Well I’m glad that’s over — the year I mean.

Time to move on to new things. The year was okay to us. We broke even, which is better than the alternative. I will calculate all my budget highs and lows and what worked and what didn’t and report back to you in a couple of weeks. Thank you for all your suggestions and for being interested in what we did and how we did it.

My sister told me a funny story recently that got me to thinking about the two of us growing up in Memphis. Seems as though we were always getting into some kind of “uh-oh” moments even back then.

It was around 1968 and my sister Donna and I had been out in the family car, a big ol’ Ford station wagon with no power steering and a straight shift on the column. It was a family car indeed and not meant for teenage girls to look cool in. We didn’t, believe me.

As we were tooling down a main thoroughfare headed home we heard a loud noise and then scraping and realized that something had come loose from under the car. We never stopped, I guess because we were afraid of what we might find and also because we would have no clue as to what to do about a malfunction of any kind. We just kept driving at our normal rate of speed.

All along the route people stared and laughed and pointed but we kept right on driving. At one point we could see sparks flying from the back of the car but that just made us more determined to get home.

When we pulled into our driveway and finally dared to venture out of the car we walked gingerly to the back and there to our horror was the WHOLE EXHAUST system hanging by some magical thread and dragging some 10 feet behind the car. We immediately realized that we were going to be in some kind of trouble with our Daddy and started to laugh and cry at the same time.

We were so afraid and the hanging exhaust system looked pretty imposing. I’m sure we thought it was the engine or transmission lying there.

We ran for help and a neighbor obliged us quickly and with a coat hangar put it all back together. I can’t remember if Daddy ever found out what had happened. My sister and I walked on pins and needles for a long time following that day.

Another fine mess we got ourselves into happened before that in ’66 or ’67. We went to a dance at the Mid-South Coliseum and had a curfew around 10 or so. When the magic pumpkin hour approached we realized that we didn’t have a ride home. We waited outside trying to figure out what to do.

As we waited with the throngs of other teenagers, up drives a friend of ours, a young man sweet on my sister. He was driving a long black hearse he aptly named “The Black Moriah.” This funeral car was at least 25 years old and looked every day of it. He offered us a ride home. I immediately refused.

My sister, who was not and is not afraid of anything, accepted right away. Well, I couldn’t let her go off with this guy alone in a hearse so I had to go too. I was mortified to be riding through the streets of Memphis in a car normally reserved for dead folks.

We got home safely although my pride was deeply wounded. We were past our curfew and snuck into the house and into our bed with no one being the wiser.

Both of these incidents were close calls and secrets better kept to ourselves at the time.

It seemed as though Donna and I could find mischief wherever we ventured, looking for it or not.

The curse has continued throughout our lives and next week I will tell you about Donna’s mysterious sudden onset cold whose symptoms turned severe every time she ventured to her kitchen.

It’s a priceless “Donna” moment.

Happy New Year.

(Contact Sherry at swhcsc@wildblue.net)