Saturday, September 4, 2010

A Definition

A Creeper: One who creeps, i.e. one who expends time and effort on studying the interests, beliefs, thoughts, opinions, and movements, of another.

That should explain my previous post. I hope none of you are creepers.  KT, I'm looking at you...

   My adventures in Missouri continue. In fact I have past the one whole month in the state marker.  And I a sorry it's been so long since I blogged, I need to get back into the habit. I know you all want to hear about my job and my house and stuff (I know, I pictures....On that topic, am I allowed to wait till we have more furniture?) but I think I should tell you the epic tale of our travels. Thus begins...

An American Tale:
One Toyota's Journey


The Epic Travels of Squeaky and the Trailer

     Once upon a time there was a little green 2000 Toyota Camry LE. It was born on an inauspicious day in an inauspicious town in Japan.  It traveled to America during poor weather on a boat that was cursed. For many years it served bravely, but without self awareness, in the Philadelphia area.  Then, tragically, it was sold to a small dealership in modern day suburbia.  While there, it came to know that its many parts worked together in nearly perfect harmony to create something bigger than each individual piece.

     Thus it became self-aware.

     Over time this awareness grew, and when it was purchased by a determined looking man and a confused looking girl it decided that this new owner should reap the many benefits of a car that was self aware.

     It's life began happily enough. It drove the familiar PA roads of its youth and realized that it had firm opinions about them. For instance, it did not like the girl's exit. But it kept its thoughts to itself. From there it journeyed to the back roads of rural Maryland where it would, for some reason, be left alone in the woods for long periods of time, filled with damp boots. It liked that even less.  But what was to come would have boggled even the rapidly developing mind of our hero.

    One fine summer day it was, hastily, transported to Philadelphia, where it was forced to undergo, without anesthesia, several major surgeries. From shock, the days became disjointed, and finally, on a blisteringly hot summer morning, it woke to find a monster chewing on its rear bumper.  It drove for nine long hours that day, until finally, exhausted from the enormous weight it was carrying, stopped in Columbus OH. The monster did not let go and as it looked in the window the car became aware that it was a trailer, plastered with the letters U-H-A-U-L, and images of men smiling what were, in the car's opinion, demented smiles. A sign on the thing read "*********** MO or bust!"

     For the next three days our hero slogged, through hills and valleys, plains and cities, all with the monster clawing at its tailpipe. The complaints that it had kept within itself for the past year bubbled to the surface and our hero no longer kept quiet. Rather, he learned to complain. And at each stop. Columbus, Zaneville, Sparta and finally its ultimate destination, it complained and whined.
      "Where are we going? What are you doing?" It cried, but the man and the girl did not answer. They laughed as they drove, and when they stopped, often the checked on things and spoke of some "Great Adventure."
      Our hero, who we shall from here on call Squeaky, since that was what it did most of the way, did not like this Great Adventure. Even the boots were better than this. Then one day, it parked. It parked under a roof, on smooth pavement that felt good on its poor tires. And then, miracle of miracles, the monster let go. The girl and the man killed the monster and gutted it.  Squeaky was saved! 

     But Squeaky discovered that its complaining voice could not be silenced. It continued to squeak and squeak, telling the world of its travails and sufferings. But a month later, after several expensive therapy sessions, Squeaky is well on his way to healing.


     As for Charles and I, the Epic Journey of Squeaky and the Trailer was hard on us all. The roads of America are definitely NOT paved with gold. But they do appear to be lined with Starbucks. So who can really complain.

Love to all.