My first car was an old rust bucket, but man I loved it, like it was new. . .

June 14, 2011


First day of exams went off without a hitch.

Three more to go.

Today: psychology.

Worry level: low.

Reason according to Em: psychology is easy. I don't like it, but it's easy.






Yesterday, because of the weather, I stayed at the university library for the afternoon.

Or at least until Em was finished her exam.

It was cold and raining, so I wasn't as tempted to dash home, throw on my gardening rags and start playing in the dirt.

That's fine.

The staying at the library wasn't the best idea, though.

By the time I arrived home, around 3.15, I was so grumpy and crabby I forced myself into confinement.

Had a nap.

Mumbled a few choice words during dinner.

Removed myself again. . .this time back to our home office, where I thought the knowledge that I would soon be watching the first three episodes of the new season of the British sci-fi drama Primeval would certainly cheer me up.

But that was interrupted by the "can we PLEASE pick up my car now??????" pleas coming from Emily.

Fine.

Got her car.

I'll come back to that later.

Home.

Again.

Settling in again for some Primeval.

When suddenly, a kleig light turns on in my head.

Movement.

I need movement.

In the library all day.

No gardening, no yoga, no movement.

At home Sunday, doing little to nothing.

No gardening, no yoga, no movement.

I was suffering from Frankieitis.

Having excess energy and no where to put it.

Apparently, in the words of Homer Simpson, All work and no play make Dawne something something.

Luckily, the cure was simple.

Leash up Stephen and the dogs and head to the farm, in the drizzle but at this point I didn't care, for a brisk, energy expelling walk.

And then all was right with the world of Dawne.

Except that I had to wrap a scarf around my neck and I was wearing two sweaters because it was so bloody cold outside.

Scarves in June.

Whodathunk it.






I possess almost no "girly-girl" genes.

Vomit, poop, dirt, bugs, don't bother me.

I'm not into frilly things or sexy things.

However, my teeny, tiny girly girl influence prohibits me from enjoying getting wet.

I needed the walk last evening, but I didn't enjoy the misty drizzle we had to walk through.

On the other hand, it didn't kill me.

This afternoon, rain or shine, warm or cold, I will be outside.

Planting, removing, digging, weeding.

Because spending the afternoon in doors is just about more than I, my moods, or my family, can handle.

I was talking about this with my Simply for Life counsellor yesterday.

That I had all sorts of new found energy and if I don't get rid of it, I am miserable.

He called it normal.

I call it Frankieitis.

But hey, I'm normal!






Picking up the car had become Em's new favourite obsession.

So yesterday, when I told her we would be heading over to my cousin's after supper to pick up the car she practically wept with joy.

And me with relief.

No more pleas, begging, whining, whinging about getting the car.

I get it.

First car.

New driver.

I really do understand.

What I don't understand is how she came to the conclusion that making me bonkers with her incessant hyper focusing was going to make anything even remotely better.

Clearly, I have forgotten what it feels like to be a 17 year old girl who wants something.

And the look on her little face when she slid behind the wheel of her newly repaired 2000 Hyundai Elantra was one of supreme joy.

I don't think I've ever seen her look like that.

Not even where there's been a sale at American Eagle.

As soon as I was buckled in, Lady Gaga blaring as low as Em would allow, we were off.

But not until she commented she had no gas.

And looked at me.

With that happy look on her face.

Gas it was.

But it won't be a habit.

Your car, your gas.






The last thing this little car needs is a good, thorough cleaning.

By professionals.

Cost $130.00

Value: priceless.

The car is filthy.

It desperately needs cleaning.

A sign of Em's love for this car?

She doesn't seem to notice.

But I do.

Stephen has spoiled me for clean cars.

And once you've become accustomed to clean cars, it's hard to be comfortable in anything else but.

That's next pay.

The cost of Em's becoming a driver just jumped to $1400.00.

I don't know if I could afford any more children wanting to drive.



Title Lyric: My First Car by Jason Blaine