Can I Retire From This?



I seem to be having trouble sitting down and writing stuff here so far this year. I just counted how long I’ve been blogging, and this is the start of my 25th year. So, I guess I need to stick it out until 12/31/26 to at least finish up a quarter century’s worth of drivel. Who am I kidding? I gotta keep going; how else will I remember what I did in a given month? My addled brain cells can’t.

Maybe I should update the header to say something like “Gala 25th Anniversary Year.” Or maybe “One Tenth As Old As America.” That’ll motivate me.

25 Years Ago – January 2001, Issue 1

Road Rage

– Lynn Vogel

If you noticed the title of this post was different, good eye. This is the point when the California folks wrested total control of the magazine from the Miata Club of America founders in Georgia. The word “Volume” was chopped from the magazine’s cover, replaced with the month & year.

Cars were slowing down all around, and the people inside were looking. Staring. Smiling. I was recently on the freeway, directly behind a Chrysler PT Cruiser. Since its recent showroom debut, the PT’s proven to be a winner, drawing crowds like you’d find at an ice cream stand on a hot summer day. So I knew that for as long as I drafted the silver stunner, I was going to witness people enjoying themselves in spite of themselves. I was going to be treated to a show. I knew, because the same thing happened to me back when I took an early trip in another example of an automotive triple-scoop.

Mazda’s Miata had only been on the market for a matter of weeks when I picked up a red B-package version from their North American headquarters in Irvine, California. I was to have use of it while making a couple of casual media appearances in Southern California. Lucky me? Yes.

I was no sooner on the I-5 heading south towards San Diego than it started. You’d have thought I was escorting Princess Diana to the prom. People were doing one of three things:

1 – Riding alongside and gawking. Everyone in the car. Teens, grannies, dogs. (By the way, doncha love when they hang out the window, tongues flapping in the wind?) (The dogs too.)

2 – Speeding up from some distance behind so that they could be (see 1 above).

3 – Passing by in some glazed-over, hours-at-the-wheel state and being jolted back to life by the defibrillator, they love shouting, “Honey, stop! Stop! STOP! What was THAT?!” when they were hazily daydreaming about the next rest stop. (The dogs too.)

Windows were rolling down, questions were being shouted, and I was certain that I was going to be the cause of the largest pile-up since Custer’s Last Haircut. At the very least I was in the eye of a hurricane and, as secret agent and Sunbeam Alpine driver Maxwell Smart would say, “loving it.” Oh, don’t think I didn’t enjoy it. Reflected glory and all that. Cool car? Must be a cool dude.

But I returned to warm after a few days (real ownership being about a year away). And though that brief time was certainly fun, my envy gave way to dread when I imagined what it must have been like for the true Miata owners, many of whom also had to pony up plenty o’ pennies just to be first on their block. It’s the kind of attention that makes one appreciate the existence suffered by movie stars or celebrity racecar drivers.

(Yikes! What must it be like for someone who’s both? Does Paul Newman ever wish he weren’t “Paul Newman”?) (Does Paul Newman race in the woods?) And yet, as stunning and shocking as the car was at first, once it became a more familiar sight, the non-owning public’s excitement largely dissipated.

Call it the phenomenon of phamiliarity: the unusual becomes usual as usual. It happens with technology, with human progress, and sadly sometimes, even affairs of the heart. With cars, we’ve seen this modern pattern as evidenced by the Miata repeated with Volkswagen’s New Beetle. To the horror of exterminators everywhere, people wanted bugs! Though I doubt, as the original ’50s and ’60s group of 2-seat sports cars now has a parallel in our modern roadster resurgence, that we’ll see other Beetle-ish cars in the future. Call me Cynical Stan, the Told-You-So Man, but I find it difficult to imagine that there is a new Corvair or Renault Dauphine in development at this time.

Once the PT Cruiser becomes as common as sliced bread, it’ll be hard for anyone to imagine that anyone was really that excited about it. Like sliced bread! It will inevitably follow along the path trod by the Miata and the New Beetle: cars that once captivated the public, won countless awards, didn’t require three nickels- worth of advertising, and then settled into happy and quiet lives amongst the Accamrys. Cars that once were all the rage.

