Internal Combustion

My heart is damaged.  It is scarred by loss and disappointment.  The scars offer evidence of their presence with every beat in a complicated rhythmic pattern I have yet to keep time with.  I voluntarily gave some of what I’ve lost.  Some, less willingly, I either accepted or still resist.  I expect my off-beat tapping will improve with further acceptance.  My disappointment withers with the realization that what is replacing my losses is far more valuable to me, far more powerful and life giving than what I’ve given up.  This does not eliminate the scars or their pain, it makes them important, gives them a place of significance and hints to poetic lyrics being crafted into music.

I find this hope for and understanding of the rhythm, poetry and music of my heart to be powerful in the recipe for healing.  Were it not for the loss and disappointment, there would be no comparison to make.  I would still be unsatisfied, but without the initial hunger pangs that come with the taste of the unseen future feast.  I would long for something but have no place to put it and no capacity to put it to work. 

My truck, Earl, is part of this continuing story, a metaphor, and maybe more than that.  He has come to me nearly stock, but with a quiet, tired heart, whiny transmission and leaky, squeaking steering – among other things.  In some ways, I am hoping Earl is a replacement for recent losses. 

I sold a 68 nova that my dad bought new and had remained in the family until last month.  I sold a 79 f350 that I built with my friend Joe from scratch.  It started as a beat up farm truck and ended as a glorious fire-breathing monster.  Both vehicles and several others along the way received chunks of my soul as they spent their seasons with me.

68 Nova with 307 and 3 on the floor

I loved the smell of my dad’s nova and the sound of the engine.  I used to sit in it in the garage with my hands resting on the steering wheel and just breathe the comfort of age and vague memory.  Once a month or so, I drove it around a few country blocks to keep carbon build up at bay and make sure no rubber grew on the tires.  The roar of that V8 made me chuckle with deep, deep contentment.  I will miss it until I’m dead.  I plan on driving it in heaven.

79 F350 with built 460 - Joe's Trucks

Big black was different.  He was a symbol of my (supposed) success.  I partnered with my neighbor Joe, a wise old ex-contractor (among many other things) who spent his time with a couple buddies restoring 73-79 ford trucks.  He let me pick the truck and design the restoration.  In the end, like with so many other things, Big Black became more than it should have been.  I took an elegantly simple creation and added too much to it.  Kind of a theme for me.  It was the coolest truck in Clark County.  Hands down, no contest.

I can remember the day I was talking to God about borrowing my father-in-laws 89 Ranger.  It sat, gathering moss, in his driveway.  The idea centered on fuel economy – in great contrast to the high octane 460 in Big Black.  So practical I thought, aren’t I mature… then, in a moment of wide-eyed realization, I knew I was being tricked.  I would end up driving that Ranger and giving up my glorious, identity boosting truck.  Five years later… yep.  Don’t get me wrong; I love my Ranger (Betsy).  She’s been a reliable, comfortable, simple gift in the midst of so much that is unstable and unknown.  I will be sad to see her go, perhaps more than I was over Big Black.

Enter Earl.  Betsy is getting tired.  I am afraid I will run her into the ground.  Though she is old, she is not old enough that I know how to fix her.  Earl is old enough that there are no emissions, no computers, not even fuel injection.  His parts are cheap and abundant, new or used.  I can sit in the engine compartment with the engine and sleep on the bench seat fully stretched out.  I hope that’s not regularly necessary.

What, it is fair to ask, do the Nova, Big Black, Betsy and Earl have to do with my damaged, yet to be syncopated heart?  Yes, fair question.  I answer with hesitant, anxious, confidence.  I am going to try again.  As with the rest of my life, I am taking what has been invested in me through apparent difficulty, mistakes and losses and investing it again.  Earl is simple and elegant.  I hope to draw out these elements and give them strength, beauty and practical application.  I intend to find the beat of his heart and hope that the hours spent with my friends with our knuckles in grease will tune my heart as well. 

To be continued…