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Winter before last, my snow plow shoes finally wore out to the point even Tom couldn’t save them, so I bought a new pair.
Then early last winter we had a whopper of a snowstorm (little did we know it was only the beginning). I plowed out our driveway and outbuildings and the lane, then plowed out two of the neighbors. After parking the truck, I gave it the ol’ post-plow walk-around and discovered one of my brand new shoes was missing.
Let’s be polite, and say I was disheartened.
All-in-all, three hours in the plow truck and several miles of snowbanks. Somewhere out there, buried in all that white, was a $34 piece of iron. I retraced my work, expecting to find nothing, and found exactly that.
Then last week I was typing in my little room with the window open for the first time all year when it occurred to me I ought to take a walk along the driveway to see if I could find that shoe. I got halfway to the mailbox but the snowbanks still hadn’t completely melted, so I turned and headed the other way, out the ridge where I plowed the lane.
Then I spotted something…
I took a closer look…
I followed the trail of spacers and found…
Price tag still on it! And then, to complete the trifecta…
It’s nice to see the daffodils sprout and all that, but that’s pretty much the most beautiful thing I’ve seen all spring. Felt like I won the lottery…for $34.
Rule is, if yer gonna grump about bad luck, you gotta give the cosmos a nod when you get good luck. So there y’go.
Recent Ray Wylie Hubbard discussion about the state of country music got me to thinking about something I wrote in Truck: A Love Story (Full disclosure: I once did a story for a men’s magazine in which I had my eyebrows plucked and got a spray tan, so I got no room to talk.) (Also, only reason I didn’t wax my abs is ’cause I got no abs.):
This new stuff suffers from overgrooming. Even the redneckiest tunes ring tinny. One sometimes fears the lyrics of the latest busted-heart song were transposed from a marriage encounter handbook. It isn’t that today’s superstars aren’t talented and hardworking. It’s just that their way of doing things has passed me by. I look at the pretty cowboy on the Jumbotron and think, It is one thing to polish your craft, it is quite another to wax your abs. Recipe for the real deal: Combine two parts busted heart with one part busted knuckles, sprinkle with cheap trucker speed and crushed Valium to taste, and marinate in hard luck and leaky motor oil. Stir in Genesis and Revelation, add a dash of hope, and finish off while being forcibly evicted from a hotel bar. Hello, Tanya Tucker.
I am beginning to think that once you hit forty, you spend the bulk of your time suppressing the urge to harangue everyone who comes within forty feet of your porch.
- Perry, Michael. Truck: A Love Story
Very happy to announce that the audiobook versions of Coop and Truck (both read by Mike) are now available from Audible.com.
Also happy to announce that the audiobook version of Coop is available from iTunes. HOWEVER: The version of TRUCK that is on iTunes is NOT narrated by me…this is due to a mixup too labyrinthine to explain and is currently being rectified (nothing nefarious, the voice talent is a great guy, this had to do with miscommunication). When the proper version is posted, we’ll link, you bet.
If you still prefer your audiobooks on CD, hang in there, they’re in the hopper.
“We plunge into love with a naïveté that ignores all prior humiliations. Thank goodness, I guess. Because we never learn, we reach for love again and again.” (Applies equally to hearts and old pickup trucks–and worked for me after 39 years.)
Included in the pleasures of quality acquaintances are the gifts they give (this from an erudite barkeep):
One more session. Then it’s on to Coop.