Out with a Bang... or Backfire

It has been said that my family has a strange relationship with cars. To set the record straight, we're not the nutty ones, it's the cars... really.

To a Veverka, driving is sort of a big deal. At the dinner table, it was not uncommon to eat while listening to my dad read excerpts from Road & Track or Car & Driver. And speaking of dinner, there were plenty of times I can recall ordering light on account of being tilt-a-whirlled in the back seat of a 911 on the way to a restaurant, traveling the most curvy route possible.

My dad loves cars; loves to drive. As a result, my driver's training was unconventional. Parallel parking, city navigating, and the like were left for me to stumble through on my own. I was taught the most important pillars of operating an automobile; to corner, watch for the fuzz, and maximize a car's potential.

By 3 years of age, I began telling people, "When I'm 6, my daddy is going to buy me a black Audi." During my freshman year of college, after Dad's black Chevy pickup powered by a 454 finally drove it's last mile, I needed a car. Dad found a sensible Audi coup. Not black, but I was happy. Not the most thrilling to drive, but I soon became aware that it would keep me on my toes.

At random, the alarm would sound, leaving me scrambling to quiet it. The most effective method was to beat on the horn, soothing the temperamental brat until time for the next tantrum. I surrendered to leaving the driver's side window down for easy horn beating access in the middle of the night. In connection to this behavior, the horn would honk when least expected, offending, angering, and perplexing pedestrians and drivers near.

A decade and a half ago, fed up with the torment and taunting by my Audi, I purchased a shiny green VW Passat. Only several years old, I was beside myself with excitement. The V6 was powerful & quick. Handling capabilities left a lot to be desired, but it was a normal car. The alarm fired at appropriate times, and aside from an odd electrical bleed, it ran great. Gone were my days of fuming about warm or cold start issues, running from class or bed to quiet the alarm, and feeling like I was harassed by an automobile.

After a few years, this feeling of peace began to fade on a late night drive on I5. The check engine light illuminated the dash. At the next exit, I pulled over. As I slowed, the light mysteriously dimmed. Pulling back onto the freeway and getting back up to speed, the light flashed on again. After five or so exits of this same scenario, I ignored the light. It turns out, the short was in the check engine light itself.

The Passat continued to be a little glitchy and a bit of a nightmare to work on (thanks Dad!) but kept running... and running, even after a minor accident on Snoqualmie Pass. With great patience, my husband drove the car every day to work while I drove our daughters around in his car. By 220,000 miles, it was time to find the old girl a new home.

I drafted a quick add on craigslist, attracting a surprising number of interests. Here it is:

93 Passat GLX (V6) 5 speed manual $750
220,000 miles
Reconstructed Title

The bad / needs to be done:
O2 sensor (runs rich)
Side view mirrors missing glass
Cracked windshield
Floor board in rear seat is wet when rains
Has some dents & scuffs
Leaking rear main seal. Not terrible, but leaking.
Sun roof needs help sliding closed if opened
2 driver's side door handles need fixing
Clear coat peeling
Drooping headliner

The good / things that have been done:
Runs
Comes with repair manual
Heater core
New battery
Good tires
Shocks

An eager dad of a teenage daughter arrived to buy the car. I handed him the keys for a test drive. As he turned the ignition over, a backfire like none I've heard before shot through the neighborhood. White faced and terrified, the guy bolted out of the driver's seat and handed me the key. "I think I'll have to pass" were his words. "That makes good sense," were mine.

Now, only by keeping the RPM's  at 3,500 or higher would the car keep running, seemingly starving itself out of fuel. On the ground beneath the car were an assortment of shattered VW parts, including thermostat housing.

I realize that personifying a vehicle sounds silly, but I believe that there is no other explanation than this: That dang Passat, after being replaced by a newer model and put up for sale for merely more that scrap, was pissed. It threw it's last and final fit, disabling it's tired self in the driveway, parking in the new car. "In your face!" I'm pretty sure it was taunting.

