A Bit More History

My family is helping me to piece together some of the history of the t-bird.  My Aunt was in high school when Grandma purchased the car, most likely in the spring of 1956.  Everyone agrees it was a very uncharacteristic thing for Grandma to do.  She was very practical, a high school math teacher, sponsor of the glee club.  Not the kind of woman to purchase a racy car like a t-bird, but she did, and she clearly enjoyed the car for the rest of her life.  I figure that someone in the Navy bought the car new in Iowa, drove to California, and then got assigned overseas and had to sell the car at a loss.  Grandma got a one-year old car for about 75% of the cost of a new one.  Grandma and my Aunt drove the car across the country on a road trip in the summer of '56, and my Aunt drove it to nursing school in '57.  It was still the original turquoise color.

My Uncle and his wife both remember driving Grandma's car on errands.  My Uncle says the car handled well, but was a little sluggish for it's size.  He liked the large steering wheel and manual steering, but remembers the seat being uncomfortable on long trips - it didn't go back far enough, and the padding was uncomfortable across his shoulders.  His wife liked the turquoise color... a lot!  Personally, I find it too bland, and I'd like something brighter or darker.  I remember the car being a light green in 1962, but I have started to question my memory.  No one has confirmed that Grandma had the car painted, and I can't find any of that green color in the layers of paint on the car now.

Funny thing... Mom asked me my favorite color when I was very young.  I remember thinking of Grandma's car and replying "green".  My memory of this color was a key factor when I, as a 14 year old boy, chose to paint the car "bright lime" (remember the 1972 Ford Pinto?  Many of them were that color).  My intention was good, even if I had no taste.  Seems strange that I can't find a trace of the color I remember on the car now.  Perhaps it was all sanded off in prep for a subsequent paint job.

Update 5/23/12:  reviewing my previous posts, I found a pic that shows the green color, revealed when the body shop was stripping the car.  There was none of this green color under the paint on the front of the car, but this is indeed the color I remember.  Maybe the car had a subsequent accident in front that mandated stripping the paint prior to the dark metallic green paint job.
Trunk Lid

Grandma & Grief

I'm having a hard time remembering much about Grandma, at least from personal experience.  I don't even have a good picture of her!  She died less than a month after my 4 year-old birthday party.  Looking back, that explains why she wasn't there... she must have been in the hospital at the time.

I really just have impressions of her, rather than real memories.  I felt secure around her.  She was fun to be with.  We lived close by, and I think I spent a lot of time with her.  Most of what I know about her, and even most of what she said to me, I have been told by other people as I grew older.

I do remember being very confused when she died.  I was probably told that she was dead, or that she went to be with Jesus, or something like that... but of course it didn't register with me.  I didn't attend the funeral.  I was probably with a babysitter, me and my younger cousins.  I vaguely remember a lot of people coming over to Grandma's house in fancy clothes, standing around and talking for what seemed to be a very long time.  I may have wondered where she was, but she had been sick for a long time, and I hadn't been allowed to see her... apparently she "didn't want me to remember her that way". 

During this "party", I remember remember going into Grandma's garage with my Dad.  He let me sit behind the wheel of the t-bird while he opened the hood and showed the car to his brother in law.  He seemed quite taken with the car, but said that it needed a "tachometer".  Dad emphatically said that it already had one, and pointed to a big round dial right in front of me.  Then he said that since the car had an "automatic", that it didn't really need a "tachometer", but that it had one anyway.  That seemed funny to me.  I clearly remember those words, but of course I didn't know what they meant.  My Uncle ended up inheriting the car, and keeping it for 10 years... then selling it to me.

I don't know why I remember that so vividly.  I suspect that I had been bored most of the day, and that I was thrilled to be with my Dad.  I must have hung on his every word.

