Category Archives: Memories

Kids Photos on My Office Desk

Some additional items that I will need to take home before I retire are the photos that have graced my office desk for all these years. I started working at this location over 30+ years ago, before my daughter and youngest son were even born and when our oldest son was just one year old. So you could say, my kids have literally grown up with me while I worked here.

The earliest photos I brought to display on my desk were the ones that were taken when they were in school (or pre-school), the ones taken by a professional photographer in September at the beginning of each academic year. Each fall, they would get a new picture made and I would bring them all to work to replace the previous year’s photo. I have used these same frames all that time so the frames themselves are almost as old as my kids.

During the year, it was a gradual growing up process that my wife and I witnessed. But when I replaced the photo from the year before with the newest one, there was typically a stark difference in their appearance. My daughter was actually born five days after I started working here so every year she celebrated her birthday; I too celebrated a work anniversary.

Each time I added a new photo, I put it in front of the previous photo so that the frames include all ten or so photos of each child. Their last photo was of a high school graduation, a college graduation, or a graduate school graduation photo (not necessarily a reflection of their highest achieved degree but rather just the last time the event was captured by a professional photographer).

I often thought these would make a nice collage, all 5 X7 prints in a single matted frame but since I have previously scanned all these photos, I could also make a digital collage.

It is bitter sweet to look back over the photos and see how each child has grown over the years.

Photos have always been some of my most prized possessions as they bridge us back to another time, a time we may not be able to recall so easily within our mind. But it is also with the knowledge that these photos provide only a visual image of each child at that stage of their life. To know their personality, to know the fine adult that they have grown into and to know the person whom they really are, you would have to have witnessed their growing up all these years.

Sadly working full time all those years, I missed a lot of this growing up and so these photos, no matter how precious they are cannot make up for that. But once I retire, I will be able to spend more time with each one of them, the families they have started (and the grandkids!), to reflect on the memories of them growing up, to get to know them more, and to share in the sheer joy of just being there with them.

What, Me Worry?

AlfredENeuman

No doubt that phrase will be very familiar to any baby-boomer from his or hers days of reading Mad Magazine in the 1960s. Interestingly, as I was pondering exploring this topic of worrying from my past, this catchphrase popped into my mind. For long ago, I was a worrier, an extreme one.

Tractor

As a young adolescent, I worried about a lot of things. I don’t specifically recall why or what I worried about but I know I did. Whether or not this worrying was somehow related to fear as is sometimes the case, I do not know. But I do know my mother was afraid of a number of things (fear of driving, fear of flying) and maybe I picked up some of her fears (although I am not afraid of either driving or flying). When I became a teenager, this worrying ratcheted up to almost become an obsession.

HondaMotorcycle

When I bought a motorcycle, I recall worrying at night if I had remembered to lock the handlebars so it couldn’t be stolen off our carport. Since locking it was a daily habit I did without even thinking about it, off I would run outside before bedtime to check since I couldn’t consciously recall. Admittedly this was not rational as I am certain it was insured but that didn’t cross the mind of me as a 13-year old.

In college, a little more respectable without the big wheels

When I bought my first car in 1973, I used to worry if I would make enough money each month to pay my car note ($107 I seem to recall). At the time, I was in high school working part-time at a local department selling ladies shoes. But today, looking back over my earnings for those years while in high school and college, I actually made enough money each year to pay off the car in less than 12 months. In hindsight, needless worry but nonetheless enough worry at the time that I even had to seek medical attention for a stomach ulcer.

Wedding-02

After I got married, bought a house, and started a family, I had even more potential things to worry about.

1987-42

Later in life, I figured out that a lot of these old worries were rooted in a fear of not having enough money. I used to get very upset whenever something broke (cars, AC, etc.); not so much as I was literally expected to fix it myself but that there might not be enough money to repair it. But there always was.

However, somewhere along the way, and I can’t place a finger on particularly when, I developed a strong faith.

I don’t want you, my reader to think that this is turning into a proselytizing post but this construct is important to the outcome of my worries. For me, growing up the son of a Presbyterian minister, this is faith in God but for others, I recognize that this could be faith in a higher power.

Dadpulpit

Whichever form this might take for you, I developed a strong faith that what was meant to work out would work out. I know this belief borders on predestination and I am not necessarily supporting or disputing that theory. I simply believe at any given moment in our lives that what is meant to happen will happen.

