So Long, Old Friend

Yesterday I made the call. I got my information and made the arrangements. My old truck is going to the scrape heap to be recycled. It has been getting used as a shed and there were some tools, lots of nails, far too much garbage. I must take responsibility for my share of that since I practically lived in it while we were digging the trenches for the house. I kept a supply of matches, toilet paper and sometimes food in the truck. The food was probably not a good idea considering the amount of mice we had. Oh well. We learn from experience. Mac also had a very bad habit of tossing trash in my truck. If he spied something blowing around, into my truck it would go. He always said that he would put it in the garbage can when we got back to town. But I don't recall him ever doing that. Hmmmmm.

The old truck was the first vehicle since my marriage that could have been called "mine". It drove better for me then anyone else. It gave me better mileage. It smelled a bit of gas, oil and wet dog. It had enough holes in it that it hadn't gotten to the point of being totally unsightly, but the wind moved through it sufficiently enough to act as a deer whistle. Deer just didn't run out in front of that truck... or possibly it could be that the exhaust pipe had about dissolved. It wasn't exactly quiet.

Smaller side mirrors had been original on the truck. One saturday when poking around the automobile department, Mac picked up a pair of extended side mirrors. I had been wanting the bigger mirrors. They were heavier duty. The supports caused the mirrors to extend from the sides of the truck a good eight to ten inches. I could SEE behind me! No more blind spots. It made it easier when pulling the little trailer we had. It was one of those gifts that showed that he actually listened to me on occasion. Unlike the christmas that I got the blender. My truck... my mirrors, made me feel loved.

I remembered about the mirrors yesterday when cleaning out the truck. Found the saw I had been looking for. My old lead rope that I had made. My hoof pick. Assorted gardening tools. There was a whistle with an extended body and the end of it unscrewed so you could store a bit of tinder and matches inside. Apparently the whistle was for signaling the rescue party or something. It was a gift from one of my kids, who apparently thought I was going to the mountains instead of rural parts of Iowa. I gave it a shake. Still had matches. After a year or more of being exposed to a mouse population, there is no way that whistle was going in my mouth! Years ago, the seat frame had gotten broken and my son in law, as an emergency fix, took the drivers seat out and moved the passenger seat over. The levers for seat adjustment were on the wrong side after that, but the cab was especially roomy. The dog loved the space. There were times when working on the house, when I would take a break, have a nap with Fiona laying in the truck next to me. I would tell people the truck was customized for me and my dog. It typically wasn't their idea of "customized", but it worked for me. It was MY truck Now it is going to be scrape metal. I will get paid something for it and that money will go toward the property taxes. Still not enough money but I'm closer. This is the last act of service that my truck will give to me. If I were the kind of person that cried, I think I just might shed a tear or two over my old truck.

So long, Old Friend.

Louie