A Girl, A Pandemic and A Ford

 So, here we are 6+ months into a global pandemic. It's almost "normal', to wrap a mask around our wrist and queue in line hopping from one 6ft circle to the next.  Remember when we didn't do that?  Remember when we sighed with relief as we kicked 2019 to the curb? Yep, it was another world.

We are all adapting to how our lives have changed and the levels of impact on us and the world.. Yes, life is not what it was.  A mere 6 months in calendar time and we are embedded in a sci-fi novel.

On the scary side, people are still getting sick and jobs are ghosting.  Political posturing can't distract from empty store windows and closed restaurants.  I became one of those pandemic unemployment"statistics".  One day I had a job, the next, I didn't.  Gotta love "at will" work policies. Here today, gone tomorrow. When did loyalty become a commodity?  Nobody talks about that in the debates.  Curious minds are, well, curious..

On the bright side, the pandemic kicked our asses to figure out what really mattered to us. Dragged us without mercy, from our ruts into deep and personal values re-evaluation. Who mattered to us and, why it all mattered to us. An Age of Epiphanies.   My own epiphany, morphed, after the initial shock, into a journey toward re-discovering my soul.  Finding that previous self I was pretty sure the 9-5 "normal" had crushed out of me.

Epiphany One was, my 9-5 job was Not my identity. And, working for a pay check to pay the bills was Not the meaning of life.  Now, suddenly, I had a blank page in front of me. In losing my job and house,  I found what I had been missing. Writing. When had I stopped? Why had I stopped? These questions started to bug me in the day, and haunt me through the night. Call it a mid-life crisis but, I needed a change. A reason to get up in the morning.

 When I was a kid,  I knew who and what I was.  I was a "writer".  I loved playing with words, spinning them out like cotton candy, tasting them, holding them up to the light..  I was published by the time I was 12.  I babysat endless nights for money to buy my first electric typewriter at 14.  I had dreams that smelled of ink.  I was not afraid to follow those dreams.  Eventually, defined by what society expected of me, I "grew up." Settled down and got a "real" job. I joined the Rat Race. 

Facing the nightmare of the pandemic has given all of us a more "mortal" view of our lives. Time is precious and must no longer to be taken for granted. Friends die.

 I looked out of my window at this new world. My gaze dropped to the street below.  There she was.  Sitting in the rain, waiting. I knew she was tired of the 9-5 grind too. She was built for more than city traffic and stoplights.  She was "Big Blue". My 2005 SLE 500 Ford.  She was 4 wheels of American history that meant, Freedom. She was the promise of an old dream.

That was two months ago. I packed my life into a storage POD, threw 2 suitcases in the ample trunk of my old Ford and drove through the pandemic to see America. To see what was really happening and try to understand these strange times we were living in. Just me. Me and Big Blue.

Big Blue didn't let me down. Her age didn't stop her. We drove up  Montana mountains, through Wyoming and S.Dakota. Gaped at the Mt. Rushmore Monument, contemplated the unfinished symbolism of Crazy Horse and flew across the plains with the wind. We blasted Bonnie Rait music and cruised through cities in turmoil. We hummed through Georgia and Tennessee. From the West Coast of Portland, Oregon to Naples, Florida she ate up the miles. Over hundreds of miles, I found the courage to remember my old dreams. Big Blue gave me that.  Then, I left her.

For over a month Big Blue was parked under a palm tree. Left, burning under the Florida sun, untouched. Empty. Silent. 

Coming back, I thought, "no way, she's done for now. I was lucky she came this far".  I opened the door and sent spiders scurrying under the hood. Little webs were strung across the windows. Not a good sign. I turned the key in the ignition. With a slight, reproachful rumble, the engine turned over and Big Blue growled back to life.  

"I'm sorry I left you" I murmured. Was I talking to my car or, to myself?  I drove Big Blue to a carwash, sprayed her with WD-40, checked in at a Firestone service, threw my suitcase in the trunk and said, 

"Let's hit the road again."  This time we would go a different route. See other "worlds". Test our resolve across the hot, dusty desert states.  A long distance love affair.

From Florida to San Diego, California.  Hightailing it behind Hurricane Delta. Would we make it? Only one way to find out. Pedal to the metal and a full load of road music lined up.  Against the odds. Against the pandemic. On the road to dreams. A girl and her Ford.

Strict Originalis? Amy Coney Barrett