With this strong faith, there is no need for worry. But that is not to say that occasionally I don’t slip back into my old ways and worry about something. I do. I just have to remember to step back and recall my faith.

Knowing now that fear of not having enough money was the root of a lot of my worries, I have tried very hard to make sure our three kids know that I have their back, that they can come to the “Bank of Dad” in a crisis. Sure, as all parents do, I wanted them to grow up to be financially independent on their own. But I never wanted them to experience my fear. Hopefully they haven’t.

So returning to my title, “What, me worry?” While it came to mind when I thought about this topic, it is not the laissez faire attitude this question might suggest. Rather, it’s faith that overcame my worries.

Old Files

IMG_2898

Even though my retirement is still months away, I have already begun to clean out some old files as the archiving staff will be leaving before my last day. I have been the head of Stability for over 25 years so some of my files go back that far. On the first day of our site-wide clean up, I began to go through some of these quarter century old files.

It was really interesting looking back at some of the reports I approved in 1991. Even more interesting was seeing the names of fellow workers from that period that I had not even thought of in probably almost that long. Sadly, a few of them are not still alive so as I ran across their names, it was with a touch of sorrow.

But as I thumbed through documents from some of the other companies we worked with in the past, it was joyous to see names of people I know now that back then were just another name on a report. It is truly amazing how small the pharmaceutical industry really is.

That first day, I only managed to clean out one 5-drawer lateral file cabinet so I have a number of other files still to go through before I’m done. I fortunately didn’t come across any original documents that would have to go through the lengthy archival process. I did, however, generate a lot of recyclable waste. I can’t image how many trips I made to the recycle bin but I know I met my Fitbit 10,000-step goal that day (I even had to search for additional bins as along with fellow employees, we filled up all the ones close by.).

In advance of this clean-up day, I actually started going through some even older files that dated back to when I first started working.

MeWorkPhoto

I ran across this photo of me that I think must have been taken for the company newspaper (remember those?).

IMG_2891

When I pulled out this file labeled “Programs”, I didn’t quite know what would be hidden inside. I was floored when I opened it.

IMG_2892

Inside was a Basic computer program I had written to crunch method validation data. My boss, when I first started, was very much into computerization (this was 1982) and challenged me as one of my first special projects to come up with a program to perform these method validation calculations.

When I was in college in the mid 1970s, I had studied Basic programming in a calculus lab course I had to take. Back then, the computer we had was a mainframe the size of two deep freezers end to end. We hand wrote out our program (there were no word-processors) and then typed each line of code onto a punch card (e.g., 100 cards for a 100 line program). Our task was to write a program to take multiple inputs of student’s individual test scores, generate a semester average for each student, assign a letter grade, and then rank order the students from highest to lowest average. I had had no exposure to computer programming in high school so this first semester freshman class proved to be a challenging assignment that I ultimately was not able to finish.

Imagine my chagrin when my boss assigned this project to me, a task far more challenging than my college assignment. Maybe it was the motivation of wanting to impress my boss (or the fact that I was being paid to do this rather than just earning a grade) but I remember taking home books on programming in Basic and hand writing my program at the kitchen table. Fortunately less than a decade after college, we were working on a “mini-computer” using a text processor that could take our lines of code and compile them into machine language—no more punch cards—so once my program was complete, I typed it into the text processor.

IMG_2894

Turns out writing it was a blast! I had to write several subroutines to perform the actual linear regression and to output the data in a table. I even figured out how to sort the data with a single pass through the calculated results, a functionality that had eluded me in college.

IMG_2893

In the same folder, I also found that I had started writing a computer program to manage our family budget. Only problem was this predated the invention of personal computers and so I had no computer of my own on which to run this program. But for a more “legitimate” business use, I did find that I had written a program to track our golf league participant’s scores and total them up to determine the season’s winners. It was almost like that student’s test score program I never was able to write correctly in college, only with golf scores rather than test scores.

IMG_2895

As I looked over these 34 year-old documents, I recalled the fun I had had writing these and the sense of pride that on my own, I had taught myself how to successfully program in Basic. It seemed that once I had slayed that old nemesis from college, I was bubbling with confidence to try even more.

I wonder on our next clean-up day what other treasures like these I may uncover that bring back such fond memories. I guess only time will tell.

A Tale of Two Cabinets: Dad’s Sermons – Getting Them Organized.

