Saturday: Mixed

Scorpions in an unusually early season invasion of yards and homes in Arizona. There are tarantulas too, I know, horror of my existence. What nightmare or wicked touch of mischief made God create eight-leggeddies. 

In this blog I’ve reported that after we moved from our SanDiego home to Columbus, Ohio in 1971, a neighbor wrote that the new owners of our house had found a tarantula in the garage. OMG …

Saturday morning on fogged-in StAndrewsBay, a happy hour in another world researching a Packard that son Joe texted me on April 3rd and I held off checking it out until time to thoroughly enjoy. It’s a coupe from the second half of the 1930s, a five-year era when Packard capitalized on a beautifully designed front end, fenders, headlights, hood, vents, and especially the tall, thin radiator shell of the front grill with classic Packard shape, curves, style, design. 

No cars in American history have been more perfect to gaze on and love. This morning I studied Packards from 1935 through 1941 and narrowed it down to a 1939 Packard 120 club coupe, telling Joe I could be off a year either way but I don’t think so. He and a neighbor have breakfast out every Saturday morning, and he often runs across an old car and snaps pics for me to enjoy and to identify. This one gave me the most work and therefore the most enjoyment.

Sad this morning to let NYT stir anger, but exercising the right and province of a grouchy old man. Happy to withdraw into a world of Packards. Ask the man who owns one.

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