A fine motor

My Dad bought an old Morris when we first came to Canada.  He said the interior odour reminded him of home.  It smelled like an old, worn shoe.  It was good fun nipping through the traffic.  The Chryslers and Chevs were at least three times the size, at the time. 

The road was up in front of house one day, so he pulled out of the driveway and drove the Morris along the sidewalk til he got past the road works.  That particular incident made history in our neighbourhood.  For years kids begged him to drive his car along the sidewalk.

The leather interior was worn and cracked.  We three kids had to sit quite still in the back.  If we fidgeted there was a chance the cracks in the leather would pinch our skin and we'd scream "WASPS!" and Dad would shout "Yes we are!" and laugh his head off.

The Prairie winters were a bit much for the Morris.  The heater wasn't much, so Mum had to scrape the ice off the inside of the windshield while we drove along.  And the indicator arms used to freeze so if we were about to turn a corner Dad would shout out the direction and whoever was on that side would have to stand up and bash the frame till the arm popped out,  Then it would freeze sticking out.

It was good in the summer, though.  Dad eventually sold it for more than he paid.  He was most pleased about that.

I'm delighted to see that I'm not the only lazy sod in town that hasn't put their Christmas decorations away.