My freeway exit appeared, and I banked away as the PT Cruiser continued on. I was never able to see the face of its driver. He was undoubtedly smiling, as was I; a relation born of shared experience. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia for those early days of Miata craziness.

I drove along a suburban country road in the late-day warmth. Spotting a bustling soft-serve ice cream stand, I pulled in for a treat. I sat in the car, enjoying a cone and watching people come and go. And just as I was finishing up and getting set to leave, a mom and dad passed right in front of me with their little girl in tow. She must have been six or seven years old. And she couldn’t stop looking at the Miata.

Best of 2025

January

Boom!

Sunday the 5th

The K-Falls house was two stories with 2 bedrooms up and one down. The upstairs was really the main floor, as it had the kitchen and dining rooms, so most of our time was spent up there. Again, one of the bedrooms upstairs had an en suite, so it naturally became our primary bedroom. The second bedroom upstairs was kind of small, so it was turned into the Computer Room with a futon. The downstairs had the two-car garage and a large family room, along with a full-size bedroom and a bathroom/laundry room. Even though the upstairs bedroom we used didn’t get hot in the summer, we decided that we would do a seasonal rotation of sleeping quarters; otherwise, we would never use the downstairs area except for laundry and getting in the cars.

That first summer we lived in Klamath Falls, we moved downstairs, but we didn’t swap closets full of clothes because the closet downstairs was too small to hold both our wardrobes. We still showered upstairs because the one downstairs was just a small stand-up one, so what we did was shower and go downstairs to the family room to watch a little TV before going to bed. Actually, the TV downstairs was larger than the one upstairs in the living room because above the fireplace the mantle was fairly high up on the wall.

The 2nd or 3rd night we were in the downstairs bedroom, we were startled awake about 2:00 AM by an extremely loud BOOM. I’d have sworn someone fired a shotgun in the room. I jumped out of bed and turned on the light; the bedroom looked normal, and the window was intact. So I started flicking on lights and checking the rooms downstairs. The family room was fine; nothing was out of place. I checked the water heater that sits next to the washer and dryer; no leaks or cracks, so it didn’t explode. Next was the garage, and both cars were sitting cool and quiet. Up the stairs I went. No broken windows with meteorites smoking on the floor anywhere. I looked in every room, and nothing had fallen off the walls, and looking out the windows, there were no cars smashed into telephone poles. Lastly, I walked outside on the front porch and back decks, and there were no neighboring homes on fire or police activity.

I was very puzzled that the sound was extremely loud, like it was in the same room as us, but nothing was amiss there, nor any other place in the house. The mystery was solved a few days later when I vacuumed the bedroom. The downstairs was built into a hillside, so it actually served as the foundation. Because the floor was concrete under the luxury vinyl plank, when one of the three slats supporting the box spring shifted and popped down, it made a loud boom. (We were just sleeping; the particular room hadn’t been “christened” yet.)

February

The Proposal

Saturday the 1st

Time for one of my patented long-winded intros leading to a small bit of actual content. Sally, of Santa Fe fame, and I have known each other 42 years. So, when she asked me if I wanted to come down, visit Santa Fe a bit, and then road trip together to go to her mother’s 98th birthday festivities, I jumped at the chance.

She was Donna’s friend from an early age, and the two families belonged to the same church. When I got out of the Navy in 1983, we moved back to Donna’s hometown of New Orleans. The 2 girls connected again; Sally had married, so the four of us naturally became a group. Sally and her husband bought the house 2 doors away. Donna and I babysat the daughter, Claire, and then a couple years later, the son, Stuart.

For various reasons we moved up to New Jersey for work in 1987. The Lewis clan also moved north to Lexington, Virginia, shortly after. We visited several times a year, first from Jersey and later from Aiken. In the early two thousands Sally’s husband proclaimed he was in love with someone else and wanted out. Claire was already in college, and Stuart was a junior or senior in high school. After his graduation Sally joined the State Department. Whenever she was back in the states for language training or something, Donna and I would get to DC to hang for a couple days. Anyway, we go way back.

Now, with just Sally and me, we get along sort of like an old married couple without the sex. Our senses of humor are similar; we would be in a store somewhere, and we would cut up with each other in the checkout line. We “argued” about whose turn it was to fill up the car with gas. “We’ll always have Paris.” A plan was concocted. There was a get-together on Saturday the 18th with the whole family at a place downtown in Hammond called Tommy’s on Thomas. A local pizza joint/nighttime entertainment place—that is where Stuart met his wife and where they go every year on their anniversary. This would be the most perfect place for this; I was going to pretend to ask her to marry me. I wrote a script. I practiced kneeling.

