Lacking digital photos for the Weekly Photo Challenge that spoke Nostalgicto me, I dove into the archives–all those boxes of processed prints that record a lifetime. That’s where I’ve been, in case you noticed I was late posting today. I got a little carried away, lingered a bit longer than intended, but enjoyed visiting people and places that are now only a memory.
The photo I’ve chosen is of me, at Christmas, with my bottle of Black Label beer. There was a television ad at the time, with a catchy jingle, “Mabel, Black Label…” Being proof that commercials appeal to our senses and create a desire for their products, by golly, I wanted one for Christmas! My family, the comedic bunch they are, obliged. I don’t remember being allowed to open it, but then, I’ve heard stories of people who imbibe and then can’t remember anything about it afterward…
Last week I was invited to participate in the Memory Monday meme on Sandy’s Space.Hubby worked Saturday, so I picked him up and took him to lunch. On my way back home, I saw this shiny red car on the interstate, a 1957 Chevrolet.
Right then, I knew what I would post for Memory Monday.
The only NEW car my dad ever owned was a green ’57 Chevy, 4-door. I was around the age of two when he got it; it showed up in the background of a lot of family photos over the years.
Some Sunday afternoons, it took us to my maternal grandparent’s house where we met up with aunts, uncles, and cousins for dinner. It would usually be late when we returned home, and often I would fall asleep in the back seat. I always awoke to the whine of the transmission when dad would downshift at our turn-off of Rt. 250.
Then there were Sunday drives. Dad and Mom in the front seat, my youngest brother and I in the back. He sat behind Dad, who always drove, and I sat behind Mom who never learned to drive. If anyone else ever rode with us, I got stuck in the middle, with my feet on the *hump.
In the summer, the Chevy took us to drive-in movies. One time, an elderly neighbor went with us. She said she’d bring the popcorn, and did she ever! She filled kraft-paper grocery bags with it.
After graduating from high school, my brother joined the Army. When he had leave, the Chevy would pick him up, or take him to a drop-off point, where he would hitchhike back to Fort Eustis.
We lived in West Virginia, so there was lots of snow and ice in the winter, and lots of road salt. Road salt isn’t kind to the metal body parts of a car. Some started to rust, but Dad would patch, patch, patch. The summer I was a rising senior in high school, Dad drove us to Virginia Beach to visit my two older brothers who were in the Navy. There had been a lot of rain; Richmond was flooded. I’m thinking it was from the remnants of a hurricane. I remember my feet getting wet, and Dad was surprised to find a puddle inside the car. When we returned home, he removed the rear seat and exclaimed, “There was a hole back there big enough to put a cow through!”
Thanks, Sandy, for inviting me to join in Memory Monday, and giving me one more trip down memory lane in the old ’57 Chevy.
*The “hump” was a raised area the length of the floor of the car that straddled the drive line.