I don't remember feeling especially sad, or missing Grandma at the time.  Even if I did, I certainly didn't know how to articulate or even address those kinds of feelings.  I may have sensed that the people around me being sad, since they spoke in soft voices.  I think several people told me how much they loved my Grandma.  They would continue to tell me that for decades.

I never knew my Grandfather.  He died in Normandy a week after D-Day in 1944.  Amazingly, Grandma raised 4 children and put them all through college... Engineering school, Law school, Dental school and Nursing school... as a war widow and school teacher!  Despite her detractors, she kept her house, and passed it on to one of her sons... who still lives in it.  She clearly had a deep, enduring, fierce love.  A woman of character.  Not a woman to trifle with!  No wonder I felt safe around her.

Her death was a tragic milestone for my Dad and his siblings.  I later learned just how deep their unresolved grief has gripped the family.  Circumstances didn't allow them to grieve the loss of their Father, and that left them ill-equipped to deal with the loss of their Mother...  the one person who seemingly had the strength of will to persevere and keep the family together through any sadness, any ordeal.  The sadness of this loss manifests itself in many ways, but it has deeply effected Dad and his brothers.  I've sensed this deep brokenness many times from them while I was growing up, but I've only been able to make sense of it as an adult.

My Dad and his siblings have had family reunions every year since the funeral.  They are getting old now.  Dad is 83 and has esophageal cancer.  It's unlikely that he'll be at many more of them.   I have treasured these family parties over the years, and I'm gaining a deeper understanding of why they are have been important to me.

Maybe, restoring this t-bird is meant to be part of my own act of grieving, both for my Grandma and for my Dad's generation.  For their pain and loss, and for what it has done to them.  And, through them, what it has done to me.

I miss you, Grandma.

The Cost of Restoration

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed.  Frequently, actually.

Car restoration is an expensive hobby.  I'm basically cheap.  This sets up a fundamental internal conflict within me that I can't really avoid.  I have an itemized list from a reputable t-bird restoration house for what it would take to bring this car up to presentable (not show-winning) condition.  The total is $60K.  Cars in that condition are selling on the internet at at auction consistently for less than $40K.  Clearly, I'm not into car restoration to make money.  Nor am I able or willing to invest $60K - that's just nuts, isn't it?

But, I am a lust addict.  When faced with any kind of internal conflict, I tend to obsess on superficial things... fun things... maybe sexy things...  In a way, they make me feel good, important, special.  I learned this pattern when I was very young, as a way of dealing with the unpleasantness of my life.  I learned to completely disconnect from real  people, and focus intently on what I would prefer life to be like.  Nowadays, I lurk on forums and blogs, I ogle the pictures, I think of how cool my life would be "if only"... then, inevitably, I take it to extremes.  I find myself living in a fantasy world I've created.  I loose track of time.  I loose track of myself, of my purpose. 

Lately, I've been lusting for a 300 horsepower y-block in my t-bird:

Not that a 300 horsepower y-block is bad.  It isn't.  Most guys would think this is a really cool thing, and wonder what kind of guy would get upset about wanting one.  But, the amount of time I spend thinking about it IS bad... I give my heart to it. Once I give my heart away, I don't have it to give to someone else.  In fact, it is self defeating, and when my financial reality sets in, I feel even more internal conflict.  This drives me to self-medicate through even more lustful thinking.  My lust starts to bleed over into areas beyond auto repair, if you know what I mean!  Soon, I'm either on a binge or on a depression cycle, or more likely both.  This is the corrosiveness of lust.

How do I break this cycle?  I've been in recovery long enough to know that the first 3 steps are hardest, and for me, must be repeated whenever I feel the tug of lust.  The truth of these steps is profound.
1 - I can't do this... this is nuts!  No, really... I can't.  I can remember proving that fact over and over.  This time will NOT be different.  I need help.  I admit it.
2 - I truly believe that there is someone who can help me, who wants to help me.
3 - I think I'll ask Him for help!

