All the feels. Well maybe not all of them, but a lot of them.

That's how my week has been.  So many of the feels!  Some of them all in one day.  Why do they gang up on a person like that?  

God has blessed me beyond measure.  Beyond my wildest dreams.  I am richer than I ever thought possible...I am practically* the owner of not just one but TWO classic cars. 

* Pending the receipt, processing, and approval of the various applications submitted to the State to that end; however, I do currently possess insurance, and temporary licensing and registration in my name of said second motor vehicle!

What's the opposite of IYKYK...IYDKYDK?  

Is this what it feels like when you have your second child?  The funny part is that you think I'm joking.  (Alright, you caught me; as usual, I'm mostly joking.)  There are actually a lot of parallels, and not just because I'm overly sentimental when it comes to motor vehicles.  Do we have room for another car?  How will we make sure the first car still gets the attention it needs?  Am I paying too much attention to the "new" car?  Am I comparing? Showing favoritism?  OK, so all but the first question is totally playing into my over sentimentality when it comes to motor vehicles.  (And to answer the first question, Yes. We do.)  I will feel bad if we fix up one car and not the other.  I can't wait to take BOTH of them to shows together, although that's not always going to be possible.  

Alright. So. If you're friends with me on the book o' faces, you've been privy to a little bit of what's going on with the Lincoln Saga.  Last week, I went to the DMV to get the title transferred over, only to find out I needed one form that I didn't have.  The ironic part is that I actually had printed out and completed that form but then, at the last minute, decided that I probably didn't need it.  Hey, transferring titles from one state to another is confusing enough without throwing in the fact that one of the owners listed on the title is deceased.  The form I needed was for Minnesota which was ultimately why I decided we didn't need it, but alas, I was wrong.  So I had to get this form signed and notarized and then went back this week to try again.  

That's when I learned that they couldn't actually do the title transfer there at the physical DMV office -- but then could check my paperwork to make sure it was all correct, do the math and tell me how much I would owe, and print out temporary registration and license so I could legally operate the vehicle.  And before you get all weird about "Why couldn't they do it there, that's insane, blah blah blah," chill out!  No big deal.  That's because it's Special.  Two words: collector plates.  And since I already have collector plates on my other baby classic car, I'm what they call a serial car collector now.  The plates on the Lincoln have to be custom made because they will be the same as the plates on the Maverick but subset with an "A".  Is that freaking cool, or what?!  Hashtag IYKYK.  

So that was early in the week.  About midweek, my hubby called the shop and the super nice guy* working there said he could probably get it in later in the week.  Good thing I had that temporary license, registration, and insurance card :).  Because the next day my hubby texted me and said that the super nice guy* called and said he could get the car in the next morning at 8am and, I quote, "How are we going to handle that?"  Hmmmm.  Drop it off the night before, I suggested.  Not unless you want to leave it on the street all night, hubby countered.

St. Paul people, let me explain this in as few words as possible, because few words will be needed.  Rice and Maryland (more or less).  I could not type "That's a big hell no!" fast enough.  So, we quickly figured out Plan B: hubby would go in to work late and I would turn my WFH day into a WFW day, and we'd meet at my Mom's house in the morning and drive the Lincoln to the shop (on a wing and a prayer -- remember this thing has 10yo gasoline in it!).  So that's what we did.  That was yesterday.  I was so nervous!  Not just because I haven't driven a Lincoln in a very long time -- I traded my '79 Mark V in on something else, I don't remember what right now, but that was about 30 years ago; and I did drive the Town Coupe once after we moved out to Baldwin but that was a while ago, too -- but because this thing is a beast, I was nervous about navigating the Land Yacht on the suddenly very small streets of the city, and I was nervous about it breaking down on the way, and I was just all around nervous.  Call it PTSD from the car accident in 1993 when my first Maverick was totalled, but the thought of driving a classic car and something like that happening to it again makes me physically ill.  But once I got in there, it was mostly fine.  It's such a comfortable ride, you can't help but relax in it.  We made it there sans incident. The super nice guy* wasn't there when we dropped it off, so we left it in the presumed capable hands of his presumed cohorts and left.