Another month went by before I had time to continue my exploration of the bins. It was actually Thanksgiving night, still thoroughly stuffed from our Thanksgiving lunch, while watching college football that I returned to my effort.

img_3239

I had come to the realization over the past month that each time I thought about these sermons, the next step of my discovery process was really going to be predicated on my getting them more organized. While each bin represented one drawer from my dad’s file cabinet, the folders inside the bins were in random order as we had pulled them from the drawer. Since I didn’t have an empty file cabinet of my own to put them in, I raided my wife’s stash of Bankers Boxes.

img_3321

As I pulled handfuls of folders from the first bin, they were in somewhat numerical order. But then I would run across a number series well before or after the stack I had just pulled. Soon I had several stacks of sequences and I began to put them in the box in order, starting with number 1. It was a little like assembling a puzzle.

img_3328

I did have to pause for a moment when I found folder #1 to look through its contents. This was at least the first documented sermon my dad ever wrote. It was entitled; “Jesus, The Door” and my dad first preached it in August 1946 in Duncan, Oklahoma. This would have been while my dad was still in Seminary and thus even predated the beginning of his professional ministry. It gave me chills to hold this folder recognizing it was one my dad had written on at the young age of 19 over 70 years ago.

img_3322

Then returning to the process of getting them organized, I ran across #191 that had been given more times than the others I had seen. When I had randomly pulled folders from the bin, I hadn’t found a sermon that had been given as many as 10 times.

img_3323

I thought this was a lot until I came across #15 and saw that the dates literally ran the length of the folder. Curious, I checked my dad’s book of 32 sermons that he had typed up and sure enough it was in there, one of the ones he considered his best. In fact, it was the sermon that had the footnote at the end that said this was the sermon he gave the day he met his future wife. It sent chills through me as I realized he had written on this folder the day he met my mom, April 25, 1948, as duly noted on the folder.

img_3334

In no time I had filled the first box with sermons #1 through #190 and started on the next.

As I pulled more folders from the bin and ordered them in increasing numerical number, I began to notice that my dad had religiously (pun intended) used three-tab folders for all those years. He even strictly used them in cascading fashion (first left 1/3, then middle 1/3, finally right 1/3) so as I pulled a handful from the bin, it was easy to see if I had them in the right order, scanning across the tabs.

img_3329

Occasionally, I would run across a missing number only to be found later as I continued to empty the bins. But a few folders I never did find. It got me to thinking what might have happened to those. Maybe Dad had retrieved them to prepare for a future church service, but one that he never got to give as he died so suddenly. I can only wonder if these will ever be found.

Once I had pulled all the sermon folders from the bins and organized them in increasing numerical order, I had filled five Bankers Boxes.

img_3330

It was a pleasure to see them all organized again.

But as I pulled the last few sermons from the third bin, I found there were still some other folders left in the bin, each labeled with a single alphabetical letter.

img_3331

I opened a few of these and found that they were individual typed pages with quotes from books Dad had read that he thought could be included in future sermons. And in the top right corner in Dad’s organized fashion, there were hand notations as to when and which sermon he had incorporated the idea. I recalled from reading the 32 sermons last year that Dad would often quote verbatim a passage from some learned source in his sermons. Now I understood how he was able to easily access those.

For instance, if he were going to write a sermon on “death”, he would pull out his “D” folder to find what additional sources he could incorporate into his sermon. It was with a little sense of Sherlock Holmes that I had deduced part of my dad’s system.

Returning to the sermons, I discovered that rather than the 706 that I had expected to find based on the typed list, there were actually 710 sermons. Puzzled, I pulled out #706 and noted the date—February 23, 1986. The date on #707 was March 28, 1991, over five years later. Thinking about this time gap, I then remembered that Dad had retired in December 1989. So the last time he updated his list of sermons was sometime after he wrote #706 and prior to his retirement. I guess by then, Dad figured he had enough previously written sermons that he could draw from for the remaining few years of his active service.   However, knowing how hard my dad had worked his entire life, I would never think that he just “coasted” for his last few years of ministry before retiring.

Having completed my organization task, I felt I was in a much better position for reading and exploring them. As I thought about these typed sermons, I realized they comprised a significant part of my dad’s professional career. Although his ministries to church members no doubt took up much of his professional time, these sermons represented his creativity, the times when he was alone in thought, thinking of ideas to convey.

