August 2, 2008
My father worked for American Motors Cars when I was born. That means we drove around in a Nash, a Rambler, a Matador, and an Ambassador. When I took my driver’s test, I borrowed a family friend’s blue Gremlin with a white stripe, and when I got married, I drove away in a aqua Pacer. The demise of AMC was no big deal to some, but to me, it was the end of an era.
I found this picture of a model of the Rambler station wagon that we owned, and colorized it (OK, sloppily) to match my memory. Yes, I *was* going for a pearly pink roof. It was plum colored with a pearlized roof. Odd, I know. We drove to Florida from Pennsylvania in this car, stopping only to put mosquito netting on the windows so we could nap with the windows down. The front seat’s back was one piece and folded back, and I had to sleep on that part. I kept rolling into my cousin Terry who was sleeping on the seat under the steering wheel.
The best thing about station wagons in the 60s and 70s was not sleeping when the car was parked, though. It was sleeping in the cargo area while the car hummed and vibrated over miles of highway. The rhythms would rock me to sleep like a baby.
I thought of this post when I read seashull’s post about her friends’ cool car (http://www.xanga.com/seashull/668689340/item.html ) ! Cars are romantic, IMHO. My grandfather, a mechanic of humble means, used to restore antique cars, including Model A’s, but that is another post.