Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Johnny Rumble:
Summary of Life

Sometimes I prefer to sit back on “my” reclaimed MG car seats and watch the world pass by from the comfort of my garage. But this gets me into trouble. I lose track of time, forgetting that there are certain obligations I owe to people. Obviously, these people get upset, but I plow on, sitting there, occasionally peeling my thighs off the seat leather.

I spend much time bench-building cars, made for dirt roads and the occasional un-plowed field, and perfect workshops, complete with a home-welded wheeling machine. Yes, I’ve been bitten by automotive body repair and restoration. The work kept and continues to keep me sane at my (formerly) inane and perverse job of oil-change technician and home-maker. I never feel better than when I crawl around the car getting things fixed or changed or added. I’m a cheapskate when it comes to repairing the Saturn.

College has become a torture chamber, the lunacy of the professors and the administrative staff preventing those fabled “glory days” from happening. After nearly four long and annoying years, I think I finally figured out what degree I’m going to pursue and head down the path of geek-dom and work with computers for a living. Computer programming... It almost makes me sick to my stomach thinking about being stuck under the white fluorescent, staring an LCD screen while my eyes attempt to stay focused. I’ve done it before and I missed working under the sun. But I was good (and still am) at it.

Much to my father’s worry I think, I’ve re-discovered dirt roads and how much fun it can be to look in the rear-view and see the rusty red clouds billow behind you, feeling the car shake itself to near-extinction, inputs being delayed for fractions of a second, and the buttonless handbrake being a great friend when it comes time to make that ninety-degree corner to speed down another dirt lane. Historians always talk about how the automobile liberated the city-dwellers to explore the country, the cause of urban sprawl, and the creation of the suburb. I’m becoming an Okie again, trying to get away from all of that. I want the isolated house, out in the middle of the plains, dirt and prairie for miles, and a lifted Subaru wagon to get me into town quickly to get the groceries and back out again, for I have a woman to love, dogs to feed and a fender to wheel out in the shop.

Speaking of a woman to love…

She finally got though my thick and oft-cracked skull that I need to let out probably one of the biggest secrets that I’ve kept from the family. Although I’ve sure some people have figured it out by now, there is a circular band on both of our left ring fingers. I consider myself extremely lucky she said “yes” given the circumstances under which I asked her. So that’s it. I, Johnny Rumble, am engaged. Crazy thought. I guess that this could be that officially un-official engagement announcement. When are the wedding announcements coming? That’s an on-going argument, as only “married couples” have. Or so I’ve heard…

It only seems like last week I was running around underneath the trees on the school playground playing freeze tag and “bubble gum-in-a-dish.” “Tag, you’re it.” Time flies, and I’m sitting in the garage, bench-building, thinking, twirling and spinning my tungsten circlet wondering where it all went, and wondering what’s coming around the corner.

I am much too young to feel this damn old,

Johnny Rumble

1 comment:

  1. Congrats. I'm happy that you are happy. And I want to know when the big day is.