* Alright, I'll explain.  The "super nice guy" is my cousin on my Dad's side.  I supposedly last saw him when I was about 6 years old, at my uncle/his father's funeral, but neither one of us recalls this.  That would've been 44 years ago, so can you blame either of us?! I was 6 and he was about 19 but probably a little preoccupied at the time.  

I got a text message from the hubby later that morning.  You see, even though the super nice guy was, in fact, family, we were kind of keeping that fact on the down-low.  We knew who he was, but he didn't know who we were.  Not for any malicious reasoning, just your typical dysfunctional family stuff that I don't feel like getting into at the moment (see above paragraph for all the info you need right now).  The message said that the super nice guy mechanic had called my hubby because he found a label under the hood with my parents' name and address, and how cool it was to be working on my Dad's car. 

Y'all...I cannot tell you how much joy and relief filled my little black heart at that moment.  Because one of my two biggest fears about this whole thing was that once the super nice guy/mechanic found out who I was, he would want nothing at all to do with me, my husband, or the car.  So getting that particular text message from my hubby let me breathe a little bit easier.  

It also made me wonder -- who the heck puts an address label under the hood of their car?!  Did it say, "If found, please return to:"?  "Property of:"?  "This car belongs to:"??  And speaking of feeling the feels, I felt proud and amused all at the same time. Because my parents, well my Mom actually, has given me crap all my freaking life for being the person who labels everything that is mine.  Hey, if you grew up with my sister, you would've done the same thing.  Anyway, at that moment, I was vindicated.  I come by it naturally.  The man labelled his car; your argument is no longer valid.  I am my father's daughter.

And so the day went by and I eagerly waited to hear how the check-up went.  Everything was coming up roses so surely nothing could ruin the day, right?

Except the second thing I feared about the whole saga was that the Lincoln would be Beyond Repair.  

There are few things worse than being told a beloved vehicle is Beyond Repair (or Not Worth Fixing).  I've been there a few times.  The '77 Maverick after the accident.  The '07 Monte Carlo after the accident.  I'm sure there were others, but those are the two that come to mind.  I never really thought that was an option with the Lincoln.  It was golden.  Perfectly preserved.  My Dad took the best care of that car.  Need proof? It runs on 10-year-old gas.  Sure, he had stabilizer in the gas so it wouldn't go bad, and sure, that gas is definitely still bad and smells like something I've never smelled before after you drive the car for a few minutes, but it runs and it runs smoothly and I dare you to find another vehicle that is as well-kept as that Lincoln. Go ahead.  I'll wait.  

Except then my hubby texted me: Call me when you get a chance.

Not a good text to receive. Ever.

I had a chance right then and there, miraculously.  And what I was told next almost broke my little black heart.  All I remember was: gas tank rusted out; fuel pump bad; exhaust system rusted out; entire underneath rusted out from being stored on concrete all it's life.  In fact, that's what I wrote on the nearest piece of paper I could find.

And for the next few hours, I was scared. Scared that it was going to be...gulp...Beyond Repair.  Because even though it was beautiful as far as I could tell, and even though we got it running, and drove it to the shop, I knew enough to know that the entire bottom being rusted out could be the kiss of death.  I was mad at myself for not taking the car years and years ago, when my Dad first told me I should take it.  I was mad at my Dad for parking it on concrete and not paying closer attention to these things.  I was mad at the world because it wasn't fair, this was NOT supposed to end this way!  I was just mad.  I have no idea what it would take to replace the frame of a 1978 Lincoln Continental Town Coupe, but I'm pretty sure it's not easy or inexpensive, or quick.  Because I don't know much about cars, but I know that the frame is a kind of vital piece of hardware.  Alas, my hubby was going to go to the shop where my cousin still had the car up on the lift, and they were going to discuss a few things and he was going to get back to me.

UGH.

