Sunday, May 25, 2008
Very few weekends go by without George's much loved Miata up on blocks. You walk by and the only thing you see are his feet and maybe a few inches of his legs. His hands are covered in grease. Most likely a few friends are over watching, talking cars, and getting greased up with him. It's a hobby for him. And he loves it.
This weekend, he had a huge project to complete. He waited to do it on a three day weekend, thinking it might take that long. He explained it in detail but I don't have a clue what it consisted of. All I know is half his car was disassembled and all over the garage. Bolts everywhere. Four pages of instructions.
Being my pessimistic self I had to ask, "Are you sure you can do this?"
And his honest answer, "I guess we'll find out."
Neighbors would drive by, roll down their windows and check on him. One of his friends came over, looked under the car and was completely amazed by what was going on. I got under the car at George's insistence. I oohed and awed and petted his ego for a few minutes and got the heck off the dirty, greasy floor.
Well, he did it. I wish I could tell you what. Something about a new fly wheel that went under the transmission so the transmission had to come out before he could put the fly wheel on. A few minutes ago, he walked into the house, eyes shining, a huge smile of triumph on his face.
So we don't share this passion. But what I do love is to see his passion. He loves doing it. It gives him a challenge. A release. He is proud of himself. And so am I.
Posted by Shelley Ibrahim at 1:50 PM