Saturday, April 5, 2014
Luxury
Sipping freshly brewed coffee from large two-fisted mugs on a veranda overlooking breathtaking mountain views. Walking along a sandy beach with waves of salty eddies chasing the shoreline. Eating truffles made of spectacular chocolate on a food tour through culinary destinations. All luxurious moments, indeed.
My idea of luxury is a little less lavish. It is driving up to the full service car wash and handing the keys over to a wiry little worker bee who magically transforms my vehicle from dingy to sparkly. My goodness, what a delight. My Calvinistic roots twinge every time I partake of such slothfulness. Car washes weren't invented until after my youth (I'm not kidding on this one) and even if they had been available, my parents would have scoffed at such extravagance. Washing one's own car was fiscally appropriate, no doubt about it.
Washing the car by hand as a kid was quite the chore. Several steps were involved.
Step one: Wait for mom to give the orders that it was time to wash the car and then scurry to find a bucket and a couple of rags.
Step two: Secure a hose. We didn't call them garden hoses because a farm hose is used for much more than just gardens. Cooling off over heated pigs and filling stock tanks are just a couple of possibilities.
Step three: Secure said hose to an available hydrant. Pull up on the hydrant handle and watch your hose fly through the air like a snake in a death throe.
Step four: Grab the hose and spray toward the car or your siblings if you were mad at them.
Step five: Fill a bucket and start swiping off the car crud. The precision of your efforts was dependent on your energy level and the amount of adult supervision. We were usually on our own so our scrubbing went pretty quickly.
Step six: Rinse off the car and look for any obviously missed spots. Re-wipe, if necessary. Re-spray your siblings, if necessary.
Step seven: Skip the waxing and buffing. Our cars were all about getting from point A to point B. No showroom fanciness for us. What would the neighbors think?
Step eight: Return the hose to wherever dad said it should be stored. Return the buckets and rags.
Step nine: Wait for precipitation. Gravel roads, newly washed cars and showers just seemed to go together.
As I drove up to the car wash early one Saturday morning, hoping to be first in line (I wasn't), I felt a sense of indulgence as the swirling brushes swallowed my dirt encrusted vehicle. Without a hose, a hydrant or a hassle, my vehicle emerged with that new car glow. This is especially important when you live in the Midwest as you can be sure a sloppy spring snow will fall the next day (it did), once again painting vehicles with a lacquer of gray dullness.
More luxury for me.
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