposed to be the magical talisman, right?
Insert something whiny that I don’t actually have the energy to write here.
Anyway, if you follow me on the book of face, you know there is a tiny truck* in our household now. And I love it very much. I might just have to drag my whiny butt outside so I can take yet another truck picture.
It was Grandpa’s truck. He loved it too. Having it here makes us feel closer to him even though he is gone. I think I’m going to put his picture in the cab somewhere. Please go read Michael’s open letter to Grandma about the truck.
I only really knew one of my grandfathers, and I don’t have anything that was his. It’s funny though, he had a little manual transmission pick-up too once upon a time. He taught my brother to drive a stick shift in an event my brother described as ‘hopping all over the back roads.’ I never got to drive that one, but I imagine it wasn’t so different from the one in our driveway now.
Neither Michael nor I have any grandfather still with us. We are each down to a single grandmother as well. (I’m still totally stoked that mine became a shooter at 80!) It’s very special to have the daily reminder of them.
Michael is pretty tickled by the fact that I love the truck so much. I drove it to work today. I would drive it everyday, honestly. I think I understand on that unspoken level why Grandpa loved the silly little truck as much as he did. It’s not luxurious by anyone’s stretch of the imagination. Heck, it’s manual everything. But it’s perfect. It’s freedom. Just get in and go.
*1990 Nissan Hardbody. 5 speed.