We thought for sure that Adele and Stuart’s wife, Cristina, would be flummoxed; Stuart’s two small kids wouldn’t know what was going on. We thought Sally’s kids, Stuart and Claire, would not know what to say, or their sense of humor might kick in immediately and call bullshit on Sally and me. At the last minute, because of a miscommunication, Adel and Claire couldn’t make it, so we decided not to do it, because those were 2 of the 3 we thought would get the biggest kick out of the stunt.
———–
Scene: Restaurant Interior

Brian
(stands)
"As we knew the end was getting nearer, I asked Donna if she would be okay with this, and she smiled and said of course."
(slight pause)
"So, Sally, these last 2 weeks have been the happiest that I’ve been since last September.
(he kneels)
It would be great if we could grow old, older, together. Will you marry me?

Possible Responses:
Sally
1. Yes, I thought you’d never ask.
2. Stunned silence.
3. What?
4. I hope you didn’t buy a ring already?

Brian
1. You’ve made me a very happy man.
2. Stunned silence.
3. I feel so embarrassed.
4. I may be an old fool, but I’m not stupid.

March

Another Day In Oldmanland

Thursday the 27th

The highlight of the day was my once every second fortnight haircut. And when I say haircut, it is more like mowing a lawn, in that I have them put the #2 comb on their shears and just cut everything they can see.

The standard Senior Haircut is twenty-one bucks, but I’m not sure I’ve ever paid that. The first few times I went there I had a $5 off coupon, but ever since then it has been $15 or $16. They always say something like, “If the boss were here, I’d have to charge the full price.” And although I usually go to the same shop, it’s always different stylists.

Today’s haircut price hit a record low; she charged me just ten bucks. I don’t get it; what is the reason for the random price cuts? They are on a salary, and it is so low that they are “sticking it to the man” because they get to keep the tip? Maybe they found that the price cut makes the tip go up? Also, what’s with the “if the boss were here” thing? No one is keeping track of how many haircuts they do and comparing it to their money taken in? Whatever it is, I like it; it’s anarchy.

April

Hipster Coffee

Sunday the 27th

There is a NOLA local coffee chain called PJ’s, and there are two in Hammond. Back in January I could walk to the one in downtown from the Airbnb we stayed at then, and I did probably every day. Yesterday I drove to the other PJ’s that is closer to this Airbnb because 2 miles one way is a bit far for a morning walk. Today because of my loll in bed instead of popping up, the morning caramel latte had to wait.

Coming back from shopping, I thought I’d try another downtown place that was on the way back to HQ. I Googled my way to a spot downtown called Luma Coffee, which has a 4.8-star rating. I was directed to the place, but I stopped around the corner to walk over because of the one-way streets. The trouble started when I turned the corner and started looking for a coffee shop; I didn’t see it. There are a couple empty storefronts and a lot of professional building places. Perplexed, I headed back to the car to tell Sally I couldn’t find it. She pointed kitty-cornered across the street, and all I saw was a Rexall Drug Store.

It was a Rexall Drug Store in a previous life, but now it housed a coffee shop that had left the original signage up and just had the storefront glass etched with its name. A very hipster thing to do. And the hipster thing was exceedingly apt, as inside it had that vibe in spades. I could have been back in Portland, Oregon, except no one had a beanie on. And it was a very popular place on a Sunday mid-morning with only 2 people working. I probably could have walked the 4 blocks one way to PJ’s and back before I got my order there.

Also, the 8 oz latte cost about as much as the 16 oz one back at Stomping Grounds, which tasted a lot better than what they were serving up here. If I lived in this town, I would have a different go-to for my fancy coffee drink.

May

The Blues Brothers & An Amputated Arm

Friday the 30th

Today’s big stop was at the Ellwood Manor in Virginia. The gate on the driveway to the house was locked, but I walked the 1/2 mile to the house anyway to see if anyone was home. Sadly, neither Ellwood nor his brother Jake was there.

