Yellow, two tone paint job where the rust spots had been primed and painted over with spray paint, nearly bald tires, oversized speakers crammed in the back window.
Your mission, should you choose to accept it:
Take your life memories surrounding your first car, bring in details, emotion, sounds and smells and let it take you back…
We drove Old Yeller cross country several times between home in New Mexico up to Wisconsin. Its story is linked with the early days of dating and a long marriage. Bought for $1 from my husband’s father; it was the gallant steed that took us across a wide country, away from home to adventure and independence.
We moved in January. Our first week in the north country, we stopped to fill up the gas tank and the man across the pump from us, leaned back, took a look at the license plate and kindly advised us to go home for the day. The temperature had stalled at about 0 degrees and he said it would be safer to explore on a warmer day, giving us a quick lesson in surviving bitter cold. It didn’t take long to learn the routine of dressing in layers, carrying cat litter in the trunk for traction in case you got stuck on the ice, packing a sleeping bag and water too in case of blizzards. We learned early the ease of pushing this little button of a car out of snow banks and we often took it out exploring.
After a couple years Old Yeller’s heater was stuck in the on position. So in summer, the driver’s left foot would nearly ignite under the blast furnace of the heater. But in winter the defrost didn’t work so driving required holding your breath and spraying the inside of the windshield with a jumbo can of de-icer while stopped at a red light. Memorable–and we don’t seem to have killed off too many brain cells.
One cross country trip we drove through an Oklahoma thunderstorm with water shooting up the through the cracks in the floor board. Blew a plug on another trip back to New Mexico and got stuck in the sooner state in a tiny town with “Jesus loves you and so do we” billboards. The garage repairman tried to fix the plug for free and offered for us to stay at his home. We were traveling with our cat and full of adventure so thanked him and opted to sleep in an alfalfa field outside town. Awakened by ominous, growling thunder and rising wind, we stuffed the cat into the front of my coat while my husband shouldered the backpack. By the time we got to town the runoff was hurtling knee high down the street.
This car carried us and our friends on many a camping trip, backpacks stuffed under the front hood that covers the trunk in a VW. I still have a cherished photo of a memorable flat tire incident we shared. Frozen lug nuts. We were eventually helped by an old school gentleman of a crusty rancher way out on that New Mexico back road. We look so young.

Yeller drove us around town on dates, cardboard box of pizza in the back seat, delivered us to glorious sunset picnics on the mesa, oldies station playing on the radio. Once a curious coyote pack yipped their way too close for comfort and we hopped back in the car. From back roads and camping trips to fancy dinners out and cross country moves, this faithful old car delivered.
Finally, the last year of college in Wisconsin, I got in the back seat so we could drive a friend somewhere and the battery fell through the floor out onto the parking lot. We sold Old Yeller for enough money to put side molding on a used truck. The new owner, another poor student, never registered it and it was abandoned and impounded.
I hope it eventually found a new life as some teenager’s hot rod. Thanks for the memories, Old Yeller.
Did you know that some studies say the average human’s attention span is 8.5 seconds? That’s less than a goldfish. No kidding. This “factoid” is dependent on the activity and who is conducting the study, however. As my old college professor explained,
Homemade peach ice cream on the back porch
I worked so hard recently to get an interview with an interesting local man. Sitting in the coffee shop, we exchanged friendly greetings but when he saw my pen and paper he determined that he really didn’t want to share his story with others. So I reluctantly put my tools away, knowing I’d never be able to recall and do his memories justice. We spent an enjoyable couple hours riding around in his pickup truck while he told great stories about the valley he’s lived in for 50 years and all the characters up and down the river. He’s a natural storyteller but was reluctant to share with others. While I loved the visit, I was saddened at not being able to share his wealth of experience and keen insight with a broader audience. I can only hope he at least relates these great stories to his family.
them into a book. Don’t worry if you’re not comfortable writing, just get the story down and I’ll edit it for readability. You can even just tell it to a friend or family member and have them record you or write it down for you. If your story makes it into the published collection I’ll send you a free copy of the book as thanks. You can reach me at karen@rememberingthetime.net
What to do with that collection of old letters? I’m intrigued with creative ideas for preserving and displaying clients’ letters in ways that showcase their uniqueness. While searching for “memory arts” inspiration on Pinterest I found a pin of Sue Bleiweiss’ blog on 
What a beautiful and inspiring way to capture your family’s history. Think what a stunning gift this would make for your parents or grandparents. I’d love to collaborate on a project like this so get in touch if you have a letter collection you’d like to showcase.
experiences within your own city. Ramp up your sense of the curious and really study the people and events that have shaped who you are.
We’ve all heard of or remember the famous church picnics and really, who doesn’t love a good potluck? I don’t know why but food tastes extra good outdoors. Across the US many annual pioneer picnics and family reunions have been going on for over 100 years. Biscuits, fried chicken, ham, lovingly protected cakes and a glorious array of pickles used to be standard fare. Today many of the same favorites show up along with some Pinterest “experiments” and gourmet goodies. But relatives still vie over who makes the best potato salad or brownies.
s is where I insist on experimenting). It’s a mix of Southern, New Mexico and Pacific Northwest, reflecting our family heritage.