Dadatdesk

To me, these written sermons represented another aspect of his life I didn’t know. And with these sermons now more organized, I felt I was ready to gain another glimpse into my dad’s life as I had briefly explored before to learn more about the man I most admire, the man I didn’t get to know well enough before he was gone.

A Tale of Two Cabinets: Dad’s Sermons – All of Them!

img_3239

Due to a busy fall, it was over a month before I got a chance to start going through Dad’s sermons.

img_3243

Another item that my sister gave me was this small black book she had had since he died. Inside was a typed list of all his sermons in numerical order. Based on this book, I should find 706 file folders, one for each sermon he had written.

img_3244

At random, I pulled a couple of folders out and started going through them. On the outside of each folder was the date and location of when the sermon was given. I noticed on some of the folders that the sermon was given a number of times over the years, always at a different location (he apparently had no reruns, never giving the same sermon to the same congregation).

img_3245

On others, the sermons were given as few as only once or twice. I pondered if this meant in my dad’s opinion, that this sermon was not good enough to be given more than a couple of times. Or more likely as I found in one sermon folder, it was written for a special one-time occasion.

img_3246

As I had seen when I read my dad’s book of 32 sermons last year, some of the text was all in caps and some was in both caps and lower case letters.   But in these sermons, there was underlining in four different colors, green, purple, red and black. I wondered what the significance of the different colors meant to my dad. Obviously they served as visual cues as to how he should speak or the tone of voice he might use. But unless I could find a legend somewhere in his files, the secret of the color-coding might be lost forever.

img_3247

I also found in the folder, the church bulletin from each Sunday the sermon was given. I remembered in conversation with my sister about the files, that the hymns were specifically selected to go with the sermon topic. So while the old bulletins might be nostalgic to me much like a retained copy of each course brochure I have taught over the last 20 years, for my dad, the bulletins simply documented the hymns that should be used each time that sermon was given.

While I had pulled these files at random from one of the three bins, it was interesting when I began to notice that these were written the year I got married. I scanned through the folders that fall and specifically opened up the one my dad gave the day after I got married. It gave me an idea that I could go back and find significant dates in our lives and see what words my dad spoke on those Sundays around that time.

img_3325

Returning to the black book, I began to go through it to see what all it contained. While the listing of his sermons were only a few loose sheets in the front, I wondered what the rest of the book contained.

img_3326

The first few pages seemed to be notes written for a Bible study of the book of Matthew.

img_3327

There were also individual hand-written note pages where my dad was mapping out each chapter of Matthew, verse by verse. It appeared to be incomplete as it ended at chapter 5, well short of the 28 chapters in the book of Matthew. This might have been where his Bible study group ended but was never picked up again. Or this might have been as far as he intended to cover it. I would never know the reason.

img_3324

In the rest of the book were additional sermons, much shorter than the sermons in the file folders I had just looked through. I pondered why these would be separate but then I noticed up in the top right corner of each separate sermon, a small written date followed by (p.m.). Then I remembered that during our years in West Monroe, in addition to Sunday school at 9:45 AM and the morning service at 11:00 AM, there was an abbreviated Sunday evening service at 7:00 PM. This recollection brought back a vague memory of me dreading to have to go back to church on Sunday evening. It seemed I had already spent my whole morning at church, why should I have to go back in the evening? But we did.

wmsantuary

These pages chronicled his shorter sermons for those Sunday evening services. The earliest one I could find in the book was from August, 18 1963. The last one was dated January 31, 1965 and counting them all up there were 49 additional sermons not included on his typed list of folders sermons.

At that point the sermons ended. I don’t know if the evening service was discontinued at that point, or if after that Dad just didn’t use prepared notes for his sermon. It wasn’t too long after that date that we moved to Arkansas to a new church so it could just be that the services ended.

To be continued…

A Tale of Two Cabinets: A Mystery!

img_3018

When I wrote about my first road trip in my new Subaru WRX last year, I left it as a bit of a mystery as to the contents of this file cabinet. But in reality, I knew what was supposed to be in there. Just to my knowledge, I couldn’t recall actually ever seeing what was inside. But before dispensing with the subterfuge, a little background is in order.