I jest; this house served both as a hospital and a general’s headquarters for both the US Army and the CSA Army at different times during the Civil War. It is also, or maybe not, the burial place for the left arm of General Stonewall Jackson. His arm was amputated after a friendly fire accident at the Battle of Chancellorsville on the second of May 1863. Either way, after amputation, it was buried in the family cemetery of the owners of Ellwood Manor. My friend Richard is an avid Civil War buff, and he regaled me with a fanciful story of the arm, and I have asked him to write it out in an email, and if I get it, I’ll add it here. But for now, I leave this bit of wit from him:

“Confederate General Robert E. Lee referred to Stonewall Jackson as “my right arm,” so what is possibly buried there is the left arm of Lee’s right arm.”

June

Unhappy Norwegians & Jolly Giants

Thursday the 12th

When I first planned this trip out, I routed my return from Michigan to include the 3 northern states of Minnesota, North Dakota, and Montana. I wanted to check them off the dwindling list of these 50 states that I haven’t visited. That route took me across the northern portion of Wisconsin into those three states. Sitting around the House of Hugget, I pondered that list, and after adding those three, I would only lack 2 states, Iowa and Alaska.

Wait a minute, Iowa is right below Minnesota, so instead of leaving Wisconsin to go to St. Paul, MN, I aimed more south for Rochester, MN. This set up today’s trip so that I could duck into Iowa a short way before heading back north into South Dakota. It is just adding one more day to the trip, big deal, 60 or 61 days, what’s the difference?

Probably the worst thing that has happened on the trip so far was I was diddy-bopping along, zig-zagging my way through the farmland of southern Minnesota, when the road that Google Maps had me on suddenly became dirt. Wet, pothole-y, and mostly cinders. It slowed me to 35 MPH for the next 2-1/2 miles. At my next driving break at a gas station for a snack, the car was ugly and dirty. I hadn’t been washed since Aiken, but this, made it filthy. I should have taken a photo of it, because some of it was washed off during the afternoon drive in the rain.

Probably the coolest thing I’ve seen on the trip so far was during the 2nd half of today’s drive, which was all rain and very low clouds, real low. About 50 miles from Watertown, I was driving along when I noticed a big white pole near the road. As I watched it, all of a sudden a giant blade came rotating by. A second or two later came the next blade. I wish I’d stopped and filmed it. Eerie.

Because I did get into Iowa, I went ahead and found a Roadside America photo to take while there. This one is a statue of a Norwegian immigrant family looking off onto the vast prairie in front of them, called Promise of America Monument. Back into southern Minnesota, and who should I find but a Jolly Green Giant. Ho, ho, ho.

July

It Was 50 Years Ago This Weekend

Friday the 4th

Donna and I had been paling around for a few months, watching movies at the base theater, going out for meals, etc. But for the Fourth of July weekend we planned a getaway trip to Pennsylvania to stay with Bob Brown, my old Class Leader at ‘B’ School, back in Millington, TN who was then stationed at Willow Grove. Bob and his wife Joanne had two teenaged daughters, so I slept on the couch and Donna bunked in with the girls.

I want to say it was on Saturday that all of us went out to see a movie. They have theorized that if you want to put your arm around a girl you would like to get closer to, just take her to a scary movie. That theorem proved true that day, because the movie we saw was Jaws. When Richard Dreyfuss’ character went down underwater to check on the boat he and Roy Scheider find and that dead guy’s head popped out, BINGO, she grabbed my hand.

We both credit seeing this movie with cementing what was to become an almost 50 year long love affair. We might have watched it a couple of times over the years, but it never was an annual thing. So today, it being the 50th anniversary and all, I rewatched it. I did kind of miss that hand though.
——
Oh, on a side note, a dozen years later we both ended up working at the place that supplied the solenoid valves that operated the shark’s jaws, Automatic Switch Co.

August

Several Senior Key Moments All In A Row

Thursday the 7th

Not my proudest moments. When I left the house to head off to the DMV for my scheduled appointment, I locked the door behind me. Only when I got to the car did I realize the keys weren’t in my pocket. Crap. I was so worried about having all my paperwork in hand that I forgot to grab them off the hook by the door. Not a big deal, I have a Hide-A-Key outside just for such an event. I retrieved the key and slid it into the lock; it would not turn. Huh? I must have put the wrong key in my Hide-A-Key thing. It could have been the old Klamath Falls key, or a relative’s house key, or, hell, maybe even an old key from Aiken days.

