A “Zoe-sized” Car

By G. E. Shuman

            I want to use this column to just express my thanks to all the readers who encouraged me in my recent, great personal adventure of driving my 1970 Volkswagen Beetle, “Babi” all the way up here to Vermont from her previous home in Florida.  That trip was exciting, nerve-wracking, and anything but a sure thing for me, as I made my way north, over the course of three long days.  I have shared most of that with you in previous columns, so I won’t go over it all again now.

            What I would like to do is just tell you all how wonderful it has been when meeting readers on the street, in restaurants, and especially at Babi’s first car show recently, and having them talk to me about the car.  It seems that nearly everyone has a Volkswagen Beetle story from somewhere in their past.  They either have owned one, or have known several people who have.  The stories are usually about the love-hate relationship people had with those cars.  They loved the price and dependability of the car, and hated the limited room. They loved the great winter traction the car provided, and hated the very poor excuse for a heater that they had.  In any case, whatever your VW past is, I’m pretty sure you had one, in one form or another. I thank you for sharing your stories with me, and I hope you will continue to do so.

            Babi’s biggest fan, I believe, is likely also her smallest fan.  This person is one of my very favorite people in the entire world, and one I just love sharing the car with.  She is my amazing five year old granddaughter, Zoe. From the very first time Zoe saw the car, this child has just beamed with smiles every time she gets into it.  Last Saturday’s car show was no exception.  She and her family came to the show, and she spent much of her time there, in the car, playing with the old-fashioned knobs and switches, and smiling some of her biggest smiles.  The first time Zoe sat in the car, shortly after I arrived in Vermont with it, she said, through one of those fantastic smiles: “This is a ‘MY’ sized car.”  That simple statement seemed pretty profound to me. I wondered how many five year olds are really aware of how large something like a car is.  Let me tell you, THIS five year old is aware of everything!

            Readers, you know that, over the years, I have shared a lot of things with you, including my feelings, my opinions, and my faith. I feel the need for you to hear, now, what I am about to say. My life, especially my adult life, has brought me many fantastic, God-given blessings, including a wonderful wife, five amazing children, three great sons-in-law, (so far), and twelve perfect grandchildren, (also, so far) and I just need to share that fact with you.              

            Here’s where I believe those gifts came from. “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.” (James, 1:17. Holy Bible.)  To me, that really says it all. By that definition of a gift, even Babi is one. Wow!

            If you’d like to meet Babi, she is a member of the Vermont Kustom Klassics Car Club, and their next show that she will be in will be at Bond Auto in South Barre, Saturday, July 9^th, from 5-8 pm.   The show is in support of the Make A Wish Foundation, and I’d love to see you there.  You know, Babi can’t sign autographs, but her biggest fan can.  If you’re very lucky, maybe you can meet her.  She’ll be the adorable five year old girl, smiling from ear to ear, sitting in the “Zoe-sized” car.

            

The Picnic Basket

By G. E. Shuman

            Today, (the day of this writing), is my wife’s birthday.  I’m not going to tell you how old, or how young she is today, as I value my life far too much to do that.  I will say that there is a 2, and a 6 in the number representing her age. I’ll let you decide which numeral comes first. Anyway, let it also be known that I did marry an older woman.  Truthfully, she really is older than me… three weeks older, to be exact.  Hey, three weeks is a significant amount of time, especially the three weeks when she has already had her birthday, and I have not. Don’t think it matters? Try holding your breath for three weeks. Okay, I have belabored that point quite enough.

            Birthdays are difficult things to celebrate, it seems, when you are our age. At least, for me, every year brings the challenge of finding the right gift for my dear wife, on her day.  You can only do flowers, candy, and more flowers and more candy just so many times, I have learned.  And, since Lorna buys her own jewelry, clothes, and has her nails done every two weeks, ( a gift that keeps on taking, and one that I started  years ago), I have a lot of trouble figuring out, on her birthday and on Christmas, exactly what to do to impress my bride, once more.

            A few days ago it was suggested that I take my wife on a romantic, private picnic on her special day, and, being the truly romantic guy that I am, I thought that was a good idea. (Actually, I probably can’t accurately define the word ‘romantic’, but I do love my wife.)  So, last evening I went to the supermarket and bought all kinds of things that I thought would make our picnic together a memorable time.  I purchased special wheat loaves, and cheese, and meat for the sandwiches, and potato salad, and fruit, and crackers, and more cheese, and wine, and other things, all to put into our picnic basket for the occasion.  Hey, maybe I really AM a romantic guy. Who would’a thunk it?

