Oldsmobile 88

The Oldsmobile Delta 88 was a beast!  A two door coupe with a massive 350 cubic inch V8 engine.  The enormous doors opened enough to allow entry into the back seat without moving the split fold front bench seat.  It was left hand drive.  The reason I note that is that this was my Dad's car when we lived in Jamaica...where cars drove on the left side of the road.  It was totally inappropriate but we loved it!

I was around 10 or 11 years old when this beast came into the family.  By then I was working with my Dad at his Texaco Service station on Spanish Town Road on the edge of Trench Town in Kingston.  He was an early riser so by 5:30 am we were in the Olds on our way to work.  

The Service Station provided a number of services.  Gas of course and diesel...truck and bus owners were regular customers.  Then there were the oil and lube done on a hoist for the cars and over an open pit for the trucks and buses.  In those days suspension bits and ball joints needed to be lubed up.  I can still remember the sound of the compressor hissing as it pulled thick lubricant from the 55 gallon drum.  And the smell...ahhh....!

We repaired tires as well.  In those days all bias ply tires had an inner tube.  It had to be removed in order to repair it.  That was my first job:  Patching and repairing inner tubes.  The surface around the hole had to be roughed up first then the adhesive was applied and allowed to get tacky.  Only then could the 'patch' be applied.  Then it was on to the vulcanizer:  a press that applied pressure and heat to permanently fix the patch to the tube.  Once done, I inflated the tube, ran it under some water to see if there were any bubbles and if none, gave it back to the installer to put back onto the rim.

Then it was time for lunch.  And another ride in the Olds. Most days we headed to my Grandmother's place for a home cooked meal.  Usually something with rice...heavy, and delicious.  We always made time for a quick nap before heading back to the service station for the afternoon.

The day we had the collision was like any other.  We had stopped at a local plaza on the way to lunch. Dad pulled out of the parking lot directly into the side of a small Japanese car.  To this day I don't remember feeling any impact!  The front end of the Olds was miles away and protected by a solid steel, chrome plated bumper. 

We both jumped out of the Olds to inspect the damage. The chrome bumper had made a remarkable accurate indentation in the side door of the impacted car.  Thankfully we had been going slowly and the impact was on the empty passenger side of the car.  The Olds bumper had a...scratch! 

This being Jamaica, Dad and the other car owner quickly settled things with Dad offering to pay for the repairs.  Then we jumped back in the Olds and headed to lunch.  Within minutes it seemed a distant memory.

They don't make cars like that anymore.  Which is probably a good thing.  Today at high speed, a car like that vintage of Oldsmobile would cause serious damage.  But darn...I do miss that Oldsmobile 88!

Until next time...

Swedish cars rock

My love affair with Swedish cars began with a SAAB 900 Turbo.  It was a used silver 3-door.  Blue leather interior, steel sunroof and 3 speed automatic.  A big 4 cylinder engine with a huge turbo.  When the turbo kicked in, hang on!  I loved that car.  For the first time driving, I felt at one with a vehicle.  I drove that car until the dashboard electrics 'flashed out' one day and all the electronics quit!  I figured a fire was next so limped it into the SAAB dealership in Oakville.

There I traded it for a light green 9000 5 door Turbo.  Another automatic with a tan leather interior.  The dashboard and controls were all in their familiar places...it was an easy transition.  This car was really nice at highway speeds...it liked 125 kph.  So did I.  The hatchback was a great feature:  I could fold down the rear seats and turn it into wagon.  The twins learned to drive in this car and once they had their full licences it never rested on weekends.  One weekend in particular they ran up almost 1,000 km driving around Mississauga!  

When that SAAB left, I wandered away from the brand for a couple of vehicles.  All good but not Swedish.  My next one though was the sweetest:  A gunmetal grey SAAB 9-5T.  A four door with grey leather interior.  The T stood for the larger turbo and by that model most of the torque steer had been engineered out.  This was my favourite of all.  It could carve the corners and cruise all day on the highway.  Sally also loved this car...I think I even let her drive a couple of times.  I was sad to see it go.

And to see SAAB go the way of the dinosaur only a few years later in the collapse of the GM empire.

Many years later I was looking for a 'well-used' used car.  Or...cheap car!  I found an older Volvo V70 wagon on a used car lot in Wasaga Beach.  It was a little banged up on the rear door on the passenger side but it started, idled smoothly and drove straight.  There was a little knock in the engine but nothing I was too worried about.  That car was a workhorse.  Weekly drives up and down the 400 to Toronto, multiple dump runs when we got ready to sell the house in Toronto.  It just went and went... Once back in Toronto and not needing a second vehicle, Holden inherited it.  He drove it for a couple years more before the brakes finally gave up the ghost.  It was a sad day for us when we dropped it off at the scrap yard.

Next up was an old Volvo V50 that I picked up about 4 years ago for myself.  By then Sally was driving a Volvo XC 60...more on that in a moment.  

The V50 had a ton of mileage on it but the engine ran smoothly, transmission was solid and I liked the shape.  I drove that up until Holden took it over earlier this year.  We've had to do some suspension work but otherwise the car runs well.

Back to the XC60 that I'm currently driving.

It was Sally's baby.  She had driven Volvo's before and loved them.  She survived a car accident many years ago in a Volvo and appreciated the engineering.  We purchased this one with about 100,000 km on it.  Black with tan leather interior and pretty tricked out.  The big engine was a draw:  It lit up on the highway when we test drove it.  Sold!  

I've been driving it since early this year. Its bigger than I like in a car but it drives 'small'. I have a colour-coordinated car carrier for Milo in the back seat and with windows down and sunroof open, we both enjoy the open road.

Yes Swedish cars are quirky.  They are not for everyone.  But once you've had one...