Being a belt and suspenders kind of guy, my neighbor across the street has a copy as a contingency plan. I texted her, “Are you home?” No reply. Now, I’m starting to think I’m going to miss my appointment. Thirty seconds later I hear a beep and watch her car go by; she was on her way home from the store. I walk over and get her backup key. I open my door, grab the keys for Bucky, lock up, and return the backup key to her. I still had plenty of time to make it to the DMV on time.

After doing all the paperwork to get Bucky street legal, I drove the short distance to PDX Wraps to drop him off for the side stripe and dark windshield banner. After we ironed out the size and placement details, it was time to order up an Uber for the ride home. As I left the shop to go outside and wait for my ride, I realized I still had the car keys in my pocket, so I went back in and said, “Oh, you might need these.”

The 45-minute Uber ride was going to end up taking about an hour and 45 minutes because of some sort of traffic snafu. In the 2 years I’ve lived here and in all the times I’ve dealt with I-5 and I-84, it has never been that backed up. About halfway home creeping along, I realized that those car keys also held the house key. DOH!

So, I texted my neighbor again, admitting that I’m brain-dead and I’ll be needing that key again. This time the no response was a lot longer; I didn’t hear from her even after I was dropped off in front of my locked house. I walked over, and her car was there, but she didn’t answer the knock. Okay, now what? I called a locksmith. He said, “I’m finishing up a job, and then I’m 45 minutes away. Hang tight.”

About 20 minutes later I got a text; my neighbor was back, so I went over and got my spare key again. After unlocking the house door, I returned them across the street again because obviously I’m going to need her to keep them. I called the locksmith back, hoping he wasn’t already on the way because then I’d be out a couple hundred bucks. At last something went my way; he hadn’t finished up that job yet, so I dodged a monetary bullet.

I got in the other Miata and headed to Lowe’s to get the correct key to stash in my Hide-A-Key. Belt and suspenders.

September

I Wonder What Was Said

Monday the 22nd

I caught a red light not far from home. A car pulled up behind me. A harried-looking mom, driving her child home from school, stopped behind me. The kid had over-the-ear headphones on, staring out the window. I see Mom look down and then back up. She turns to her child, and I see her lips move. The kid looks back at Mom and tilts her head. Mom pantomimes taking a headphone off. Her child lifts off one side.

Mom’s lips move again. Probably reiterates what she said the first time. The kid looks down, the kid looks up, and her lips move. Mom shakes her head up and down. Her child drops one side of the headphones back down. Mom looks harried again. The kid stares back out her window. The light turns green, I turn right, and they continue straight.

I wonder what was said.

A couple weeks ago I mentioned here that I wasn’t sure if I was going to keep the Starfleet Academy sticker on the back window. It actually doesn’t matter what was said; that little interaction, that right there, cinches that I’ll keep it.

October

Old Guys in GTIs Club

Monday the 20th

Saturday morning before starting out on the Mt. Hood drive, I headed over to Stomping Grounds to get my usual Salted Caramel Latte. My timing was great; there was a car backing out of the spot right in front of the door. As I got out, I noticed in a spot a couple slots away was a Black GTI. Same black wheels, same black color. What are the odds?

As I walk into the place, I notice a table right there with a couple of old guys, AKA my peers, drinking coffee and chatting. Two steps later the fellow facing me and the outside says, “Nice car, what year?” I instantly clock that he must be the other black GTI owner and say, “2020, thanks. What year is yours?” “2024,” he replies, “the last year with a manual. It is the S trim, meaning no sunroof and the Clark plaid seats.” “I searched for that spec specifically. Had to be manual with the plaid seats,” I tell him. The rest of the conversation revolves around wanting one back in the early 80s when they first came out. So he asks, “How old are you?” “Seventy, you?” I say. “76,” he says.

By now my latte is ready, so I grab it and give him a wave on the way out. I’d like to think that maybe if he was alone I would have asked if I could have sat with him and chatted some more. Probably not, but while ruminating on the missed connection, I came up with the idea of a club for old guys in GTIs. I spent 30 minutes on ChatGPT trying to get the right image, and this is the best I could do.

