A few weeks back, in the days before social distancing, my wife and I were headed out to the YMCA on a Saturday afternoon when our trip was paused at the side of my pickup truck.
“What in the name of Curious George has been going on in the back of this truck?” she said with a disgusted huff.
“What? The banana peels?” I asked. “I’ve just been opening the sliding window and pitching them into the bed.”
“John! There’s like a thousand of them here! What in the world are you doing with them?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, there’s no more than a hundred,” I said. “Karen at work gives me crap all the time about tossing apple cores and banana peels out the window. She says, ‘Little animals might run into the roadway to eat them.’”
“So you’re filling your truck with banana peels to save ‘little animals’ from themselves?”
“Well, no, actually,” I said. “It began that way — even though I strongly feel that any little animal that would risk its life for a banana peel should probably be eliminated from the gene pool anyhow. But now I’ve got bigger plans.”
“Bigger plans for rotting banana peels?” Kristin lamented. “Oh no! Don’t tell me you’re ‘fueling a time-travel machine’ or something like that. There’s only so much crazy any marriage can take, John.”
“Now that’s an even better idea!” I laughed. “But no, I just figured I’d collect my banana peels in the truck bed all winter and then scoop them out to spike my compost pile once the weather breaks. However, since you mentioned it, I do have to admit that retrofitting my truck into a time machine would be a worthy endeavor!”
We eventually climbed into the cab and drove away, with Kristin’s gym bag on her lap rather than in the bed of the truck where it should have been. But my thoughts for the rest of the afternoon kept returning to my truck on a movie poster like Doc Brown’s flux-capacitor powered DeLorean from the 1980s film “Back to the Future.”
Mind you, my admittedly ratty early ’90s Ford Ranger might not inspire old-timers to wax nostalgic about “the good ol’ days back on the farm” as easily as a classic, patina-brushed, ’46 Chevy from a Terry Redlin painting might; but some day, if the ratchet straps, duct tape and zip-ties hold, it’ll be a classic in its own regard. And while I doubt that it’ll be capable of time travel, or even artistic inspiration, Lord willing, it’ll still be running and will still be my favorite way of getting across town. Kristin will have little choice but to climb in and ride shotgun if she wants to roll with me!
(I’d love to hear your questions or comments! Write to John Lorson Send Help, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627. Be sure to check out Facebook for time-lapse film clips of Kristin’s artwork and other fun stuff at JohnLorsonSendHelp)
