In an Old 71

Alright, so I'm trying to chase away the clouds by thinking about shit that makes me luckier than all the other bastards in the world. One of them has to be the joy of driving Blue.

Nah, he's not very handsome to look at. And to quote the same Johnny Cash song, he's stubborn and he eats like a hog. But there's something about the simplicity of a motor, transmisson and rusty body on a chassis that makes Blue a pleasure to drive. The gauges are all familiar because of the 72 GMC I had, but it doesn't matter. It's just a simple, old truck.

Since Pedro was being a prick yesterday I had to drive Blue to work and it was nice knowing that if need be I could McGuyver him enough to make it back home. But there's something else, some intangible thing that happens when I slide behind the huge, bus-like steering wheel, that makes me happy. I don't need the radio on. The drone of the engine is enough. The smell of the burning oil and a rich gas mix combined with over 30 years of dirt and work is almost narcotic. I can't afford to put the hammer down, so we just amble down 99 on our way home and watch the sun set.

I do have a lot to be thankful for outside of possessions. I have the missus, good family, good friends and good dogs on top of a nice little home on a little bit of land in some of the most beautiful country in this entire world. Like I keep telling myself- I'm lucky. I just hope I don't forget it and driving that rusted out, blue and white GMC helps me remember.