With the help of my Higher Power and my recovery group, I'm learning to change my internal dialog from "wouldn't it be great it to have this?" to "what would it be like to live without this?".   Only then can I get a realistic perspective, and be open to deeper relationship.  Only then can my own restoration become real, meaningful, and engaging.

To move forward with this project, I know that I need to rely on other people... people with experience doing this kind of restoration.  I need to establish a trusting relationship with them.  I need to be ready to see the wisdom in their suggestions, regardless of my own preconceptions.  I need to realize that have family and friends who are willing to help, and that engaging them will be a blessing to them and to me.

I may end up with a 300 horsepower motor, but I may not.  It would be pretty cool, but I can live without it.

Patience, Trust & Willfullness

After I brought the t-bird home from the shop that had been storing it,  I realized that a large number of parts were missing.  Ebay is a wonderful thing... I was able to find many of the parts I needed, and I started bidding on them with gusto.  Doing this gave me a sense of progress, of motion toward my goal, a sense that I was doing something rather than waiting.  Waiting bugs me. So I acquired a few items the car didn't have: a water pump pulley, a radiator bracket, a hood latch rod...

I got a call from the shop last week.  They found a box of parts that should have gone with the t-bird.  I picked up the parts Wednesday.  Guess what?

Did I make a mistake?  I spent over $100 on these duplicate parts. Am I being too aggressive and controlling in pursuing this restoration?  Am I being obsessive and compulsive, blind to the bigger picture? Am I trying to compensate for past hurt and feelings of inadequacy by rushing in to "fix" this car?  I LIKE feeling a "sense of progress", but this need for activity has often hurt me in the past, and the need for continual gratification has played a central role in my addiction.

I need perspective and discernment, both with this restoration and with my own recovery.  I want to be able to let go of the unimportant things, yet be ready to take action on the important ones.  I've had problems with "majoring in the minors" before.  I want to be open to what God provides, but I know I need to hold on to my life loosely.  I will continue to monitor eBay for the parts I need, but with a different urgency.  I will continue to pursue my recovery, but I won't try to control it.  Let me dwell in God's grace and peace, and make decisions only from that place.

I'm reminded of the Serenity Prayer.  God, please give me "the wisdom to know the difference".

The Root of Character

If I turn this t-bird into a hotrod, how far am I willing to go?  Some folks have turned their little birds into fire breathing monsters:

Note that this is NOT the same black-with-flames t-bird that I showed in my last post!  This is a full-on "Gasser", or gas fueled dragster, that is neither safe nor legal to drive on the street.  While this little bird is probably pretty fast, it is also probably not very pleasant to drive, nor is it very polite to the neighbor's eardrums!  I wouldn't want my car to end up like this.

Early t-birds in their stock form have some truly endearing aspects to their character.  The simple lines and clean interior convey a kind of innocence, while the V8 motor and open cockpit invite a kind of playfulness.  I've come to a place where I believe that it's OK to be playful, and that a zest for life can be a very good thing, a blessing.

So, what about the 'bird do I really want to keep?  The heart of the early t-bird is the Ford Y-block V8, a  competitor to the venerable Small Block Chevy (which has been in continuous production, for almost 60 years, now in it's 4th generation).  Y-blocks are solid motors, and made up the backbone of Ford's truck line until the early 60's.  Parts are plentiful, and there are folks to know how to make them run well.  I have no desire to do a heart-transplant on this little bird... it would be distressing to open the hood and not see those finned aluminum Thunderbird valve covers!  I can, however, give the engine a pacemaker (electronic distributor), and maybe help it breath a little better (manifold, carburetor, ported heads, headers..).  I also think I'd like to keep the Ford-o-Matic transmission.  It may be a little clunky by modern standards, but it has a reputation of being fairly reliable and not particularly annoying.  Keeping this old transmission means that I need keep the upgraded horsepower of the engine within reason, or else run the very real risk of breaking something!