            Now, here’s where I want to tell you the best part. That is, yes, we do actually have a picnic basket; a REAL picnic basket.  We also have an insulated, soft sided, picnic/beachy thing, but that isn’t what I’m talking about.  The real picnic basket we have is something we purchased years ago, but have probably only used on one occasion before today.  (Think of the basket on the rear of the bicycle Miss Gulch rode, in The Wizard of Oz, and you will know what our picnic basket looks like.)

            I didn’t remember what a unique and quaint thing the basket was, until I went to the camping equipment area of our cellar shelves this morning, found it, brought it to the kitchen, and opened it to put in the ingredients for our picnic.  I want you to know, the thing is an actual wicker basket, with leather straps and hinges, wicker handles, and is lined on the inside with a patchwork, I guess, gingham fabric. The ‘picnic making’ contents of

the basket have been waiting, literally, for years, for the use that they got today. The old basket contained a knit table cloth, a gingham table setting, linen napkins, flatware, stemware, and soon, all the food and drink that I had bought for the occasion.  

            So, as I said, today, on either my wife’s sixty second, or twenty sixth birthday, we went to a beautiful picnic spot up in the Smuggler’s Notch area of Stowe. (I will readily admit to living in a gorgeous part of the Northeast, and do suggest that you visit here, often.)  We opened the basket, and made arrangements to eat our quaint lunch on the picnic table that we chose. 

            No one else was in the picnic area today, which was perfect.  I couldn’t have planned it better.  The sun was shining through the vibrant green trees, chipmunks were scampering past our table, (I’m not kidding, they really were.) birds were singing, and the little brook only yards away was beautifully babbling. Best of all, I got to share a leisurely, simple meal with the person I love more than anyone else in the world; the one who has stood by me in marriage for nearly 44 years.  (Now I guess you know how old we are.) The surroundings were good, the food was good, but our marriage, which began with two eighteen year old kids eloping, is more than good. It is amazing     

            So, after a long wait, summer seems to really be here.  Everything is green, and alive.  I hope you will go out into this beautiful world, soak up the sun, and share a simple picnic or two with the people you love.  It doesn’t have to be fancy.  Find a park bench, a recreation area, or just do it in your back yard.  Firstly, I hope you will go out and find a real picnic basket, just like ours.  Until today I didn’t realize how important that old thing was.

            Happy Birthday Lorna.  I love you. George

              

Be Careful Out There

By G. E. Shuman

                This isn’t going to be some sort of diatribe about how and when and where I think cell phones should be used.  Maybe it should be one, but it isn’t going to be.  Motor vehicle laws have been put into place to try to enforce the fact that it just might be dangerous to text your kids or write your college entrance exam essay on your phone, while driving down the highway at 70 miles per hour.  For some reason, it seems to me that people should already be aware of such things. To me, those laws are like the seatbelt ones. I don’t feel that we should need a law to tell us to wear a belt so that if we were to hit a tree our brains wouldn’t leave our heads, and become a permanent part of that tree.  It seems to me that we would already want to avoid such occurrences, without being forced by law to.

                No, I’m not here to talk about those things, exactly.  I do want to share a very short incident that I was involved in just a few days ago.  What happened was, I was driving toward Main Street in Barre, on an intersecting side street, and was in the process of stopping where that street met Main.  I was not going fast at all, but did have to stop somewhat more abruptly than normal, as, just as I got close to Main, a tall young man simply stepped off the sidewalk curb, directly in front of my car.

                Now, before anyone (although I’m sure none of my readers would do this) starts flying off the handle, proclaiming that a pedestrian always has the right of way, please know, I already know that.  If I had ever hit that young man, it would have been my fault.  That point, is not my point at all.  You see, as this young man stepped off the curb, his ears were filled with ear buds, which were plugged into his phone, and he was very intently staring into that phone, and thumbing the screen as he stepped.  I stopped, and raised my hands in a gesture that was meant to say: “What the heck are you doing? Do you have a death wish?”  In return, the man raised just one of his hands, and gave me one of those lovely ‘half-a-peace-sign’ gestures that everyone loves to receive. He also raised his voice in words that his father probably taught him from his time in the navy.  He was mad that I could have hit him. I was scared that I could have hit him.

                My point really is, that this is a free country, and I just think we have, in our personal freedoms, lost some of the idea of personal responsibility.  Everyone owes us everything, and no one can make us do anything, even if doing so would make a lot of sense. That young man, as a pedestrian, had every right to step out in front of my car, as he concentrated on his music.  If I had hit him with my car, it would have been my fault. The thing he might have wanted to consider is that my car would probably not have been damaged at all, with his body on the road underneath it.  He might have been damaged in the extreme.  Why don’t people get that?

                Please, drivers and walkers, summer is here, and everyone is out enjoying it. So, Happy Summer! Let’s just be careful out there.