Well...that was yesterday afternoon.  Right now, the Lincoln is back in my Dad's garage at my parents' house.  It still needs a new gas tank and straps, a new muffler and pipes, a new fuel pump, new shocks, and has a couple of random leaks. BUT...the rust underneath is not nearly as bad as I was fearing.

It is NOT Beyond Repair. It is Most Definitely Worth Fixing.  And, none of our appendages will have to be sacrificed in order to do so.  

That was about the 17th time that day I wanted to cry.  The big obstacle right now is that it needs a new gas tank, and you can't just call the local parts store anymore and order one up.  Go figure!  My cousin has a couple of feelers out but said we'd probably have more time and better luck finding one than he will, and since he needs the shop space we brought the car back home (well, like I said, to my parents' house) until we find the parts and can proceed.  So I'm a little bummed because I thought I'd be bringing home a ready-to-drive car, but it all makes sense.  Besides, my mantra through this whole saga seems to be, I've waited this long, what's a little bit longer?! 

And seriously, too, my cousin is the nicest guy.  His shop is super busy -- he was telling us yesterday that he turns away more work than he actually does these days.  So the fact that he even agreed to look at the Lincoln before he knew it was a family thing...that was totally a God thing.  I was wondering if I was making the right decision by doing this, and today I can say that I know I am.  I asked God to give me just a little sign, if it was His will to do so, to let me know if I was on the right track, and He did.  It's all good.  I know my Dad would approve, and I know the Lincoln is going to get the best care it could get.  

It is well with my soul.

I hope it is well with yours, too. 

That's all there is, and there ain't no more...

If you know me in real life, or even just through the book of faces, you probably already know that I like cars.  I always have.  

And if you knew my Dad in real life, you know that he also liked cars.  He taught me everything I know about cars, pretty much.  When I was little, I wanted to be a mechanic when I grew up. I think I've mentioned that in here before. But my Dad didn't want me to be a mechanic.  That used to crush my heart.  Why didn't he want me to grow up and be like him?  We could work together!  I could be the bad-ass girl who knows how to work on cars! I wouldn't have to rely on him, or any other man, to fix my car for me!

Oh, well.  Being a nurse is kinda like being a mechanic.  I get to try to fix broken people, in a way.  Keep them running like they should be.  Try to figure out what's wrong with them when they're not.  I mean, I'm not the one doing the diagnosing (that's a word, right?) but I'm part of the team that tries to make sure the treatment plan is being followed and all that.

Short story long...in the fall of 1980, my Dad (well, both of my parents, actually) bought this certain car.  It's a maroon 1978 Lincoln Continental Town Coupe.  I was 6 years old when they brought this car home.  At first, I was bummed because he traded in the ol' 1971* (don't hold me to that, it might have been a '72) Thunderbird with suicide doors that was dark brown and I renamed it the Batmobile, because that's what it reminded me of.  I was totally into Batman when I was little; I don't believe I've ever mentioned that. It was one of the few shows I'd actually watch on TV.  Reruns, of course, but the ones with Adam West as Batman.  But I didn't care who played Batman; for me, it was all about the car.  

So yes, I was bummed that my first favorite car, the Batmobile, was gone, and this big, shiny red fancy thing had taken it's place.  It had pillow-like cloth seats and it smelled like a new car, and riding in the back seat just about always made me carsick.  Luckily, the back seat is the size of a regular love seat, so I spent a lot of time stretched out on it, trying to sleep off the nausea.  Not to mention, it also had teeny-tiny windows in the back that didn't roll down.  Nope, my first memories of this car were not pleasant ones. But my Dad loved this car and took the absolute best care of it.  

I learned last weekend that it actually was his daily driver at first. He bought it with 26k miles on it and right now it has 55k miles, so it's not as if he never drove it.  Just not very often. Mostly he pulled it out of the garage to wash, wax, and detail it, and took it to the shop to change the fluids and the belts and do whatever else kinda maintenance it required.  Then drove it on weekends or on vacations once he sold the motorhome.  When that wasn't happening, it had a very snug home in his garage.  In his, like, 1.5 car garage.  And he was a mechanic, so that garage was also full of tool boxes and lots of other stuff.  But somehow he was able to fit the Lincoln and whatever his daily driver was at the time in the garage together.  Granted, there was only a few inches to spare on every side except the driver's side, but it fit!

