Of course this is an
exaggeration, but it isn’t much of one. Even our
Christmas tree, which is still sitting in our family room this first
week of March, looks cold and forlorn.
It
is so cold and snowy here on the East Coast that church was canceled
here in our own little corner of Mormondom last week. This is
something I did not mind. Snow days, whether they are in the
form of vacations from elementary school or days off from work or
even a rare day of hooky from church, are days to be cherished.
But when it gets so cold that even our goosebumps get
goosebumps, I can't help but think of my first car. It was a
beautiful car, back in the days when automobiles were built to be
powerful as a locomotive, and gasoline was so cheap that sometimes
people would just drive around if they had nothing else to do.
My
car had a V-8 engine, which meant it was designed to go 120 miles per
hour so smoothly that you could rest a glass of water on the
dashboard of the vehicle while you were driving and see hardly a
ripple on the surface of the water.
In fact, cars those
days were designed so well that you could easily look down and see
that you were going 120 miles per hour, thinking that you were only
going 55. Oops. It was easy to have a lead foot, back in
those days.
Today,
if you go more than 65 miles per hour, your car starts to shimmy and
shake. Bolts and screws and pieces of plastic start flying
across the open areas of the vehicle as dangerous projectiles, and if
you chew gum with your mouth open you are liable to break a tooth.
Millennials may have a hard time believing this, but back in
those days cars did not have seatbelts. Nobody had ever heard
of air bags, so we did not have those either. If you got in a
car accident, you died. It was sort of the equivalent of Smart
Cars or Mini Cars today. You just knew you were going to die,
so you tried hard to avoid an accident.
I bought my first car
for a hundred and fifty bucks. I don't know why the owner was
getting rid of it. It was in great condition. It was a
1963 Oldsmobile 98, and I bought it in the autumn of 1972. It
was a boat.
Here
is a picture of a 1963 Oldsmobile 98. I assure you, it was a
lot bigger than it looks in the picture. It got eight miles to
the gallon. This is not a typo. I'm sure when I was
driving 120 miles per hour, it got even fewer miles than
that.
Fortunately, gas only cost 25 cents per gallon at the time.
For the
most part, I was only using the car to drive to and from school,
which was only a mile or so away from home. Being inside the
car protected me against the bitter winter winds as I commuted
between home and school. I did not, however, use the car to
keep me warm. I decided I could not afford to run the heater,
so I did not touch the heater.
Even
when I went to and from Salt Lake City — a hundred-mile round
trip from Provo, Utah — I was careful not to touch the heater
of that car. Instead, I bundled myself up in a parka, scarf, gloves,
and other assorted warm clothing to keep the cold out. Oh, thinking
about that warm heater was a real temptation, but I was on a tight
budget and could barely afford to keep the car gassed as it was.
It
was a particularly bitter winter that year. I am sure there
have been worse winters since then, but that year people talked about
the record-setting cold. For a week or two the temperature was
18 degrees below zero. I did not turn on the heater in that
car, but I was glad to have the windows protect me from the bitter
wind. I just could not afford to pay for the extra gasoline
that running the heater would cost me.
The following summer a
friend borrowed the car to take a girl on a date. He drove it
straight up "Y" Mountain in Provo to impress her and got
the car stuck. The men in our ward had to trek up the mountain
and pick up that boat of a car by hand to turn it around so Dale
could drive it down the mountain again. Have I mentioned that
the car was all steel? The car never drove right after that, so
when he asked to buy it from me, I sold it to him for $150 —
exactly what I paid for it.
Years later when I met
Fluffy, I told him this story and he laughed and laughed. He
explained that car heaters work using the heat that is given off as a
natural byproduct of the engine running. Running the heater will not
burn an extra drop of gasoline, and in fact the engine might run more
efficiently when the heater is running too.
So
I could have been running the car heater in that car and its
successor as much as I wanted without squandering an ounce of
gasoline. Air conditioners may eat up gasoline, but heaters do
not. All the freezing days and nights I spent in my powder blue
Oldsmobile could have been spent in happy comfort, but I assumed that
the heater used gasoline and worked from that assumption without ever
checking to see if my assumption was correct.
I
think about this story on occasion, and wonder how much of our lives
we waste based on false assumptions. How many times do we chase
after things, only to find when we reach them that they are not what
we thought we were pursuing?
We
all know individuals who have been so focused on a particular goal
that they have set aside other things (sometimes much more important)
in the pursuit of that goal. Often times it is only by achieving
that goal that they realize they are not happy, and that true
happiness could have been obtained via some of those things that were
cast aside as unimportant during their journey.
All
of us get sidetracked sometimes. It may be something big, such as a
career that takes us away from our families. It could be something
small, such as a hobby that takes us away from something that may be
a little more important.
We
all have our temptations. They come into our lives like railroad
trains or like butterflies, and they may blind us for the moment or
for long years as we follow false assumptions instead of things that
are better.
Fortunately,
life is full of second chances. When I make a mistake and find
myself going in the wrong direction because I thought the ring on the
merry-go-round was gold and it turned out to be brass, God allows
course corrections. With a little hard work we can often do a course
correction to get us back on the path to obtaining those treasures in
life that are of true value.
Kathryn H. Kidd has been writing fiction, nonfiction, and "anything for money" longer than
most of her readers have even been alive. She has something to say on every topic, and the
possibility that her opinions may be dead wrong has never stopped her from expressing them at
every opportunity.
A native of New Orleans, Kathy grew up in Mandeville, Louisiana. She attended Brigham
Young University as a generic Protestant, having left the Episcopal Church when she was eight
because that church didn't believe what she did. She joined The Church of Jesus Christ of
Latter-day Saints as a BYU junior, finally overcoming her natural stubbornness because she
wanted a patriarchal blessing and couldn't get one unless she was a member of the Church. She
was baptized on a Saturday and received her patriarchal blessing two days later.
She married Clark L. Kidd, who appears in her columns as "Fluffy," more than thirty-five
years ago. They are the authors of numerous LDS-related books, the most popular of which is A
Convert's Guide to Mormon Life.
A former managing editor for Meridian Magazine, Kathy moderated a weekly column ("Circle of Sisters") for Meridian until she was derailed by illness in December of 2012. However, her biggest claim to fame is that she co-authored
Lovelock with Orson Scott Card. Lovelock has been translated into Spanish and Polish, which
would be a little more gratifying than it actually is if Kathy had been referred to by her real name
and not "Kathryn Kerr" on the cover of the Polish version.
Kathy has her own website, www.planetkathy.com, where she hopes to get back to writing a weekday blog once she recovers from being dysfunctional. Her entries recount her adventures and misadventures with Fluffy, who heroically
allows himself to be used as fodder for her columns at every possible opportunity.
Kathy spent seven years as a teacher of the Young Women in her ward, until she was recently released. She has not yet gotten used to interacting with the adults, and suspects it may take another seven years. A long-time home teacher with her husband, Clark, they have home taught the same family since 1988. The two of them have been temple workers since 1995, serving in the Washington D.C. Temple.