Like Sandra, my friend Hollis had such a precarious hold on the common values most expect to be born with when one is born. He was a bastard child, and when he got married, his father allowed him to be a part of his family. Hollis had two half-sisters. When H got out of the army, he was pushed away. He moved to Oregon. Here is the garden I took Sandra to after she died. I meditated.
“The arrival of John Preston in America was scarcely second in importance to the arrival of the Pilgrims at Plymouth.”
When I entered the Oregon Historic Society, I was stopped in my tracks when I beheld a baby-blue Ford pickup truck surrounded by crates of synthetic fruits and vegetables. My father owned a 1950 Ford flatbed truck and delivered vegetables with it from his Victorian warehouse in Jack London Square. I own a 1972 baby-blue Ford pickup that for two years I have titled the quintessential Oregon old guys truck.
“It’s a tradition!” I told my friends.”At any given time, there has got to be a grey-haired Oregonian driving this truck. It just so happens – I am that guy!”
Thank you uncle Vinny! A plaque on this truck read;
“Modern Day Work Horse”. Around the corner is a covered wagon. Not but twenty feet from this 1962? Ford, is…
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