A metal file cabinet (I couldn’t remember how many drawers) stood in a closet in my parent’s condo. After my dad’s retirement, the closet served a dual purpose of not just as a storage area but also as an “office” for my dad’s professional files. My dad was a retired minister and all the paperwork from his 40-year ministry career was in that closet. After my dad died (three years after our mom died), my three siblings and I took what keepsakes we each wanted, gave some things away, and the rest was moved (at least twice) by my oldest sister to where we found it on that hot Saturday afternoon in September.

But when we came across this cabinet, we weren’t sure it was the same cabinet. We both remembered it as being green. So we searched elsewhere in the garage among the many other items stashed but did not find another file cabinet. We returned to the beige cabinet.

As we found it, it was lying on its back, partially hidden underneath a couple of mattresses wedged between some boxes and a dresser. It was encircled with a piece of rope and to prevent any drawer from being opened, a golf club was jammed between the drawers and handles (not pictured). Although packaged this way no doubt for safe transport, it seemed almost as if it was secured in this manner to prevent its contents from escaping.

The first step to gain access to the file cabinet was to pull the dresser far enough forward to be able to slide the golf club out, which I found was an extremely tight fit wedged beneath the drawer handles.

Next we had to cut the rope so that the individual drawers could be pulled open. Before we went any further, I decided to at least try to pull open one drawer to get a glimpse of the contents inside in case it was not the right cabinet. As I pulled on one drawer, it seemed almost as if it was locked; but it wasn’t. It was just extremely heavy. I managed to get one open far enough to see inside and I immediately recognized my dad’s hand writing on a few of the file folders which were beginning to slide down to the back of the cabinet. Bingo! We had the file cabinet with my dad’s sermons.

We then pulled the dresser out further so that we could turn the cabinet and stand it upright. It was after several unsuccessful attempts at barely getting our fingers under the back of the cabinet and trying to lift that we found it was just too heavy to stand up (It turned out all four drawers were stuffed front to back with file folders holding papers and probably weighed close to 300 pounds).

Faced with not being able to lift the cabinet up and not being able to remove a single drawer, our last ditch effort was for me to pull up the drawer as far as I could and my sister reach in and pull out as many files as she could, one hand full at a time, trying to prevent them from sliding behind the drawer and into the back of the cabinet.

By this time, as hot as it was, I had already stripped off my t-shirt and had repeatedly wiped the sweat off my face with a towel. But requiring both my hands to pull the drawer up, I couldn’t keep my sweat from dripping down on my sister’s arms as she pulled the file folders from the drawer. I apologized as she continued to pull hand-full after hand-full of file folders from the drawer.

Once we had emptied the first drawer, I pulled it completely from the cabinet and could see that the inside of the cabinet and drawer was in fact green. Sometime during it residence with my parents, the exterior had been spray painted beige but the inside was still the original manufactured industrial green both my sister and I remembered it being.

At this point, we had several precarious stacks of files from the drawer.

img_3240

We carefully transferred them into one of these storage bins for my transport home.

We then proceeded to empty a second drawer using this same tedious process (and dripping sweat) filling a second bin.

img_3241

By this time, we had removed enough weight from the cabinet that my sister and I were able to lift the cabinet and stand it upright. Of the two remaining drawers, we found one more completely filled with the same file folders.

img_3242

And so my sister and I loaded these three bins, each weighing over 50 pounds, into my car for the ride home.

Once I pulled into my driveway, I took the bins upstairs for me to more easily go through what treasure I had brought home. And this is where they sat for a while.

To be continued…

Going on Sweet 16

15thbirthdaycake

Last year, I wrote about a “birthday” of sorts for my 1994 Mazda Miata as it was celebrating 20 years with me. I was pleased to learn that this post inspired my daughter to write a post about her first car that she had for more than half her life.  Not to be left out, several weeks ago, my 2002 Miata marked a similar milestone, 15 years with me.

Car15

It was in January 2002 when I agreed to let my oldest son borrow my ’94 and I purchased a new ’02 to replace it. Having had fun going back and chronicling all the road trips that the ’94 had taken over those 20 years, predominately with my son’s hands at the wheel, I thought it would be entertaining to also recount some of the fun mileage of my ‘02.

img_3634

Admittedly, close to 95,000 is not a lot of miles for a fifteen year old vehicle. But for most of those years, the ‘02 was not the only car I owned and had available to drive on a regular basis. It was joined first by a 2006 Mini Cooper S and then by a 2012 Fiat 500. However, for its first four years with me, the ’02 Miata was the only car I had and thus was my daily driver. It also is the one car I have not “loaned” out either to my wife or kids so those 95,000 miles are for the most part my miles.

