The Station Wagon

I drove by an 1970 something Oldsmobile station wagon today and was sucked back into time. It had the handle on the side, the luggage rack, the whole shebang from our childhood. We had a gray green Impala I think. I need to check with better memories than mine. When our fifth, Mite, was on the way, number one son, Buck, wanted to know where we were going to put him in the minivan! I can remember packing 13 into the station wagon to go to Grandma and Grandpas for the holidays. It went something like this: 3 in the front row with baby on lap, 4 in the middle, 2 (or 3 once that baby graduated from the lap) in the section between middle and the way back and 3 in the way back. Sister Mary 7 and I were the regulars in the middle metal section. If it was a long trip (yep that used to mean 3 hours!) we got to take a pillow to sit on. But for that 45 minute suburb to city drive it meant imprints of the metal on your legs, tingling sensations for the half hour after arrival as the feeling returned. Assorted luggage strapped to the top, fruit baskets at the feet in the way back, windows rolled down all the way, don't cross that line into my space, head counting after rest stops, Paulina, Paulina, where you been so long on the radio memories overwhelmed me.

Someone had to honk to get me moving after the light turned green and that station wagon was on down the road.