One of the keys to good writing is to target the audience, yes? Yes. Well, I have to admit: I’m at a bit of a loss right now. As far as I know, this little blog of Kallay’s projects into the Great Beyond to a sea of mythical humans who live everywhere and nowhere. So why did I offer to write for Kallay if I have no idea who, exactly, she writes for? Excellent question—I’m so glad you asked!
I told myself that this year I wanted to try writing, just for fun, sans pressure. I refuse to call it a resolution—I don’t really believe in them, as such, because they seem all superstitious-like, and let’s face it, I’m only a little stitious. (Thank you, Michael Scott.) So when Kallay mentioned her fear of leaving her little blog unchaperoned while she sends Missy off in style, I said to myself, ‘Self, wouldn’t this be a great time to act on your plan to put some of your epic thoughts out into the world? Even if it’s a digital one?’ And so the next time I called Kallay to chat about the ins and outs of our daily routines, I offered my services, and she enthusiastically accepted. Wicked!
I don’t know how many of you lovely readers know Kallay personally, or how many only experience her charm through her internet insight, but I had the distinct pleasure of living in the same town and working with Kallay for several months, mostly in 2009. We bonded over a love of coffee and checklists, That’s What She Said jokes and being Made of Awesome, fending off Dirty Old Men and flirting (with or without intent) with the attractive young ones. With Kallay and Oliver and my other friends, I can honestly say that 2009 was *the* summer of fun, both on the clock and after hours. Can I remember everything we did? Psh. Don’t be silly. Mostly I remember laughing all. the. time.
Glamazons, now two for the price of one!
As much fun as we had last summer, I’m most grateful for Kallay because of how, thus far, we’ve transitioned from being local friends to long-distance friends. When I moved (ever so briefly) to D.C. last fall, she was always available to talk or text or whatever I needed at the moment, to share in a little victory or lament my peers’ woeful lack of southern charm. Her own epic move back to the mitten likewise demanded regular long distance commiseration. I’ve been extremely blessed with many good friendships that can go the distance without fail, but discovering new friends, like Kallay, through adversity is especially valuable.
So now that you know a modicum about me, and a little bit more about how fabulous I think Kallay is (yes! you see? building credibility here!), I want to share a little episode in my life I’d like to call “Please, Little Blue Car, don’t die on me before I secure a job with a paycheck.” You’ve heard about Peanut, the car muse? Well, let me introduce Peanut’s elder, more sentimental sister.
Little Blue Car
My Little Blue Car, otherwise nameless, is, comment dit-on? A little bit old. It’s a 1991 Mazda. Yes, that’s right: my 17-year old step-sister, about to go to college, is younger than my little car. How is it still running you ask? Well. First, let me highlight its mileage.
I promise I was wearing my seatbelt.
This bad girl passed 65,000 miles in September; right now it’s sitting just under 68,000 miles. ‘But Caroline,’ you ask, ‘how is this possible?’ You know those stories about the car you buy with scarcely any mileage incurred because a little old lady only drove it to church on Sunday? Yes, friends (because friends of Kallay’s are friends of mine, so yes, we’re friends by the transitive property), my car is that car. This little gem belonged to my grandmother, who lived within half a mile of her church and a quarter mile of the grocery store. Old it may be, but that engine—so my father swears—has lots of fight left in it.
So for the last four years or so, I’ve been counting on the old girl’s low mileage to sustain her (and me!) despite her advanced age. This has been no mean feat, let me tell you. Anything in the car made of rubber or plastic is completely shot. Weather-stripping? Surely you jest! When it rains, I have water sliding through the driver’s side door and pitter-pattering onto my left thigh. When big trucks whoosh past me on the highway (as they frequently do, since my little engine prefers to clip along at a ridiculously slow pace), gusts of wind cool my feet. My seat belt holder chips away day by day. And forget air conditioning!—it’s been down for the count since the summer I began driving the LBC.
For the most part, these peccadilloes have provided fodder for humorous anecdotes. And if I’m honest, I love the LBC because of its simplicity and the fact that it belonged to my grandma. I’m afraid, however, that 2010 may be a turning point for the two of us. I’ve noticed signs that the once-trusty engine may be less eager than it once was. Suddenly, without fail, every time I park my car and hop out, a delicious odor of burning rubber and oil wafts up to my horror-struck face. When I sit at stoplights, I detect a slight veil of smoke escaping from under the hood. Last week, I parked, left the car running, and lifted the hood, only to witness smoke issuing from the engine. Oh dear.
So now I prepare to retire my trusty friend. I’m *ahem* unemployed and unenrolled at the moment, looking for jobs and waiting to recommence school (yet again). So while I would love to secure more, ah, reliable transportation swiftly, I’m relying on the fingers-crossed method of comprehensive insurance until I have regular paychecks coming in again. On one (or two or twelve or twenty) level(s) I will be pleased and relieved to find a car with working windows and air conditioning. My sentimental side laments that soon I will bid adieu to one more tie to my grandmother.
On second thought, a new(er) car means enhanced road trip readiness. Who wants to drive to Michigan with me? Kallay and Oliver and I still have a Christmas cuddle session to enjoy.
Little Blue Car, always game for an epic late-night chat with the girls. (With pollen! It's what the CSIs prefer!)
Kallaydoscope is my view of my world. It’s colorful and intriguing and also, kind of a mess, if not always highly entertaining.
Aw! The Little Blue Car has hit retirement age?
I once rode in a car that didn’t cool. No air conditioning and seemingly no fan, engine fan that is. It was July and we were driving with a car load of stuff to Atlanta. A mere 13 hour trip. How did the engine not overheat? We blasted the heater so the heat would be pulled off the engine. Yep. That was one hot trip. It singed our feet a bit.
That’s insane with only 65,000 miles? You gotta keep that baby in tip top shape. It’s now considered a “classic”
So cool of you to come over and write for Kallay. And hearing from someone that knew her in real life makes me feel just that much closer to her! The Summer of Fun sounds pretty awesome. I love when you can’t remember much more than laughing all the freakin time… that’s the best.
As for LBC, I will send good thoughts your way. I’d always wondered when they offered the warranty for a car at “5 year or 50k miles, whichever comes first” – who ever meets the year requirement before the mileage?? Well, now I know! I just hadn’t thought about the sweet little grandmas that live 1/2 mile from the church and 1/4 mile from the store.
Totally makes sense.
Hope you’re having fun, Kallay!
Hi, congrats on a nice post. I’d just add. If you can make eye contact … hold his gaze for half a second, smile and look at the floor/other direction. Then wait about eight bits and look back.
Thanks for the good wishes for the car! I’ve been trying to take care of it, but alas, those polymers break down over time. It was easier on the car when it lived in Jacksonville–it didn’t have to contend with the wider temperature fluctuations that we get in Knoxville. (I’ve discovered in the last month that it’s particularly tough to change gears when it’s cold, despite having had the transmission replaced two years ago. Blimey.) And I’ve discovered that the difference between a “classic” car and a clunker is the relative ease of locating and procuring replacement parts.
Re: summer of fun–in all honesty, I didn’t report all that I remember about it, but we had some particularly epic episodes. Pool time, sunbathing time, Kallay and Oliver’s particular brand of coaching and counseling (for me) during off hours, weekly yoga classes followed by family-style dinners, plus the little things that just made it fun to hang out…