You Can Go Home Again

My best friend from childhood recently moved back to our old home town of Owen Sound after living the other side of the country and then Ireland. She is an artist and writer of great skill and talent.

The last few years we had reconnected on line we had last seen each other in person (apart from a chance meeting on a bus in suburban Oakville) when we were twelve. In fact we were even younger when I was sent off to boarding school in the UK and had to part.

When I received the e-mail that she was a mere three hours away it was all I could do to prevent myself hopping in one of my cars and driving off to see her that very day. Finally  I able to take a weekend off and drive up highway six to my old home town. I say home town but I only lived there for four years, but it is that Norman Rockwell neighbourhood that is forever associated in my mind as defining childhood.

I was a little apprehensive about visting my friend and seeing childhood landmarks again, worried that it would be an emotional overdose of nostalgia. I was not worried about how she would accept me, beside my family she was one of the first people I told and has been very supportive. One of her close friends is F to M.

I left early on Saturday and made the 120 mile journey (takes three hours as there is no major highway there and #6 passes through many small towns with traffic lights and very low speed limits to contend with). 

Later that morning I met her and her two beautiful daughters. It was like the thirty years apart evaporated and we talked and talked. Later on we drove by our old school, the distance to school and our homes seems to have shrunk with age. The long walk to a child's eye was in reality a few blocks. Everything looked remarkably the same even the old corner store we were forbidden to visit during school hours still stood on the corner. Didn't occur to me then but I should have gone in to buy a Pixy Stix (powdered candy in a paper straw) for old times sake.

We stopped at the house my father had built on a quiet crescent. It was a great street to grow up on as there were lots of other children the same age. The crescent was quiet and our playground, bike races, roller skates, late night games of hide n' seek and in the winter elaborate snow forts and pitched snow ball fights. I had already started to notice cars, a friends older bother had a modified Corvair, a neighbour a Corvette Stingray. The night everyone on the street came out to see a neighbour bring home their new Thunderbird. 

We pulled up to house in my Seville, I asked the couple gardening out front if I could take a picture as "I used to live here." Well you must be a Chadwick how is your father does he still have the Rileys!  Come on in and have a look at your old room! I was stunned! Turned out I was talking to the daughter of the people who bought the house from my father. The house was very much as I remember it though my room had shrunk…weird that.

In the photo you can see right hand window, which was my room, somewhere there is a photo from the local newspaper of Susanne and I looking out that window at the record high( touching the second story window) sun flower my mother grew. 

We talked for a while and found out that there were still some families left from when we were there, including the parents of my good friend David. I knocked on the door and introduced myself as an old friend of David and his sister. They remembered my family but I could see they were thinking didn't they have two sons…don't remember a daughter. They were very nice and asked me in for tea. It seemed like I had only been away a month, time ceased to have any meaning.

I was exhausted after the visit to my old neighbourhood, too many emotions. Back at Susanne's we took it easy and talked, amazing each other at the commonality of our taste in movies, books, cars  and other esoteric interests. Sunday was spent exploring downtown and seeing which stores were still in operation from our childhood. Enjoying a Blizzard at the Dairy Queen, a new experience for her girls as apparently DQ has not made inroads into Ireland. 

Despite our long periods of separation there is a special friendship that distance and time has been unable to diminish.

I became quite emotional on leaving, I did not want to say goodbye for another two to three decades, an irrational fear, we made plans to visit again in the summer perhaps me bringing up my daughters as well.

Johnny Horton singing, Comin' Home and a TV ad for the new Thunderbird:

Wanted Playboy Millionaire Crime Fighter

Journeyed to a secret location this morning to photograph the Black Beauty, a 64 Imperial with such useful optional extras as forward and reverse rocket launchers, hood mounted machine guns and a flame thrower. Now that is one ride ready for your morning commute.

Have to finish the story for the Canadian magazine World of Wheels by the end of the month. Check your local news stands, well in this happy Dominion that is.

Unfortunately eligible bachelor Britt Reid was nowhere to be found. Now girls isn't, Plan B land a rich husband, who am I kidding that is Plan A!

Plus he has a really cool car.

Reality

So far things have not been too bad, I am still at home, bills are paid, mortgage renegotiated, thanks to "J".

I have got paid for some articles, there is unemployment (won't last forever) I take care of the children so there is no child care or after school expenses. I make dinner and the children's lunches.

My blog posts are mostly sunny, cars, family outings, successes at passing.

Ah but is that reality, no I am afraid that is only a partial picture. Reality hit home this evening as I checked my e-mail to find a note from the company I interviewed with recently. Despite what I thought was a great interview and a positive response to my follow up I didn't get the job. There were vague promises of future consulting positions, which seemed worse than a flat out rejection.

I cannot afford in every meaning of the word to wait around for hollow promises.