Brakes and suspension, however, need to be adequate for traveling on modern freeways.  Luckily, there are plenty of kits available along these lines... disc brake kits, steering upgrade kits, sway bar kits, heavy duty shock absorbers, etc.  I'd also like to have modern tires, mounted on suitable 5-spoke wheels.  It won't look stock, but it will look like I had envisioned for this car as a teenager.  Kind of a '70's retro look..With these changes, the character of the car will change slightly, but arguably in a good way... in a way that makes the car more pleasant to drive, if not to look at:

As I see God undertaking my own spiritual restoration, I need to keep these things in mind.  It's not my preconceived vision of myself that is important, that pristine "stock" engineering achievement that I decided on so many years ago.  What is important is how I can be useful to my owner today, how I can bring him pleasure, how I can become that inviting vehicle for his journey, someone he will want to be with on a sunny Sunday afternoon, driving along the coast with the top down!

Lord, I give you permission to replace my brakes, to tighten my steering, to do anything that will make me more pleasant to you.  I trust you to preserve and restore those aspects of my character that endear me to you!

Stocker or Hot Rod: Who do I want to be?

The T-Bird is missing quite a few parts. That is both sad, and empowering... while it will take effort and money to replace the parts, it opens up the possibility of improving or upgrading the car. I need to decide if I want the car to be stock:

 

Or if I would prefer to make some "subtle" improvements:

Compared to a modern car, a stock 1955 T-Bird has marginal brakes (single circuit drums), unreliable 6 volt electrics, a sluggish engine (load-o-matic carburetor and distributor), and marginal handling (vague steering, soft suspension, bias ply tires).  Upgrades are available to address each of these issues, at a cost equal to or less than stock parts.  If I was intending to compete in classic car shows, these upgrades would be unacceptable, and would detract from the value of the car.  If I am intending to drive this car regularly, or allow other people to drive it, the increased safety and reliability they provide make these upgrades essential.

So, do I want this car to be pretty, or do I want it to be useful?  Is it possible to make the car more reliable, drivable and safe without diminishing it's essential character? What statement does this choice make about me?

I know that God has promised to make me new (2 Cor 5-17), and to restore me into relationship with him.  I earnestly seek this.  It's not clear what form restoration will take.  Will it be as if the ugliness and neglect in my life never happened, and I become a pristine "stocker", a museum piece?  While that can bring joy, I rather see myself as being restored in a way that provides more utility, perhaps making something of my life that is compelling to a broader audience, yet still uniquely me.  Perhaps God wants to make me his hot rod!

I'll address the implications of this in later posts, but I have to wonder if God likes flame paint jobs!

First things First

The task of restoration seems overwhelming.  Every time I look at the car I see another hundred things I need to fix.  I'm already pretty stressed; it seems like lots of people are depending on me... for guidance at work, for encouragement at home, for support and leadership in church and recovery, and dealing with aging and cancer issues in the family.  How can I possibly have time for this car?  Am I kidding myself?

You know, I just realized that I've felt this way before.  It happened when I was at my wit's end during my addiction, and realized that I couldn't fix myself... I was completely overwhelmed.  And... I learned that being overwhelmed is NOT an excuse to do nothing.  My childhood was full of despair and neglect, my home of origin unsafe and unsanitary.  I felt that my parents had simply given up, that life was seemingly just too hard.  I'd try to make things better, but what's the point?

But, I'm no longer a sad, lonely child, and I've learned a powerful fact... If I trust God and then do SOMETHING, If I take a step toward what I know is right, even if it is only a tiny step, then God meets me and lifts me up!

So, what am I to do?  Rather that yield to discouragement, I will choose to take a step, any step, that advances me toward my hope.  What did I do this week?  I have decided that this engine will run, eventually, and I decided to take a step toward that future reality.  Plus, I got a really good deal on Amazon:

A small step.   Seemingly trivial.  But hopeful, trusting.  Perhaps that is enough.