jo burgess hannon

fit for today, fit for life

Becoming a Clutch Driver

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Mhhhm…

What have I learned from my siblings?

When I was young, we had manual vehicles.  My dad’s truck was 5 on the tree, mom’s station wagon had a shifter on the column too.  A couple of my brothers had street motorcycles and of course they both had a clutch you worked with your heal.  There were dirt bikes and 3 wheelers at my aunt and uncle’s property that you had to manual shift as well.

Turns out I never got to drive the 3 wheelers or dirt bikes as a kid because, well, I was a girl and only the boys got to drive ’em. And, I was always ‘too young’. Looking back, that might have just been momma’s excuse to keep her only daughter off the bikes. Anyway, by the time I was driving, mom’s car was what we lovingly called the SS Burgess, a huge 4 door automatic Chevy Impala and dad’s ‘truck’ car was an auto shifting El Camino.

When I took possession of my first car I couldn’t actually drive it because I had not yet learned to drive a car with a clutch. My brother Keith helped my buy my beloved blue Mustang and he drove it home from Renton Ford with me riding shot gun. For the record, being 17 and leaving my car sit in the driveway was torture. Thanks brother Tim for teaching me how to actually drive the car I had sitting in front of our house.

It was Honey who taught me how to drive a motorcycle.  With him on the back, we rode around his couple acre pasture.  When it looked like we were going to end up in the irrigation ditch (imagine a 3 feet deep water canal running along the property line) Honey started yelling “TURN!” over the noise of the engine.  It still makes me laugh to think about him jumping off the back as we beelined for the crop water.

             Jeff’s motorcycle sitting along side the canal

Actually, I did not learn to drive a motorcycle: one and done.  Though I did not end up in the ditch, Honey was done with the lessons.

Oh,  I also learned to light matches but that’s a story for another day.

What I long for…

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The Smoker  Cigarette Man  Marlboro Man?

 

1)… photo memories of my childhood.

I still have a box, a large box, of photos from my mom.  Several times, I have pulled it out, dug through, tried to add some sense of organization to the heap of undated and unmarked photos, mailed off items to brothers, family and then closed the lid. There are so many people in the box I do not know and I am running out of old people to ask.  My daughter will end up throwing them out if I don’t first because, and I know this is obvious but am stating it more as a personal reminder, she won’t know the faces either.

As I mentally sift through my childhood memories, writing stories here on the blog I often wish I could find a photo of one thing or another.  I only have a few photos of immediate family, pictures that include me.  The box is full of faces I do not recognize, like Cigarette Man.  I remembered the swagger emanating from this particular pic when I first ran across it and decided I might add it to a gallery wall. Doesn’t he make smoking look cool?  So when I dug back through the box for Cigarette Man…my Auntie Dee thinks he might be my Uncle Chuck Bertsfield… I found this:

I know, its blurry, eyes are closed, not a very good picture.  Its crooked and for a hot minute I edited it so the paneling was straight, but then the phone was cut out and the memory of having a phone permanently attached to the wall seems an important part life in the 70’s.  It captures me, my childhood, happily barefoot, in a dress my mom had sewn from a few yards of clearance fabric, with grand parents I dearly loved for how they poured joy into my life.

Side note:  I don’t actually think smoking is cool. I watched my dad die from throat cancer.

 

2)…to make the right decision.

Ever pick the wrong paint color, choose the wrong words in a discussion, question your last hour, day, week?  I can lay awake nights re-running the conversation gone wrong. It feels so good to make the right decision.  Honey and I stood over floor stain swatches being rubbed into the wood: after much patience by our contractor and 7 cans open and spread over freshly sanded floor boards, we left it.  Dan Nation of Tru Finish repeated several times we should take our time picking the color that would cover the entire main floor of our home.  Today, weeks later, I am still happy with the choice made. The color is just what I imagined: dark, but not too dark. Brown but not absorbing all the grain.  Perfect.

Another Side Note: So glad I made the right decision not to smoke, even though I grew up in a house with 6 smokers.  I think it was because I was the one who constantly emptied overflowing ashtrays. Or maybe it was because I burned myself with a cigarette?

 

3)…to find the right pair of socks.

I have cold feet.  My feet sweat.  I get blisters from even comfortable, well worn shoes.  Is it the shoes, is it the socks? The sock quest continues.

And, is it just possible I’m related to the original  Marlboro Man?

It’s a wrap, the REAL summer list

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A couple of years ago, family rolled into Seattle with plans to see a few sights, like the Museum of Flight and the Chihuly Garden & Glass, tour Grand Coulee Dam, go to a Mariners game, etc. We had so much fun joining them and playing tourist in our own area that last year we build our own Seattle summer list. We checked off quite a few items.

Bye bye to the carpet and yellowed hardwood.

 

So, summer 2018, repeat: tape up a piece of butcher paper, brainstorm a short term local bucket list, start making those check marks.

 

Isn’t the new floor fab?

 

Only this time around there was another long list sitting the kitchen counter: pull all main floor trim (front room, dining room, hallway, hall closet, kitchen, pantry, family room, office), pull and dispose of the carpet, tack board, staples (front room, dining room, family room, office).

Then we had to completely empty the main floor of EVERYTHING and move out for 4 days.  The reality of installing and refinishing our hardwood floors basically chewed up day after day of our summer.  We have tried to do all that we can ourselves to keep costs down. When we did have a stretch of free time, most everything on our summer list sounded too ambitious.

 

Don’t you love the portability of a blender? Yes, this breakfast prep in the garage.

 

Along the way we decided we should do some painting so everything had to come off the walls, too.  And no way was I moving that old scratched up table back into our fresh dining room.  Why not refinish it while it was in the garage? Might as well paint those office desks, too.

So, summer; today I woke up to pouring rain with just a few days of the solstice left. There are still platters and boxes of dishes under the guest bed, pictures left to be hung, cable outlets to be re-located. The contractor is here now installing new baseboards, which means more dust and more items for the to-do list as I am the one who will do the caulking and painting.

Anyway, even though the last few months didn’t quite shape up to be ones of local site seeing, many, many items were crossed off the notepad.  There is something so satisfying about working hard and completing a multiphase project.  And the floors? They turned out beautiful, perfect, just what I imaged them to be.

Oh, I did manage to spend as many hours outdoors as possible hiking around the local area and added a challenging hike to the list. Goodbye summer, see you on the flip side.

 

 

The starting line and more questions

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Ever since I was a little kid, participating in end of school year races,  officially called Field Day, I wanted to win.  Somewhere there was (is?) a photo of me on my 10th birthday, my mom had baked 4 sheet cakes and made me this giant birthday cake for all the 4, 5, and 6 graders.  It was embarrassing and awesome all at once. I won a lot of ribbons sprinting.  I was probably good at it because most of childhood included hours chasing, and running from, my brothers.

Question 1: Ever spent hours down THAT rabbit hole searching for the one perfect picture, only to surface hours later empty handed, head swimming in the past?

Question 2: Turning double nickels this last spring,   I find sometimes it is hard to admit that I don’t have answers to all the questions I hear internally and externally. Is it a personality trait or stubbornness or just human nature?

And still, there is a starting line.  I find myself over and over again, right toe forward smudged into the chalk line drawn in the grass, shoulders leaning forward waiting for the beginning, only to realize that I am always at the beginning.  Right here, right now I have a new start. I am anxious and nervous to remind myself, “I am a beginner. This is a new situation with the individuals in front of me, it is ok that I don’t have answers to the questions swirling in my head. There is always room for a new 1st time.”

I can be a beginner.

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