There comes an age when your birthday cake looks increasingly like a monument. Better to let it slip by a bit.
I flew to Dallas to take delivery of a special automobile for my birthday one year. That was a good year. The automobile? Not quite so good.
The car had a great engine, and horrible secondary systems like the fuel pump, oil pump, suspension members. Well, some things have to be babied. I didn't keep the car long.
In Soldat, Siegfried Knappe describes his pre-war Mercedes coupe and having the mechanics his armored unit make new springs for it so he could drive from the eastern front back to command and general staff school during WWII. That's a pretty tough roadster. Not my brand, though.
I drove with the convertible top down today. May be the last time this year. It's deep fall here and I'm writing about the cool fall of Florida where I've set several murders.
I remember one Christmas walking to the neighbors' house barefoot. I did step on holly leaves in our yard and got stickers in my foot. Life is different in the south.
Have a happy armistice day.
Read a little Wilfred Owen today.
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