Until next time...

Falling Asleep

Falling asleep has been difficult for the past year. I like being in bed I just can't sleep.  And I should note:  It's a King-sized bed!

I know I have trouble falling asleep and getting a good night's sleep because my Fitbit reports that every morning. And I check it every morning!  Hmmm...that could be part of the problem.

I get up super early.  Some mornings on the weekend, I'm up as the parties are winding down.  I've hear a few party-goers chuckle as they see my running by.  And by super early I mean 3:30 am!  

The morning routine is pretty rigid every day including weekends:  I make the bed, brew coffee, read before taking Milo out around 4:15 am.  We walk for about 20 minutes and he does all his business.  I think he likes it because he trots along at a brisk clip.  He may be doing that to get back inside quickly.  Once back inside he marches back into his crate and curls up.

I head out around 4:45 am for my morning run.  My goal is around 45 minutes and most mornings I get through that comfortably.  I've give up raw speed and rest days to keep up the consecutive day streak...now over 1,600 days.  

After showering and breakfast, I spend a few minutes on the computer before heading out to drop Milo off for the day.  The weekends are a little bit different:  Saturday I head out for my Big Breakfast cheat meal (Eggs, bacon, toast, hash browns) and on Sunday its Church.

As you may imagine by mid-afternoon I'm pooched!  A Coke Zero caffeine hit is necessary to get to the end of the work day.

Once home, the trouble begins.  Milo and I like watching TV.  Again, I believe he likes it because he curls up on his special fluffy blanked on the sofa beside me.  I usually make it 45 minutes before nodding off.  Around 8 pm I stumble out with Milo for his last outing before heading back in for the evening.

I read, write and listen to music for about 45 minutes before turning in for the evening.  And that's the challenge:  I don't fall asleep quickly and then once asleep, I wake frequently throughout the night.  

I've tried everything:  Over-the-counter sleep aids (don't like them...they leave me groggy in the morning); Melatonin (How many are too many?); Meditation; Hot showers; warm milk (Ugh).  Nothing seems to work.  I've heard CBD works but I've not tried that yet.

I know, I know...the early evening napping probably has something to do with this.  And certainly the stress of the past year still plays heavily on my mind.  I've pretty much resigned myself to this being my normal.  It's really quiet at 3:30 am and I've read some really good books over the past year.

Falling asleep...may not be a problem at all.

Until next time...

Back to Church

I went back to church this year.  I'd been away a long time.  The institution seemed moribund and not relevant.  But I went back anyway.

I was baptized a Catholic.  I have the original certificate safely tucked away.  My first school was St. Theresa's Preparatory School on Deanery Road in Kingston, Jamaica.  Because of my February birth date and because there was no kindergarten in those days, I entered First Grade at 3 1/2 years old.  My Dad dropped me off on my first day and he told the story for many years of how I got up from the desk wailing and chasing after him.  Yes, a most inauspicious start to a Catholic education. It seemed scary:  The teacher as nice as she turned out to be, was a nun covered entirely in a white smock.  Nothing showing except face and hands.  

Religion was a big part of the curriculum from that early start.  Catholic taught by Jesuits.  Faith in a higher power; Belief in the unknown; a moral and ethical code; a Community.  These were instilled from an early stage. We hade religion classes and went to church during school regularly.

On to high school.  Campion College 'uptown'.  The Jesuit priests who ran Campion College were an interesting bunch.  Father Ryan, a tall Texan taught me how to street fight:  'Hit fast, hit hard...if he gets up, run!  Live to fight another day!'.  Father Riel taught us Latin and Religion.  That was an interesting mix...I still remember conjugating my verbs!  

At Campion we learned how to integrate religion into daily life; that religion and 'real life' are not separate. Religion as a belief system can be a good way to live life.  It came down this:  Living well meant working hard, playing fairly, treating people with respect, helping others.  It's what I learned...it's what I believe today!

My kids went to Catholic school from kindergarten to high school.  Both schools were close to home and we liked the connection to the religious.  I see today how their exposure to the religious has tempered their behavior. I am pleased.

Sally and I went to Church on-and-off over the years.  We had both been married in the Catholic Church previously so when we decided to get married, there was only choice for us.  After a lengthy annulment process (that is another story!), we tied the knot in a church service in front of immediate family.  Expressing our marriage vows in front of grown children was an awesome experience!  

Then we dropped off.  For various reasons we stopped going to church.  We turned negative in fact, disgusted by the behavior of members of the clergy. We were sickened by the institution.  I struggled with reconciling the positive influences of the nuns and priests in my earlier life with the horrifying stories in the press.  

It stayed that way for years.  But there was always a tug, something deep down that kept me connected.

Our world got upended in January of this year and it's been a scramble to adjust.  Its been like living in a pea soup fog in a twilight zone.  I can't see anything and when I bump into something it is strange.  

The tug back to the church intensified.  

There are a number of Catholic churches near me and I looked into all of them.  In the end I chose Our Lady of Sorrows on Bloor Street at Royal York Road.  The deciding factor was the sound.  Let me explain:  OLS is an old-school styled church building.  Tall ceiling, columns and a real pipe organ up in the mezzanine at the back of the church.  The sound of that booming organ did it for me!  I joined the congregation in March and attend the 8 am Mass on Sunday morning.  I walk to church each Sunday and I haven't missed a service yet!  Routine...obsession...whatever!

I love the weekly experience.  The familiarity of the Mass routine, the same people each week...it gives me a feeling of connection and peace.  I like that.

And maybe that's all religion and 'going to church' really is:  A place and time to reflect on life.  To recharge the spirit. To have a moral code.  To be part of a community.  From that perspective, going back to church has renewed my faith in the goodness of people.  And that's worth something.

Until next time...