Holiday inspiration, identity crisis a la carte

So far, we have the wreaths and tree erection under our belts but we were struck motionless by six inches of snow on Saturday and have just been wandering about in awe while building (and eating) snowmen.

During this same time, an identity crisis became apparent and I mention it only to bring you to some level of cognizance before something wicked happens on these pages following suit. But surely, you have noted the signs.

In truth, I thought we would look at some pretty pictures to lull you into passivity as I relate this to you.

In many places I go, I am notorious for my dealings with large vehicles. Over the years, I have taken a can't-win-em-all attitude in the outcome of some situations which I felt were the unavoidable outcome of encounters with huge motorized things. Perhaps others felt these pockets of activity (as I like to think of them) could have been avoided with foresight, although I only assume this from their expressions.



There was the spanking new billion-dollar semi-truck which was a custom built six horse carrier whose interior was highly varnished mahogany in which some very important horses were to be shuttled to heady venues. Into that new trailer I loaded a young horse who was known to make multiple daily suicide attempts in the front paddocks closest the road: He would get a galloping start and jump out of his field and into the roadway while playing chicken with passing cars. Then, as fast as he could, he would make for the deli a half mile away.

Once loaded in the new truck and left to his own devices while the other horses were loaded, he bucked, reared, flailed, and squealed until he broke free of his cross-tie and kicked five huge holes in the mahogany. He was fine. He was always fine. The custom semi, not so much.

His name was Temptation. But I digress.



Before back-up alarms and cameras were installed on farm trucks, I had a persistent disagreement with the stable manager regarding where the actual wall of the barn was under the hayloft which inevitably ended with my leaving the truck right where it was and snapping at him, "Then move the wall!"

When the farm was painted one spring, he insisted the distressed dents to the left of the door remain unpainted as a reminder that I should ride, not drive.

Once, my friend Debbie and I were out after a deluge and got ourselves stuck in the mud. When the second truck arrived to push us out, somehow (?) the bumper of the second truck became attached to the first and both trucks sank deeply into the muck. When the wreckers arrived to pull the trucks out, both drivers lept from the cabs shaking their heads. Yes, we had met before.



Those are only a few of my exploits. I am leaving several out which people are still hot about. Look, everything works out fine/ gets fixed, including the car I backed over twice. In one week.

The other day, while my Husband and several others were pushing my truck out of a slick, muddy spot during the storm, it occurred to me I needed a change.

When I mentioned to him later that I wanted to drive the Suburban (over the identity-crisis on wheels, my Volvo SUV), one eyebrow rose. Knowing full well my vast talents with enormous vehicles, or at least what I will own up to or he witnessed himself, Josh gives my car decisions a wide-berth.

"But, I'll need new wheels."

"For the Suburban?"

"Yes." I said. Then he kind of nodded at me. But, he was rubbing his forehead like he all of a sudden had a brutal headache.

"You mean tires." I roll on Michelin, everyone knows that.




"No. Wheels." I said.

Then he knew. And he was kind of shaking his head and rubbing his temples with both hands.

"22's. Yah. Dubs." I explained patiently.

"Dubs!" He said as he got up and began to fix something that was both not broken and not actually there. "How do you even know what those are?... You are going roll on dubs with chrome mags in Middleburg. In your Barbour?"

"Right. Kind of a cross between a security detail vehicle and a Colombian drug dealer's ride. That's where I'm at right now."



"Between security and drugs?"

"Aesthetically."

"Got it."

He wandered off and I did not see him for a while. Since then he has muttered things about alerting the insurance company and the police. As if either of those organizations need a head's up.



Photo credits: Country Living 1,2,3. Southern Accents 4, 7. Southern Living, 5. Chevrolet USA, 6.