That reminds me, there was even a time when the garage had 3 cars in it: the Lincoln, the daily driver of the month, and the VW Baja Bug.  But that's a story for another time.

The "joke" in our family has always been that the Lincoln would be mine someday. I never appreciated that until, oh, probably adulthood.  When I was 19, I drove a 1979 Lincoln Mark V for a few years.  I loved that car! It was light blue with light blue cloth interior, and a sunroof, and man could that tank move!  I called it the Land Shark.  I even have a picture of my Dad's and my Lincoln parked next to each other somewhere.  

Anyway, my Dad last drove the Lincoln about 10 years ago.  It's been hiding in it's corner of the garage since then.  My Dad was always bugging me to take it, but I never had a place to keep it, really, until we moved out here.  (An inside place to keep it, that is.)  

Last spring, I think it was, or maybe the fall before that, whenever it was that we first went over there to start cleaning out the garage, we (meaning my hubby and I) decided to see if it still ran.  Don't know why it wouldn't, just because it'd been sitting for a while.  But you never know.  We charged up the battery and as soon as I turned the key, something went POOF! and smoke started rising up from somewhere near the battery. (I couldn't tell exactly where it was coming from, because I was, you know, behind the wheel.)  So we aborted that plan and decided that we'd have to have the professionals take a look at it someday.  

So, between then and now, hubby and I have been discussing options for having someone go over it and make sure it's road-worthy.  All this time, it's still in my parents' names.  And, of course, as you already know, my Dad passed away last fall.  I really wasn't ready to take the car right away after that.  It's just this huge maroon reminder of my Dad, ya know?  Well, the hubby and I finally decided that we'd take it to a shop with family ties, so to speak: my cousin's shop in St. Paul.  

Another long story short here, but if you know me in real life, you probably maybe know my maiden name, which is also the name of the shop to where we are taking it.  And let me add that I actually do not know my cousin who owns this shop.  My uncle (Dad's brother) used to own it.  My Dad even worked there once upon a time, but I think that was before I was even born.  I prayed and prayed and prayed on this decision.  I feel like it's one that my Dad would've agreed with.  I don't want anyone except family touching this car, even if he's basically a stranger to me.  My Dad always had nice, kind things to say about his late brother.  And in an "it's a small world, after all" moment, one of our friends from church actually takes his car to this shop, too, and has nothing but great things to say about the service he gets there.  This was before he knew I was related.  I think that's a huge vote of confidence, because our friend from church lives out here in the boonies like we do, and he'd rather take his car into the cities -- an  hour away -- to have his car worked on because he likes and trusts the mechanic that much.  

HOWEVER, for some reason I was having a very hard time calling and making that appointment.  I think a huge part of that is grief.  My taking the Lincoln is a symbolic thing, a way of announcing that my Dad is gone.  His beloved Lincoln is my responsibility now.  I wish I knew enough about cars to do the work myself; but since I don't, I just want to trust that having a professional who is also a family member is the right thing to do.  Hopefully both my Dad and my uncle are sitting there up in heaven, watching this, and nodding in approval.  

I just wish I would've done this before he died, for so many reasons.  One, so he could see the Lincoln out of the garage and in it's glory again, with me behind the wheel. 

And two -- because transferring ownership of a vehicle when one of the persons listed on the title is now deceased is a royal pain in the butt and is the whole reason that right now, at this very moment, the car is not in my name yet!!

But, I digress.  My awesomest hubby in the world surprised me last week by calling the shop himself to find out if my cousin would even be interested in going through and tuning up the Lincoln for us, and making all of those arrangements.  God, I love this man.  My cousin said, yes, he can do it.  At that time, we thought it would need to be towed because of the whole POOF! situation.  