November

Today

Sunday the 9th
Sally and I drove back from Las Vegas on Thursday, and because we had an early start and her friends Kevin & Beth were flying out in the afternoon, we actually beat them back to Santa Fe. Upon our arrival we dumped our suitcases, splashed water on our faces, and headed out to get my ceremonial green chili cheeseburger. This one was at Dr. Field Goods, where I hadn’t had theirs yet, and it is my favorite of the half dozen or so I’ve eaten here in town.

Sally has been shopping around for a new bike to replace the one she currently rides that was purchased in the last century. It still works, but little issues have been cropping up enough that it is annoying. Friday was the big day. We went to a local store she had recommended to her when she was on an organized ride the city Rec Dept put on. We had discussed a couple of options in the seven to eight hundred dollar range, and they seemed pretty heavy, so we asked about the next step up. She landed on a Marin for a couple hundred over a grand.

We then took it on a small shakedown cruise. Sally rode her old bike, and I had the privilege of riding the new bike. The seat was set for me, and we are going to have a quick release put on it so it can easily adjust to Sally’s specs when I head home. But now that I think about it, that really isn’t even fair for her, so I think when we get back from our weeklong foray into Arizona, I’m just going to buy a similar bike to keep here. There will be a week here before heading into Hammond, and there is another week in Santa Fe afterwards before I head home. Plus I’ll be back in January, so go with her to her mom’s 99th birthday so I can use it then too.

Yesterday and today have been pretty quiet; Saturday was a trip to the gym, and today was a couple-mile walk around town. The rest of the time has been yard work for her, and I’ve been doing small indoor chores.

December

That Was Unexpected

Monday the 22nd
When I brought the GTI home back on October 11th, I realized it didn’t come with an owner’s manual. The first thing I did was find a PDF of the manual online, and then I headed over to eBay to buy a physical copy of the manual.

Today while running errands I went to put something in the glove box, and it wouldn’t close. There was a kind of shelf at the top of the inside of the box; I took a closer look, and there was something on the shelf. I reached and got ahold of something thick that was bound in leather.

You guessed it, the original owner’s manual…

Typical male behavior: if it isn’t visible front and center, it doesn’t exist.

I Made The Cut

 I really tried to go for a walk today. I got my usual hot Salted Caramel Latte and went over to walk around the Salish Ponds, which I haven’t done in a couple months. It was a sunny day, but the temps felt like the low 30s because of the 10 MPH winds (gusting to 15), and now that the leaves are off the trees, there was no respite from the winds. I lasted a whole 1/2 mile before getting back in the car and coming home.

The highlight of the day is PDX Wraps posted a yearlong recap of some of the stuff they have done in 2025, and I’m proud to have made the cut. Go watch it on Insta; they do a wide variety of stuff besides my humble GTI.

“Exciting Day”

It was a Buckie kinda day. I took her out for a short drive and a fill-up. It was a nice sunny day, but the temps were only in the upper 30s, so the top didn’t get dropped.

I also swapped out the gas gauge portion of the gauge cluster. Ever since I put in the new gauge faces, the gas needle has started high and dropped or started low and risen to what I can only interpolate is the current gas level. I’m going to try the one from that broken ’99-’00 gauge cluster I bought for some of its parts.

And ever since I put the Clark plaid background on the GTI’s Fuelly.com icon, above, Buckie’s been saying, “What about me?” This afternoon I set about trying to give her what she wants. The only thing that makes any sense and is iconic for a Mazda, is the Renown race livery of the Mazda 787b that won Le Mans 35 years ago.

10 Years Ago Today

As part of the Moss Motoring Challenge for 2015, one of the “Destinations” was something called Coffee shop (with friend) and I still needed it late in the year, so I sent out an email blast to the Miata Club saying I’d buy them a cup of coffee if they came over to my favorite coffee shop and be my friend. I had two cars show up. I’m standing in front of my 2003 Garnet Red along with Rita and Larry Garner and my fairy godfather, David Adcock. Larry and Rita’s car is on the right and the car in the middle belongs to David. Little did I know that 8 months from then I would own that 2002 Silver car of his.

On a side note, when the Moss Motoring Challenge asked for the same “Destination” in 2017, I put it on the club’s website as a club event, and a lot more people showed up for that one: