In the early 90s we would spend weekends at the construction site in the UP that was my dad’s cabin-in-progress. I’m talking rooms with old comforters hanging as doors. Floors of chip board with an ancient 1960s green corduroy pull-out sofa, and a larger brown flannel pattern pull out sofa on bare wood. One of those weird ass octagon cabinets from the 50s or 60s with a crappy box TV and antenna. We could get 2 stations on it, and it was usually a combination of golf and tennis, or if you were lucky- Walker, Texas Ranger. Whole sections of the house just framed in. A single giant kerosene heater in the middle roaring at everyone to the point of deafness.
One of the ways we would pass the time was to rent movies from the gas station a few miles down the road. They had a single door sized rack of films, and we would rent the same 5 or so on a loop: The Great Outdoors, Field Of Dreams, What About Bob, Plains Trains and Automobiles, and Always with Richard Dreyfuss John Goodman and Holly Hunt. I watched all of those movies into the ground and only loved them more with every viewing.
I’ve been watching Always in the bath tub lately, in installments. Tonight capped a rough weekend of misadventures that I’ll get into in a moment, which inclined me to go with the Rose and Milk bath salts. They always remind me of my great grandmother and the little apartment bathroom she had above our house. How odd and magical it was to grow up with a (great) grandparent in a completely separate little cozy house right on top of my own, separated only by a staircase- not even a door. If my mom was being mean, I could just go upstairs and my grandma would make me potato soup and no bake cookies and let me watch cartoons on her TV.
So when I am in great need of THAT kind of comfort, I reach for the Rose salts.
Always, if you haven’t seen it, is a love triangle movie centered on a single woman. Vying for her affection is the ghost of her deceased ex, Richard Dreyfuss, and another dude who is just as obsessed with and in love with Holly Hunt as Richard- but actually ALIVE, and more down to earth, grounded, and safe. Richard took risks that made Holly always stressed, so the relationship- while extremely passionate, with deep deep bonds of love, was also toxic in a way. His nature was just being a risk taker, and ultimately it lead to his premature demise.
The movie taught me a thing or two, I am realizing this late in the game. There is a scene where all three of them are having dinner, and afterwards music is put on for dancing. The two living people dance and begin making out, while the ghost just has to stand there and watch the love of his entire life rebound with another man. Naturally, he bursts into tears and begs for mercy. And mercy comes! The song ends, and the next song happens to be THEIR song, and she is still of course in love with him a year after his death.
She ends the kiss, and more or less tells him that she wants to call it a night. Rejecting his advances. His response is to just very pleasantly give her a little hand squeeze, and go into a good spirited john wayne voice as he sees himself out and home. For me, over the course of my long male dating career RICH with a seemingly endless buffet of rejection, this scene programmed in me the correct response, and it never did me wrong.
After he leaves she rewinds the tape because of course, and dances with the ghost to their old song, and she lays down to sleep and he spoons her like he used to, and talks to her as she talks in her sleep just like he used to, and tells her how much he misses her and how much she makes him laugh and always made him laugh, and even though they don’t even touch- he gets the very best of what they had, what he likely missed the most as a ghost- perhaps they both did.
It really makes the comparison between deep soul mate love severed forever by reality, and real but more grounded and earnest love, a difficult choice somehow. Sometimes the fantasy really is better than reality.
On Saturday I got the 71 Stingray out of the garage at the same cabin I mentioned earlier. Same garage my dad, who built it AND the cabin next to it, ended his life June 3 2020 almost 6 years ago to the day. I gave it the 5 point check. Tire pressure: good. Oil level- low. Added some. Coolant level: good. Brake fluid: good. I closed the kill switch on the battery terminals, put the key in, and after an initial lurch as the rust that accumulated on the crank shaft broke free, it roared to life and I backed it out. Ran it a while. Washed it, vacuumed it, windexed it. Drove it to town on old gas EMPTY, and topped off the tank. Was feeling good. Was feeling great.
I had just left the gas station, cruising down main street in De Tour- the tiniest town you’ve never heard of- and was trying to decide if I wanted to stop at the Village Inn for a burger and a beer and some local noise, or keep going up to Raber Bay and get some fresh Whitefish and chips instead.
Half way down main street the car made an odd thunky popping sound, and I soon realized- though barely- that it had shut itself off and was essentially coasting down the road at about 30 mph. This happened last year, when the battery cables had come loose where they were clamped to the terminals and frayed off enough. I knew I had a little bit of juice left for some turning and braking before both hydraulic systems were dead, so I slowed down enough to turn into the marina parking lot which was just ahead. Once in, I was facing a somewhat steep down hill, and parking was to my right or left, which meant I had to turn. By then the brake hydraulics were gone, and turning the wheel without power steering was a bit like turning the titanic but it could be done. The brakes worked too if I really jammed down hard, and I was able to get it parked in a neat little parking space all ready for a tow if need be.
By some miracle I was a block away from the exact person I needed in that juncture- John, barkeeper and long term boyfriend of the Mean German Lady who owns the bar I get breakfast and drinks at often.
John grabbed his tool box and came back with me to check out the battery compartment. My kill switch lifted right off like it wasn’t tight at all, and I just assumed it wiggled loose over the winter, but when I went to reconnect it I was met with an EXPLOSION of sparks. Like I had just linked the two battery terminals together- and lo and behold, that’s exactly what I had done. While disconnected, an ohm meter read almost perfect continuity across battery terminals, which meant it had a HUGE dead short somewhere.
John was kind enough to give me a ride back to my truck. I called a tow truck and made it ready for it’s eventual journey. Wasn’t even mad about it. The amount of luck I cashed to break down exactly where I did crossed off the bad luck of it dying in the first place. And honestly, a car of that age is going to be breaking down frequently. Entropy is a thing that never relents. All of our machines and infrastructure are falling apart all the time. Held together by good luck, and people that can fix it when it breaks.
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