Even before I had read the entire e-mail I burst into tears, no one sends an e-mail to tell you that you got the job. I retreated to bed and sobbed myself to sleep, thank god I passed out as the pain of my own thoughts was too great.

Depressing thoughts swirled in my head like phantoms, " they read you from the beginning, you were never really in the running, they would be embarrassed to have you represent the company, you cannot even get a marketing job below your old position, you are useless".

Did they call an old boss who didn't know, or harbours a grudge?

My head hurts, I know others have had worse experiences, "J' counsels that they treated me respectfully and to move on and not give up. I feel like a wimp for complaining but thanks for listening and letting me pour out my heart .

April

Here is a cute little movie from my go to band for music to listen to while depressed but don't let stop you watching:

Birds of a Feather and Are You His Wife?

I have bought two Lincoln Mark IV's from "M", bookends, a 72 and a 76 representing the first and last year of production. Or as I know them the blue Lincoln and the green Lincoln. I have shared photos of both my babies on this blog.

Max lives two blocks over and owns only Lincolns though his fleet gets updated every few years unlike mine which just gets more vintage. We would see each other on occasion and sometimes he would show up with a rare replacement part now and again. "M's" wife "H" also loves Lincolns, she has had Marks, Continentals, Town Cars and even a newish LS model, which I would soon find out

I had not seen either since September when I transitioned to full time. Two months ago when it was still cold, I had rushed off one Saturday morning to fill the green 76 Mark IV with some premium crushed dinosaur juice. I was not really dressed to impress, just jeans, sweater, jacket a minimum makeup.

I noticed a Lincoln LS drive slowly by, through the tinted window I could see the driver checking out my Mark IV. Birds of a feather I thought, guy is likely admiring my lowered Continental with the old school wires and thinking that has to be a pretty cool chick to drive such a bitchin' car. As the LS made a second pass I realized it was a woman behind the wheel (well women like cars too) as she cruised past I spied the vanity plate, OMG treat was "H" M's wife!

I wonder if she recognized me? After depositing my life savings with the gas station attendant I drove home parked the Lincoln and walked my youngest over to her best friends house. After a few minutes chat I headed home only to see "H" car parked in front of my house and her peering in the window of my Mark IV. By the time I neared the house she obviously satisfied herself that it was her old car and that it was still owned by that guy they sold it to.

I am sure she was upset that the paint was so faded, however it was already dead from the Florida sun when I bought her 15 years ago!

As soon as I got in the children chorused, there was some strange woman looking at your car, I know I know I replied. Chagrined I contemplated dropping M and H a note explaining things. I never did. Instead I thought I would drop by the pharmacy where "H" works in the beauty section and introduce myself.

On Thursday while heading to the grocery store I spotted her Town Car, I parked the Seville ands went inside, quickly finding "H" I said hello. "Can I help you", no sign of recognition on her part. Hi, I own your old 1976 Mark IV, I noticed you looking at it the other month. I am sure you noticed the condition of the paint. I just wanted to assure you she has had the best of care, everything ion the drivetrain had been rebuilt, even a new and very expensive performance rebuild on the 460 V8, custom rims (two sets) specially made coil springs by Eaton Detroit to lower the car three inches all around, stainless duals, I could go on and on. She has even appeared in a magazine article!

Obviously I had mollified her , I could see her relax, yes she replied "I was so upset when I saw her I wanted to set it on fire". Yikes, then she did admit that I had the car for a long time. In fact it would be the equivalent of buying a new Lincoln in 1976 and scrapping it in 1991, my ownership has already exceed the cars natural life span. Not to say Lincolns are badly made rather salty and frost heaved roads make short work of any car in North America.

However, I could still see puzzlement on her face, you are "A's" (my old name) wife ? no I smile, girlfriend then? No I am him, well used to be. I am "A" I mean its April now. I received a stunned deer in headlights look in return. So your his wife? Finally I said I am transsexual and this is who I am now. She got it last, well as long as you're happy.

We talked cars for a few more minutes, then I had to go, say hello to "M" , I am sure you will have lots to talk about over dinner this evening.

As much as I love my new Cadillac Seville, driving the Mark yesterday was exhilarating, the massive torque propelled her onto the highway, the custom built 460 by Agostino Racing enjoying a chance to stretch its legs as we blasted along in the fast lane at 80 MPH plus.

Hugs,

April

No I Don't Know Who the Father Is

I know I have not written much about the job search yet. The contract work kept me super busy for a while and I still have a new article to write for World Of Wheels.

I had a really great interview last week that lasted for almost two hours, a great job in my field and close by. Fingers crossed but of course I know better than to get my hopes up.

I think I looked good and as to the million dollar question did I pass, a hopeful yes. I met with four male executives in two separate groups. Being careful to maintain eye contact I don't remember noticing any funny looks or probing questions.

