Motorhead Land

I was off to a semi-annual trek to Monroe Washington where the biggest swap meet I have ever been to is held. Did I say this is held twice of year? It's to die for if you are a motor head even if you only polish your car. There is everything you ever wished for – bolts, steering wheels, steering columns, crank shafts, transmissions, car bodies from old old old to fairly new ('72). A gazillion carburetors. I have never seen so many carburetors. What is it with carburetors anyway that they are so prolific at a swap meet? If it's greasy and fits in a car, truck, motorcycle, boat – it's there. It's acres and acres of greasy parts. (I could betcha it's miles and MILES of car parts.)

A couple weeks ago my significant other, Lovey, proudly presented me with my own little cart with a hard plastic milk box secured by bungee cords. He has since referred to it as my own personal cart. "There's Jeanie's cart." "I gave Jeanie her own cart." And I'll tell you why it's mine. I get to bring it with me wherever I go – not realizing until Saturday morning that the gift giver would be frequently telling me to move my cart out of the way, keep it right next to me or out of the way of parts gawkers. They don't "see" the cart for all the parts – kind of a forest for the trees. That cart is invisible to the diehard motor head. He could trip and fall and kill himself while he is drooling over a rusted out muffler for a '49 Chev.

We would (er, Motorhead Lovey would) steadily fill up my cart and when it was full, I would trek out to where the car was parked about a mile away from the Mile-High, Mile-Square parts plaza and unload my cart.

Heard while trudging along with my cart:

Two old guys were walking beside me with their own cart. One says to the other, "Do you want a cookie?" They stop and he roots around in his cart - further and further to the bottom. "Found them! . . . . . Smashed."

There's a moral here: Always put your cookies on TOP of crankshafts.

Years ago I bought Lovey a couple of walkie-talkie things so I could drop behind him and actually look at girly stuff. Before the walkie-talkie things, I would glance down at a Duncan Miller Canterbury bowl, check the price, dicker with the vender and lower the price, and Lovey would be GONE. I'd look and look for him and finally find him staring at me (he was focusing his brain in my direction, knowing he has a hypnotic affect on me and I am drawn to him by some kind of invisible ray). "How could you miss me!?" he would yell, "I'm the biggest guy standing in the middle of the pathway." Yeah, but, I'm a short Hobbit and all I see are millions of plaid shirts with greasy hands sticking out of them.

We've moved on to cell phones. I lose him, all I have to do is press "2" and call him. Sometimes I can even hear his phone ringing, so I know he's really close.

The weather was wicked cold Saturday. I packed enough for three days and Saturday I looked at all those extra clothes and made an executive decision. I wore everything I packed. I topped this off with gloves, a hat, and a hoodie to cover the hat (to keep in what little body heat I had). The only thing I lacked was a kleenex for my suddenly running nose. There are food booths scattered throughout the acreage so I managed napkins when I needed them.

Gas was $3.19 in Moses Lake. Tada!!!! I came home with a miniature tea set in a miniature tea pot shaped box. Lovey came home with tools – very, very heavy tools. Why do I know this?

Well, I'm the one who pulled the cart.

.