My Uncle's Shoes

Junk Cars

Tom Froehlich

The other day I came out of the grocery store to find a business card tucked under my windshield wiper blade. It read, “We Buy Junk Cars, With or Without papers.” I know. The last portion of that really makes you feel the business is on the up and up doesn’t it? But that’s not the point. The point is that prior to the vehicle I currently own, I owned a Saab 9-3 convertible in titanium grey. Although I looked spectacular cruising up and down the California coast in my Saab, it seemed to spend a great deal of time at the Saab Service Center. In fact, I spent $3000.00 on repairs over a period of six weeks in an effort to pass the smog test…and then I totaled it.

I now drive a 1998 Toyota Tercel Blackhawk. It has no grill. No. I don’t know. It came that way. The hood is black primer whereas the rest of the Blackhawk is your standard black gloss finish. This is not factory issued. Again. Don’t know. The best part of the Blackhawk, other than its name, is the fact that in the two years I have owned it I have spent zero dollars on its upkeep other than standard maintenance. She’s not much to look at, but she’s a runner. My point is, our society seems to devalue things as they get older and have lost their sheen. Just like that jackass who put the card under my wiper blade.

The following day I had yet another advertisement waiting on my windshield. It read, “Botox & Fillers Beauty Party-Come join us!” The photo on the card featured a straight up martini with two green olives skewered by a hypodermic needle. Nice. Just what a recovering alcoholic with a busted capillary or two needs to see. I am curious as to why they thought I might possibly be interested in attending such a gathering. Had they been watching from the nearby hedge of bougainvillea? I’m pretty pleased with my appearance for fifty-five, but living in LALA Land you can’t help but feel as if you could use a can of “Spackle” with a putty knife to fill in a few cracks and crevices or maybe a shot or two from a hypodermic needle filled with poisonous neurotoxins, here or there, rendering your face an expressionless line-free mask. Especially after that guy you may or may not have been hitting on calls you, “Sir”. Hey! He was twenty-two at the very least. I swear!! Almost old enough to drive a rental car!!

Is it just me or does it seem as if our society is far too ready to discard things, and this includes people, as soon we show the slightest sign of wear and tear? Is it so wrong to show the signs of having lived a little? Of being passed our first bloom of youth? Perhaps even past the second bloom? I don’t know about you, but I still have a few things to do. Botox and bondo or not!

I once read that back in the day, when an Eskimo became more of a burden than an asset to his family they just perched him out on an ice flow and let him drift away. Just prior to that he had saved his ass by chewing on sealskins to soften them. This was part of the tanning process and a way he could contribute to his tribe.  He gets to do that until his teeth are worn down to nubs and then it’s sayonara. A one-way ticket to the Sub-Zero meat locker on the iceberg express. Frankly, I may punch that ticket before they have me gnawing on seal hides. It’s a personal choice. Say what you will.

On the flip side, the Japanese have a technique for repairing broken pottery developed centuries ago. It’s called Kintsugi. The seams of the broken piece are repaired with a resin filled with gold dust. Rather than trying to hide the flaws in the broken ceramics, craftsmen would highlight them in gold, baring the cracks and scars. The restored piece of pottery is considered even more beautiful than the original.

I am working toward becoming a professional speaker so I can share my words with you not just in the written form, but give you the opportunity to listen to me endlessly yammering on. Is it too late in life for me to make that happen? Sometimes it feels that way. But then, last week I entered a competition in my Toastmasters group. (For those of you who think we just raise glasses of straight up bourbon in a toast, you’re wrong. Remember! I’m a recovering alky!! Toastmasters is a group of people who gather to work on their public speaking skills.) I was competing to determine who would represent our group at the regional competition. I really wanted to win.  I guess I needed to prove to myself that I was good enough. That it wasn’t too late.

I won. I didn’t just win, but there was overwhelming applause and hooting and hollering as I closed. I guess it’s time to start believing I am good enough. Maybe better than good enough. But, what about too late? Do our dreams have an expiration date? I believe that answer to that question is, “No”. You see, one of the people I competed against was my friend Ida Lee. Yup! My friend from this blog post “Ida Lee & Me”, on October 29, 2013. At the age of ninety-three Ida’s philosophy is, “Well, I ain’t dead yet!”.  It wasn’t until Ida was in her sixties that she was cast in the movie, “The Right Stuff”, with Ed Harris, and then in, “Defending Your Life”, with Meryl Streep and Albert Brooks. When she was seventy she was cast as the lead in “Grandma’s House”. When I asked her what part she played she exclaimed, “What the hell part do you think I played!? I’m an old lady! I played Grandma for God’s sake!!”

Evidently, Ida Lee believes it is never too late to realize your dreams and I stand by her on that one. Let someone else chew on the sealskins. I for one have no interest in riding that iceberg anytime soon. I don’t know about you, but I still have a few things to do.

 

There are times in life when dreams seem unrealistic. Even foolish. My mind can get overwhelmed with thoughts of “It’s too late!” or “Aren’t you a little old for that?” or “Shouldn’t you have already arrived by now?” I don’t believe I would have won that contest ten years ago. I wouldn’t have had the courage that allowed me to be truly authentic. To value what I held in my heart, trusting that it would be valued by others as well.  That only comes with life experience and the passing of time. With falling down and getting back up again and salvaging the broken pieces of who we are. It is only now, looking back, that I can recognize that when I put the broken parts of who I am back together, time and time again, that I was filling them with gold.

Too late? Not a chance. I don’t think you can put an expiration date on dreams. Besides, I ain’t dead yet and it’s not over until I say it’s over. And I say, I’m right on fucking time!