Missing Silvy

We went to my older sister’s house for Thanksgiving Dinner yesterday, so all the second generation cousins could bury each other in leaves (or fight over the rake) . . .

and the first generation cousins could talk about music and movies in a language no one over 40 understands . It was a day with way too much food, but it was all soooooo good.

Everything was wonderful until the trip home. Silvy started spewing and smoking and blinking her LOW COOLANT message. Luckily, we were not far from an auto repair shop. The only drawback is that they will be closed until Monday. My poor truck will just have to sit in that strange parking lot while the cold wind blows. She probably thinks I’ve deserted her–thrown her over for a newer model. I could not do that to her. She’s serving me well, and we all have a little “water pump” trouble sooner or later, don’t we?

Ok, everybody sing with me now to the tune of I Left My Heart in San Francisco:

I left my truck in St. Charles Parish

from parking lot, she calls to me

To be where fishermen may gloat from every fishing boat

The northern wind may chill the air, but we don’t care

My truck waits there in front of Vince’s

Auto Parts and for repair

When you come home to me, Silverado

My boat will once be launched again

Go head. Call me sick. Call me twisted. (Don’t call me a Redneck.) But I really do miss my truck.