That's drizzle . . . not drivel--

Simply living... in the Pacific Northwest

Monday, July 22, 2013

Cruisin' the Gut with my Main Man

An event Hunter and I look forward to and plan every summer is the annual Cruisin' the Gut in downtown Vancouver. Thousands of people converge downtown to look at cars, socialize and wake nostalgic about the good ol' days, reminiscing about first dates and first cars. According to The Columbian, there were more than 1,000 classic cars drawn to this event.

Hunter cannot get enough of them. He loves Ford Mustangs. He loves Corvettes. And now, he loves mini Coopers, or any car from Britain. Why? Because their steering wheels are on the right side. Ironic, eh? Here's a boy who doesn't even get irony. It's way beyond his "getting." He sees things differently, pretty much black-and-white. Things should always be how they've always been.

But lately, I've been noticing changes in my young grandson. In two days he will be eleven. Sure enough, that's an age when you SHOULD be seeing some changes. But Hunter's always been shy about his opinions, at least shy enough that he worries if his differs from yours. But lately, he has been voicing more opinions and displeasures, and not really caring as much about whether you agree or not.

So this really struck me....he was not only cool with the fact that the steering wheel was on the right side, but intrigued! Even more so when I explained they also drive on the left in Britain. (I'm certain he went right home and looked up a video on YouTube just to witness that..)

Back to the Cruise In-- this was a 2-1/2 hour walking excursion, from 29th St. down to Sixth and back. There's no "part way" with him and this car show. We had to see them all. I'm so glad we've found something like this to do together, because he likes the cars, and I like the vibe and the memories. Maybe he likes the vibe, too. He has developed a kind of strut, walking a few steps ahead of me where he used to just hang right next to me, even holding my hand up until this year.

But there is a limit, even where he's concerned. About 13th St. on the way back to 29th, he slowed enough to say, "Granny, my feet are sore-ing."

Yeah, man, mine too.

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