August, September, Volktober…

Love washed over me 29 years ago; a little German girl, my age with curves, big round curves; a 1967 Volkswagen Beetle.  I became obsessed, looking and admiring, reading and researching, exciting my brain with information and boring those around me with its regurgitation.  That last part, the regurgitation, may be why boxes of ‘VW Trends’ and ‘Hot VW’ magazines mysteriously disappeared during a move early in my marriage.

Yes, Adolf Hitler played a part in her creation, calling on Ferdinand Porsche to design a peoples’ car (folks’ wagon), even presenting him with a sketch in 1934 that looks eerily like my red ‘67.  But none of us can be held accountable from whence we came; only what we’ve become.

Three other VW’s have come and gone, a ’69 Beetle, a ’73 Super Beetle and the sexiest of the girls, a bright red ’71 Karmann Ghia.  But it’s not the air cooled Volkswagens that captured my eternal love, it’s their cousin, a girl I met as a mere child, the car my Grandfather taught me to drive when I was just twelve.  A 1964 Opel Kadett, also a German made econocar, she was designed to compete directly with VW’s Beetle for market share.

Related to, but not the GT (mini Corvette) produced by Opel in the 60’s and 70’s, she looks more like a mini ‘64 Chevy II.  When I was 12, she was pristine.  My Uncle Frankie bought her new, drove her and then handed her off to his dad.  Grandpa Buck traded mechanical work for paint, body and interior and rebuilt the rest himself.  Buck died when I was fifteen and she was given to friends who drove her until she wouldn’t drive and parked her.  Frankie’s boy Steve happened across her one day and brought her back into the family.  A few years later I traded him out of her for some war metals that’d been handed down to me via Grandpa Buck, a U. S. soldier in Germany during WWII, that he’d gathered from Nazi prisoners.  It was a win-win for me, those things had given me the creeps for decades.

Were it not the actual car my Grandfather owned I’d never consider her a restoration project, she hadn’t aged well.  When she’s finally on the road again I’ll have lost money comparing investment to market value, but that doesn’t concern me.  She’s a link to my past, the car Buck loved (probably because my Grandma’s name was Opal), the car he taught three of his four grandchildren to drive in.  She may even be the car I teach my grandkids to drive in.

All this comes to mind because of an email from the Texas Opel Club, a reminder of Volktoberfest, a German car show in McKinney, Texas at the end of September.  I’d go for the VW’s but there’s been mention of Opels, probably just GTs, but one never knows, a type ‘A’ Kadett might crawl out of the woodwork.  At the very least I’ll get a day looking at old cars and catching up with my cousin Steve (the one too young to have been taught to drive in the Opel).  And with one email the countdown has begun: August, September, Volktober…

It’ll Keep Traveling

There’s a short in my brain, some sort of internal focus resistance circuit.  The ability to concentrate on a task is within me…but it hides behind rampant curiosity.  I’ve managed to keep a job and family without much trouble but not without some effort, and the problem is all in my head.

The latest reason is this article.  Operating best cyclically, on duty (working or studying) for 10 or 15 minutes and then distracted for 5 or 10 minutes, I’m efficient.  Presently, I need to write this article.  Also, I want to look up some information on an online business.  The perfect combination…if my mind cooperates.

But I’m really curious about what it takes to start an online business so what have I spent the last hour and a half doing? Researching online business startups…and Moe Norman’s golf swing…and Facebooking…and whatever pranced across my brain as I perused the electronic superhighway.

This proclivity wasn’t an issue in school for a couple of reasons.  First, distractions, or the lack of, there wasn’t really anything else to do but what was right in front of me.  We didn’t have texting, web-surfing, or anything electronic to distract us.  If your hands were in your crotch and your fingers were moving rapidly you were going to be medicated and placed in a special class.

The other reason was consequences.  If I was off topic I didn’t get redirected, a time-out or detention; I got busted.  A wooden paddle across a chubby bottom focused attention and elevated motivation.  Of course, society’s become too sophisticated for such a primitive form of discipline…that served mankind brilliantly for millennia.  So carry on with your time-outs, countdown-to-obedience and second/third/fourth chances because life also offers those to adults…in the form of firings, incarceration and divorces.

Access to information is ruthless on my internal urge for instant answers.  In days of old hastily satisfying whimsical curiosities wasn’t normally possible.  If I wanted an answer I had to jump through hoops.  It might involve digging through encyclopedias; we had an orange set missing the ‘R-Si’ edition (consequently, I know nothing about the Renaissance, Rasputin or San Diego).  Or it might mean talking to an adult or making a phone call.  Normally not wanting an answer that bad, I went on with whatever task my wandering mind had tried to evade.  Like easy women, easy answers are awesome…until you realize what you’ve lost in their pursuit. 

With a quick search on the miracle of modern technology I keep in my pocket (a smart phone) I can download an online retail business plan, look at a video of Moe Norman’s very unusual swing (the guy was a golf savant) and discover my cousin’s 9-year-old daughter, Saffy won ‘Best of Show Stand-Up Comedian’ at the Mason Bar last week.

But if I gave in to all my whims with the ease I give in to curiosity I’d be half dead from diabetes, with rooms full of useless eBay items and a wife that carried an electric cattle prod around the house.  I don’t know what causes my mind to go on its day trips, but all indications are it’ll keep traveling.