So, that was last week.  The hubby and son and I went over to my mom's house on Saturday to clean up all the stuff around and on the Lincoln (thanks, Dad, for using it as a shelf, even though you put a blanket on it, wtf).  We stopped and picked up a new battery on the way, because it would be so much easier to drive it to the shop than to have to have it towed there.  The day before that, I finally worked up the courage to ask my mom if I could finally take the car.  I don't know why I was so nervous about asking.  She doesn't drive so it's not like her keeping it was an option.  I guess I was just worried about how she'd do emotionally with the car being gone.  

Anywho, we got there and hubby hooked up the new battery, and I grabbed the keys and sat down in the driver's seat, turned the key, and -- NO POOF!  Just the sound of the starter trying like hell to do it's thing.  It wasn't even trying to turn over at first, but that was more than I'd heard out of it for a very long time, so we kept at it. Tried all the tricks once tries when one wants to convince a car of that era to start when it's been dormant for a while -- IYKYK.  

And then, finally -- she roared to life.  No, she didn't roar, she slowly purred to life.  Oh, my gosh, it was one of the most beautiful sounds I've ever heard.  Right up there with hearing my baby boy cry for the first time.  She came back to life and it was like she never missed a beat.  So smooth!  No skipped beats, no threatening to stall out, just back to life like, BAM! Here I am, let's go!

I have that part on video, thanks to my boy.  I tried to get video from inside as well, but I was too focused on actually getting it started to catch that precious moment.  I even "drove" it -- well, pulled it most of the way out of the garage and then backed it in again. Didn't have to squeeze it back into it's spot this time; it's currently taking up both stalls because we don't need to park any other vehicles in there, anyway.  (Except that when I stay at my mom's house I usually park in the garage, but oh well; I guess I'm parking on the street this week!)

She purred like a lioness, and the brakes and tranny performed like they never missed a beat, either. And the tires on that damn thing still look brand new! I don't know when the tires were replaced last, but it couldn't have been that long ago.  They did need filling when got there, but they weren't completely flat (as opposed to two of the tires on my Maverick, which decided to go flat over the winter! GRRRRR).  

OK, I gotta wrap this up soon.  Last year when mom dug the title out of the safe, I noticed that it still had the Ford Motor Company listed as a secured interest.  Uh, what? No, it's been paid off for decades.  Back then, the bank kept the title until it was paid off, and then sent it to the owner with a lien release afterward.  But my mom didn't have any lien release.  So I actually contacted the Ford Motor Company and they provided me with a letter confirming that they no longer have an interest in the car.  And then this week, when I was looking at the title again, I noticed that there is a signature on the spot of the title where someone is supposed to sign indicating that the secured party's interests have been met. So I might not need that letter, after all.  Oh, well.

The plan was going to be that I was going to go to the DMV on Monday and get it transferred into my name, and get insurance on it, so then we could take it to the shop.

Well...I did make it to the DMV with everything I thought I needed; the title with my Mom's signature, my Dad's death certificate, the transfer of title and registration certificate, proof of insurance, an application for collector plates, and my driver's license.  It's a small DMV office that we have here, and actually waiting for half an hour for my turn wasn't bad.  Then, when I got up to the window, the very nice lady working there (that's not sarcasm -- she was very nice) told me I was missing a form.  My mom needs to sign a form stating that she is my Dad's surviving spouse and that the car isn't subject to probate.  And it has to be notarized, so I can't sign for her.  

So! We wait a little longer.  I've waited this long, what's a few more days?!  As it turns out, my cousin was too busy at the shop to get the car in this week, anyway. So it works out.  I found a place where I can take my mom (when I stay there this week) to get the form notarized, and then we should be good to go.

I can't wait to drive that beast, for real.  It's not going to be my daily driver, of course, but there are usually car shows around here every weekend and you bet your sweet bottom we will be at as many of them as we can this summer!

Anyway, that's all I have time for right now.  TTYL!