Windwings of Love

Anybody remember driving down the freeway with mom in the driver seat, something like the "Mommas and the Poppas" playing on the radio, the weather calm and warm? All the while enjoying the ride with the constant flow of breeze and wind.  

My mom was poor and we never had a new car or A.C.  Our rides were older and usually acquired through the goodness of others.  We used one used car after another.  Driving each into the ground.  VW's, Fords...whatever my mom could find that had a few good rides left in her and could be bought for cheap.

The side fenders of our vehicles often wore a coat of muted grey bondo  that would never be reunited with their factory shades of sea-foam green and sparkly copper.  Interiors were ratty-tatty and smelly.  "Hey, it gets me down the road" my mom would said happily.

I was honestly embarrassed to roll up to Junior High in our VW bus that was painted 3 different colors when my peers were climbing out of big shiny trucks with hitches for their boats.  

Now here I am, enjoying the blessings of a hardworking husband who can deliver. My car is less than 4 years old and reliable and safe.  If I ever gave her a good washing, I'm sure she'd shine .  I'm sure if my kids were old enough to feel peer-pressure, they'd be cool with being dropped off in the school parking lot.

We have A.C. in my preppy silver Escape, but when the weather is nice, I want the real deal.  Where I live, we cruise I-5 to get anywhere.  At freeway speeds, on a sunny day, listening to the "Mommas and the Poppas", I can't roll down my window!  What's up with this madness?!

I cannot hear the radio.  My baby in the backseat is blasted and is unable to take breath.  My hair flips all over the place, getting tangled in my glasses, and my driving ability becomes impaired.  I feel like I have been sucked into a tornado and will be spat out somewhere in Guam.

Riding with mom, I was like the first mate.  With being the oldest kid at home came the right of passage to ride shotgun.  I would hop in my front seat while the younger kids rode the bench in the back.  I would fiddle with the radio knobs and reach to my side window to flip back the lock to position my windwing. With the aid of this small triangular-shaped window, I had the ability to control my environment and wind-flow.  We became the best of friends and I knew it was this windwing's heavenly flow-of-freshness that lessened my carsickness, caused me to day dream and made the Santa Anas tolerable.

I wish daily I had a car with windwings.  My husband is sick of my saying so.  He thinks I should start a campaign to bring them back.  I feel now that all I can do is confess my affinity for this triangular love object and accept that times have changed...

Oh my precious windwing!  Where have you gone?  Please come back.  Let not the fancy auto manufacturers  belittle you and smash out your worth, replacing you with solid glass and tints. You ment the world to me.  And it was only until I was older and grown that I could see that.  My husband thinks it unwise to buy an older car, especially for a mom with kids.  His smarts are in banking and not mechanics. Upkeep would be often and parts don't come cheap. Gas already costs $4.11 a gallon.  

I guess it is here where I shall officially thank you for your dutiful service and lasting impression.  

So windwing, I thank you!  The world of modernized cars is a gloomy place without you. Drivers have become less engaged in the traveling experience without your companion gifts of controllable wind and breeze.  

Farewell windwing;  my summer savior and woozie stomach remedy.  Fly to a happy place.  I will always love you over freon.