June 2022

I usually tune out criticisms of the modern mess of humanity that come with phrases such as “late-stage capitalism.” That’s a gussied-up way implying that everyone knows the game is over, the plutocrats are making a killing while they can, and when the rubble is cleared away, we’ll find ourselves in a gentle and just Age of Aquarius.

As much as technology has done for our society, there are a few things that it has taken away, like privacy, and the ability to work on a vehicle. Gone are the days of driving through a neighborhood and seeing fathers and sons or daughters, working under the hood of the family car or truck. These days you practically have to have a degree from MIT to figure out how to change a spark plug. I’ve always loved old cars and trucks. I get that from my dad. Over the years, he has had an old Chevy truck, a Packard, a ’55 Chevy, ’64 Mustang convertible and at his death a couple months ago, he had a 1946 Ford truck he tinkered on. For the past couple of years, I’ve been wanting an old truck. There’s something about the heavy clang of the door slamming shut, and the roaring sound of the engine. My husband and I purchased a 1965 Chevy truck to work on a little at a time. My dad was helping on the project. So far, we have a wiring harness installed. The way the previous owner had everything connected, he must have had stock in electrical tape. You know, you can tell a lot about a person’s work ethic by the decisions and shortcuts they make when working on a vehicle.