Dog poop brown Chevy Celebrity…better known as The Snoopy Mobile. My Dad inherited this beast of a vehicle from his grandfather (my great grand father- Pap pap Smith). He named it The Snoopy Mobile because he would pick me up from my musical theater practice for “You’re A Good Man Charlie Brown” in 8th grade.
I was Snoopy…
and terribly embarrassed by my Dad’s ugly car. He thought it was the greatest thing ever, and loved that I was mortified.
We’d be driving home, past the cornfields and the buggies. We’d sing along to Dylan…making fun of his voice. I loved that, and I loved that my dad loved music. I started to forget I was sitting in the front seat of the most hideous car ever created.
To really appreciate Dylan, it took until after my Dad passed away in 2008. This album became a staple. Dylan’s whiny voice (like sand & glue) became a comforting memory of the special times with Dad. Weeks went by where this was the only album playing on my i-pod.
It reminded me of everything.
On the whitewashed porch of our little cape cod in Pennsylvania (visiting from San Diego) during a mid-day thunderstorm, I was on the bench listening to this album. (We had a swing for awhile, but it finally met its demise after too many of us were trying to touch the roof above the ceiling with out feet). I time traveled to lima bean picking season.
I dreaded lima bean season. That meant that I couldn’t hang out with my friend Kaitlin until all the lima beans that were picked from the garden were shelled, soaked and packed away in the freezer for winter. I’d usually end up begging her to come over and help me shell lima beans. There were probably a few times that she spent the night and ended up helping me pick strawberries the next morning…true friends do your chores for you 🙂
Shelling lima beans may have been a chore for me, but it was like a party for my parents. Our grandparents would come over, extended family, and then even friends. We’d all sit out on the porch with buckets of beans and colanders. The screens, tucked behind sun-bleached lace curtains, were always open to the kitchen where my mom was giving the beans an ice bath, and music was blaring on the boom box.
San Francisco, Ashtabula
Yer gonna have to leave me now I know
But I’ll see you in the sky above
In the tall grass in the ones I love
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go.