Oh yeah, it's Wednesday

Time moves slow around here. Or fast, I'm not sure which. One day someone is telling you stories from the day they have off and then you see them again and they are back to work but it seems like the same day. Or maybe it's just me.

A couple of days ago (or so) a bright, shiny yellow VW van went by the cart and it was Dick of Dick and Cathie's VW Thing & bike rentals along with laundry doing folk. Having known this van for years, it's rust, it's primer, now here it was, all brandy new and lovely looking. Having had two VW vans of my own, I confess I am partial to them. The big island has a LOT of VW vans that have been restored. And I believe they must have a club...one year a lot of them (maybe 20?) came over here and I got to see van after van from the 70's or even earlier that had been fixed up and oh glorified. Sit on the corner long enough and just about anything can go by...

My children learned to drive in my second VW van. At the time, I lived on a pretty deserted stretch of A1A in Florida, the perfect place to let them loose learning stick shift. Miles and miles of miles and miles, the only distraction being the beach, 10 yards off the road. That van, a 1972 Camp0Rama, was my favorite. I'd have it loaded up with wine and cheeses, kites and clothes so I could take off anytime for a road trip. The best road trip being one to the Outer Banks of South and North Carolina. People would wave happily and often offer me a place to park overnight. Usually on the beach, on their beach front property. I met some incredible people along the way. A woman who I'd love to find again, a Charleston gallery owner who lived on Folly Beach, let me stay the night or forever. We talked a good deal of the night and I woke to Vivaldi wafting out in the yard along with the smell of homemade bread. I left Camp Folly with bread and homemade jam and a thousand thoughts of thanks in my head. Where is she now?

At the beginning point of that trip, the van was dying. I babied it from Atlanta to Myrtle Beach, dismayed at the 'strip' of mini golf, motels, basically Daytona Beach in SC, so I turned south and drove some more. 10 miles down the road I found a great barn of a bar/restaurant on the beach. I went in, had a glass of wine and asked the hostess if 1) she knew any VW mechanics and 2) if I could park overnight in their parking lot. She said she'd get back to me. A bit later in the evening she came out and told me yes, I could park overnight and yes, she knew a VW mechanic but he wouldn't be available until morning. Fine. I watched the sunset, made a meal and settled down to read in my very comfy bed. A bit worried about nocturnal visitors, my only idea of defense was a pair of serious scissors.

An hour or so after dark, a knock on the window of the van startled me. It was two cops, asking what I was doing there. I told them the situation and assured them I had permission to be parked there. They seemed to accept that and told me I'd have to be gone by the next night, which we agreed to. As they walked away, I heard one say to the other...so if we'd been bad guys, what was she going to do? Cut our hair?

In the morning, a guy came by, his hands full of bags. He told me he was the mechanic, a friend of the hostess. The bags were full of breakfast he'd brought for me. First shocker. Then he proceeded to fix my van, whatever was wrong with it. Then he offered me money for gasoline. Shocker two. I said, no, uh, the way it works is I pay YOU for fixing my van! He declined, rather forcefully. He then told me that he and his girlfriend lived about 20 miles south of where I was and that if I had any other problems, give them a call. He hugged me, wished me well and drove away. I sat in stunned amazement for awhile...It's a strange VW van thing I guess. Or that's all I could figure out. The whole trip was like that...and I'll never forget it, or the people along the way. Which is one of the reasons I call myself the Luckiest Woman in the World...I do live on Culebra, after all.