file1068

This is one of the earliest photos I have of my new Miata, safely tucked away in the garage during this rare snowfall in Memphis. This photo was taken shortly before it made its first road trips, although these were admittedly not fun trips.

medad

Not long after I took delivery of this new Miata, my dad was hospitalized due to complications from his melanoma cancer. So the first few road trips I took in the ’02 were over to Hot Springs, AR to see my dad just before he died. While being extremely sad driving memories, I tried to make something more positive out of them by taking a portion of my parent’s estate left to me and paying off the car. Although neither of my parents ever saw this car, they both knew how much I loved cars and I think they would have approved of me using the money this way, in a sense turning it into “my inheritance” car.

The following year for my next road trip, I headed off in the opposite direction when my sister and I drove up to Knoxville, TN to visit my brother and other sister. This was a weekend visit that would spark the beginnings of what would become our annual SIBSAB (Sibling Sabbatical) when just the four of us get together. Being that this was in the winter close to the one year anniversary of the death of our dad, we were met with sleet the morning of our departure.

File0015

In 2005, I convinced my sister who lived in Memphis at the time to take a road trip with me to North Carolina. But on the way up, we took a slight detour to drive the Tail of the Dragon, a fun, super curvy road (incredibly 318 curves in 11 miles). Even though I’d had the ’02 for three years, this was my first opportunity to run her on what is certainly one of the best “driver’s roads” in the US. It also gave me my inaugural experience of what the expression “it corners like it’s on rails” really feels like (it scared my sister). Following this heart-racing thrill ride, we made our way into Asheville, NC for a fun brother-sister road trip (click here for more details).

DSC_0010

With just the taste of a single run on the “Tail” in the ’02, I wanted to go back for more. So in 2008, I took a “father-son” bonding trip to North Carolina with my two sons, the youngest of which had just turned 21. Since multiple runs were what all three of us wanted, we made the “Tail” our destination for the first day’s drive from Memphis and booked a cabin at the Tapoco lodge which is on the North Carolina side of the same US 129. And for this trip, we took not just the ’02 Miata but the Mini Cooper as well (the ’94 Miata was in San Francisco at the time).

DSCN1020

With one extra driver on each run, we actually got some pretty nice photos of the two cars.

IMG_2109

Riding with my youngest son at the wheel, I got my chance to be scared (much like my sister probably was) as we squealed around several of the tight curves. The final destination for this trip was once again Asheville, but not before having multiple exciting runs (click here for more details).

By far, the granddaddy of all road trips I have taken in this Miata was in 2010 when I set out to drive the entire Sky Line Drive and the Blue Ridge Parkway (BRP).

DSC_0036

While these parkways are not curvy roads like the “Tail”, they are some of the most scenic routes in the US. And at 469 miles long, the BRP is America’s longest linear park. When I asked my wife if she wanted to accompany me on this road trip, she demurred when she learned it would be mostly spent in the car—which it was.

DSC_0091

Over a five day trip, I drove over 2,000 miles with the time on the two parkways (about 575 miles of the trip), almost exclusively with the top down. Although I was all alone on this road trip, it was still very special as I posted previously (click here for details).

Having owned the ’94 for 20 years and the ’02 for 15, it has given me plenty of opportunity to notice the differences between the two cars. The ’02, being eight years younger in age, certainly doesn’t have all the squeaks and rattles that the ’94 has and the ‘02 is surprisingly still pretty tight given it wears its original-equipment Bilstein shocks. The glass back window with defroster in the ‘02 is a definite advantage over the plastic window on the “94 that has to be unzipped and carefully lowered before dropping the top. But with the top dropped, the ’94 exhaust note wins hands down. They are both very fun cars to drive and in the end, they are similar but different.   I don’t plan to ever sell either one of them.

While my ’02 Miata has not seen as much of the country as my ’94, what the ’02 has seen has been all with my hands at the wheel. With the miles I have put on my two Miatas, I realize that I have been driving a fun, sporty convertible for almost half my driving life.

IMG_2482

Now with a 2016 Subaru WRX as well, it is sometimes a tough choice to pick which one I want to drive at any given time. My choice is typically limited in that regard since only two of the three are at the same location at any given time (either our home or condo). But whichever one I do chose, I know I’m going to have a fun drive no matter what road I’m on.