July 11, 2009

My brother Ambrose, home from the Second World War, bought a little green Studebaker car. He spent every free moment working on it. Small and large jars filed with nuts and bolts soaking in oil and gas soon began to fill our small kitchen. And then larger parts of the car began to make an appearance in the house. Eventually car parts were everywhere.
Slowly but surely the motor parts disappeared from her kitchen and began reappearing under the car hood. Mari, Ambrose’s mother, wondered if indeed it would be safe to drive from Halifax to Boston in a car put back together from parts that were scattered around her kitchen in bottles, basins, and pails. For indeed that was Ambrose’s intention. Nonetheless, never doubting the ability of her eldest son, she looked forward to visiting her daughter.
Only days before the scheduled date of departure was the car deemed ready for the trip. Mari, with a look of concern on her face, stared at the remaining bottles of nuts and bolts still sitting in her kitchen.
“If they came out of the car shouldn’t they be put back in?”
she asked. The answer
‘We’ll never miss them’ wasn’t quite what she wanted to hear.
In spite of her concern the little car carried five of us from Halifax to Boston and back again without a hitch. Proving once more, in the eyes of his five year old sister, that he could and did fix everything and anything.


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