Now the old car sits at Astoria Auto Wrecking, waiting to be parted out and inevitably crushed... and yes, I feel just a tad bit sad about it. As I signed the title over, I felt compelled to give a quick rundown of the car's history. The gentleman listened patiently. I could tell that he was thinking, "This girl has sort of a weird relationship with this car..."

P.S. Here is my Audi Coupe Quattro, now on jack stands in my dad's shop. I'm still too sad to talk about it...

Silly Pancake Tutorial

Make breakfast fun! For St Patty's Day, we whipped up four leaf clover pancakes, made with heart cookie cutters. Use a little dipping bowl with syrup & eat with your hands. Annika enjoyed hers with Grandma Cheryl's choke cherry syrup.

Cookie cutters with a silicone rim work best since they are cool to grab from the hot skillet, but a dishtowel or oven mitt work just fine.

Sometimes we mix it up and make sea life pancake dippers.

Remember to coat the cookie cutter with oil, so the batter doesn't stick. Cook as usual, and when the pancake looks perfectly bubbly, pull the form off and flip. Enjoy!

Grandma, Cookies, and Peanutbutter Loaf

Moments after Lydia woke me for her third early morning feeding, my phone rang. I instantly knew something was wrong. No one calls a new mommy before 7:00 AM without news, bad news. It was my mom, teary, letting me know that my grandmother had passed away in the night. She was 93.

Anita Heytz Brunt, or Nita, as my grandfather called her, lived to care for those around her. If you knocked on her door, stranger or friend, she would offer you a meal and a place to sit; usually the chair she was sitting in. As a kid, I always found that odd; why would Grandma offer me her chair when there are four perfectly good places to sit right here in the room? She offered her seat because she loved to give.

When I visited Grandma & Grandpa's house, there were certain things I could count on. Of those things were canned peaches & applesauce, chocolate chip cookies, and during the holidays, peanut butter loaf. One might assume the peanut butter loaf would be the lowest on my list of favorites, but that would be incorrect.

A year and a half ago, when Grandpa passed, and Grandma's dementia no longer allowed her to care for herself, she moved into a memory care facility. While clearing out their house, my mom asked me if there were any things I might want to have of G&G's. Strangely, the only things I could think of were canned fruit, cookies, and delicious peanut butter loaf. Not exactly keep sakes.

My grandparents retired in Walla Walla Washington, where I attended college. They lived about a mile from campus. When I was in the mood for peaches, cookies, and grahm crackers, I would walk to their house. Grandma always kept the best grahm crackers, coated with cinnamon & sugar; she knew they were my favorite. Sometimes I would mow the lawn or change light bulbs. It was nice feeling useful.

Within a few years, I lived just several blocks away. I didn't make it to their house nearly as much as I should have. Most of my "visits" were in the middle of the night. When hearing an ambulance race through our quiet neighborhood, I would jump out of bed for a quick run or drive to make sure the lights were not stopping at their house. I could sleep once I knew they were sleeping safe & sound.

Even after moving to the nursing home, Grandma was always thrilled to see her great grandbabies. Without fail, she would offer babysitting services and ask if we were hungry. Even in those later stages of her failing memory, she longed to take care of others, even when she no longer recognized us as her family.

In saying goodbye to my grandmother, my feelings of sadness are greatly for my mother. No matter how old or how forgetful, the death of a parent is still exactly that, a great loss. The people that once cared for every need, fed, consoled, and nurtured you are now gone.

My mind flashed forward, and I realize that this leaves my generation next in line to have aging parents. This is a reality I am not yet ready to face. For the time being, I will enjoy the youth and strength of my parents, of Josh's parents, and enjoy the many years we have a head of us. I will revel in the bonds formed between my children their grandparents.

Grandma Brunt, rest well. You lived a good long life taking care of the ones you loved. You will be missed.