Dianne gave me this photograph of Veronica and I have never been able to toss it out. What other mother would style their daughter’s hair like this? Except Honey Boo Boo – but the similarity ends there.
Dianne is a hairdresser – she is a veritable wig master to the stars and Bill is a teacher in French and an excellent guitar player (and ex-hitch hiker).
I have gone with them – and their Boler – on camping trips to Alert Bay and the Coquihalla Tunnels, outside Hope.
Pascale is the older sister – she has travelled to Quebec. The family has three cats and a beautiful, bountiful garden.
They don’t realize yet what great parents they have in Bill and Dianne, but they probably will in another twenty years.
My Dad gave me this compass one Christmas.
If there is a wrong way to go, then I’m off! Ann Landers said that one is not necessarily dumb if they have no sense of direction.
This compass has done me well. Now I use my IPhone for directions, but I keep it on my dash to remember my Dad.
I kept these rubber snakes on my dashboard as aversion therapy to work on my snake phobia. I’m not afraid of many things. Flying, heights – all OK. Like Indiana Jones and PeeWee Herman, I have issues with serpents.
It seems to have done the trick. I took the fourth photo in New Mexico on my last trip.
I love Volvo station wagons – it’s my second.
When I was associate producer on Better than Chocolate I bought the silver Volvo station wagon. I drove director Anne Wheeler to set every day. It was brand spanking new to me. It never had a name, my last was called Spotty because of all the touch up paint. I salvaged the roof rack and it stood me well.
I like to sync my odometer with the mileage counter. Many times I have driven around the block so I can sink up the numbers at the exact moment the tumblers roll over. I also love the synchronicity of numbers. When a particularly balanced set of numbers crop up, I usually send a picture of it to my numerical friend Veronica.
It was a great car for camping – warm, dry – and comfy to sleep in.
Driving out to West Vancouver, Marilyn Monroe is sitting beside me talking on her cell phone. Am I in a time warp? No – it’s another happy time in my car – I used to drive Carlotta out to gigs to sing Happy Birthday to a dazed but happy birthday boys. We would always get lost in the ‘burbs, but who really cares when there’s a legend in the car?
They are like trucks. Belinda and I moved Mom’s stuff out with the Spiderman bungee net. It carried all our Nomadic possessions when we moved here to Maple Ridge. Then it became a huge mobile camouflage when we carted all the garden cuttings to the dump.
It was a trooper!
Today, Peggy, Barbara and I went for our travel shots for India.
The meter was on its last second when I came back to my car. I was planning to for coffee on Commercial at Abruzzo but I changed my mind and decided to drive over to the Indian Embassy on Howe street and get our visas into action. I parked in Vancouver’s most expensive lot at the foot of Granville. When I’d climbed the two stories to the Embassy the door was locked – with a sign – Gandhi’s birthday!!
I went back to my car and tried to start it up – grumbling at the waste of a 14 dollar parking ticket – the poor old dear sputtered and died. Not to be revived. I called Ron, my authority on all things car. He said just make sure you get more than fifty bucks for it.
So the red tow truck sped into my life – and away she went!
I had 45 minutes to clear out the nooks and crannies + here it is.
Here it goes – musings on the detritus of my car. Every day I’ll write about something from the bag.