I felt very confident (surprised myself) and talked with great passion about manufacturing, the auto industry and marketing. I admit I was very nervous before going in and had to force myself to calm down.

Whatever happens it was good experience.

The photos are not from the interview of course but from a family outing to Niagara Falls to enjoy the unseasonable early spring we seem to be having.

The sacred and the profane, dinosaur mini-golf, ferris wheel (a mini London Eye), the Cadillac Motel and a side trip to the site of the Battle of Lundy's Lane. For good or ill, a different outcome and I would be blogging from the State not Province of Ontario.

The battle was one of the bloodiest of the war of 1812 (before Canada was even a nation). The monument in the old graveyard had an obelisk erected pre-WW2 dedicated to the fallen had a refreshingly un-PC dedication to those that have fallen to preserve the Empire. The union jack was even flying, how wonderfully colonial.

Bitch Goddess

Whatever dark pantheon of gods rule over the automotive world, the one who oversees vintage cars must be the most capricious.

After almost two weeks of hair pulling diagnosis and nearly breaking down into tears over my inability to solve the charging problem on the Seville, a breakthrough was made.

I took the new alternator to Oakville Starter and Alternator to test and it checked out fine. I told the fellow behind the counter the symptoms of my problem. He said loose belt, what do I look like an idiot of course I made sure the belt was tight.

Nope supposed to be very tight so that you can hardly turn the alternator by hand. The Seville 4.1 has a screw type device to pull accessories tight.

Re-installed, tightened and 14 plus volts!!!!!

Idle still a little unstable but mobile again. Drove on the highway with no issues.

Meanwhile having the Seville mobile again let me turn my attention to the ever faithful Lincoln Mark IV, through rain or shine she keeps moving on.

During the fall I had repaired the exhaust manifold gasket on the passenger side taking nearly a month to gradually loosen the cylinder head to manifold bolts with various miracle penetrating oils (PB Blaster is the best). The eight bolts took nearly a month and a half.

Of course the LH bank then started leaking. For most of the winter I drove around sounding like a soviet tank. I mean really how embarrassing!

Nevertheless she still, managed to receive her fair share of attention from the general public.

Treated my youngest to McDonalds for lunch (yes I am a terrible parent) as she had to spend a rather dull day with me while I tried to get work done. At the drive thru the attendant wanted to know what I was driving as she had received a request from someone working in kitchen as to what was that cool car.

When picking up my oldest, a gaggle of eighth grade girls commented, “that’s the coolest car I have ever seen” I assume they had not just escaped from North Korea. I had been feeling rather self conscious about my daily driver so it is always nice to see other appreciate seeing an older vehicle still earning its keep.

Not bad for a vintage model with a RH side manifold leak and peeling paint…. enough about me the Lincoln does manage to get some serious attention despite its cosmetic and aural limitations. So a big thumbs up to Wes Dhalberg, designer of the Mark IV!

Fully expecting more tears and heartbreak when I started the ritual of spraying oil on the LH side manifold bolts. After a brief day of sitting with liberal doses of penetrating oil, I had all the bolts off in less than two hours! By the end of the afternoon the new gasket was installed, even the manifold to exhaust pipe bolts came off without a struggle, amazing. Car is quiet again, well as quiet as a 460 with duals can be.

I guess that I had accumulated enough brownie points in automotive Valhalla struggling with the Seville to be granted a special dispensation on the Lincoln.

Hugs,

April

PS. Here are two cool punk cuts for reading all that car stuff....

The Running of the Sap

No I am not taking up the decathlon.

This week was March break and children are off from school. "J" and I took the opportunity to visit our old university friends in Coburg.

I always enjoy our visits but the last few have been tinged with sadness as I am constantly reminded that our “happy” family unit will soon be no more. The balance enjoyed between the two couples will be gone, will our visits be separate from now on.

I am the one who has transgressed the norm and broken the suburban détente. I am sure we will remain friends but the old allegiances and balance will no longer exist.

Still there was much laughter and good food. Even a side trip to pick up some fresh maple syrup. A rustic operation on the edge of the forest the air fragrant with the smell of maple candies. I pulled out the camera to capture the scene for this blog and was offered a tour of the facility by one of guys running the still?

Unlike the old bucket and cauldron the sap is collected by an intricate series of gravity fed plastic tubes. He took great pains describing the process and I quickly realized that I would not have had this privilege prior to September 30^th when I went full time. Womanhood, it has its privileges.

The plastic lines only natural enemies being bears and squirrels, the later gnaw them the other use them like straws to drink the maple sap.

I bought a bottle of syrup and one mind blowingly sweet maple candy to try. The other gentleman manning the operation remarked to my friend, “she has a sweet tooth doesn’t she?

I had been feeling rather morose and this proof that I was passing made my day.

Hugs,

April

I see your bear and raise you a Godzilla: