ENDLESS Season Snippits

Life-Snippets... A Month On The Road

The Road... Less Traveled

"Through The Lens Of MEMORY..."

The interstate I thought I was meant to be on roared and screamed like the unfurled ribbon of modern efficiency it was designed to be, less than a mile to the North of me.  Through the fog and the timber I caught occasional glimpses of the weekday side of myself whizzing by, jockeying for position to be the 'winner', the first... to stand in line and wait somewhere.

Did I take a wrong turn after all?  Or did some deeper, wiser side of myself finally step into the melee of my frantic 'success' and slow my pace for a purpose?

I don't know.

But as the slow, time-blessed miles of old U.S. 70 slid silently past my thankful eyes and brushed the cheek of my too-hurried soul with a misty, cool hand of remembrance, I knew this much...

The PAST, and its healing power were not lost ~ they were just an exit away, on the road... less traveled.

CM Sackett

 

"Man-Things... Body Shops"

 Junk.

Well, to the un-initiated perhaps... to most women, for sure.  But to a man who grew up in the dust and noise and smells and Wonder of a body shop, whose great pleasure as a boy of six, seven, eight, nine... thirteen was to help his dad flux the brass rods, mix the plastic ~ the primer ~ the paint, and take in all the heady aromas of Repair... oh, this sight is a thing of BEAUTY (even if it is only in the eyes of this beholder)!  You see, when the eyes of my frame look upon these old rigs, the eyes of my heart and Memory take over.

What rust?

What holes?

What 'wreck'?

I see a 'Sandlewood' (light gold/silver) paint job topped with PPG 'Harlequin' flames (squirt-work was my specialty, as a young man).  I see the flawless lines, Lexus-tight seams, the lowered stance.  I can clearly hear the deep eclectic rhythm of the cam'd-up big block rumbling in the smoothed/stainless-steeled engine bay... see the chassis twitch in perfect time to the power in her lovingly renewed breast.

Everything ~ the leather and burl-wood of the interior, the 3-inch stainless rivers of Tone underneath, even the feel of the Boulevard and the tunes on the deck... all of it is as clear and real and complete to my senses as I stand here now as it would be if the key were in the ignition and my hand upon the wheel of the finished beast.

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Oh, don't get me wrong.  I know all about the rust and holes and wrinkled dents (and busted knuckles, frustrated deadlines, bone-deep soreness ~ all over ~ and budget constraints)... I grew up in the WORK of turning wrecks into Wonders (and yes, spent my fair share of time cussing points of the process).  But I never tired of the satisfaction felt as the last bit of tape and paper came off in the paint booth.  I never forgot the eagerness I felt as the buffer sang and searched out the real beauty of the finish.

And I never grew weary of the return on Investment ~ in Joy, Laughter, Exhilaration, Contented sighs, Pride... and Thankfulness for the time shared with each creation.

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Hmm...

You know, I think I just came up with the perfect definition of "junk"... that for which nothing better, further, richer or worthy can be envisioned.

I think God runs one Hell of a body shop for souls.

Thank you Lord, for seeing more in me than the wreck I had made of myself... thank you, indeed.