Cold Air & A Voice

My grandmother and grandfather lived in two homes during my childhood that I vividly remember. Both had carports, which as a child I found mesmerizing. Our old homes in the big city did not have these “modern” features. Low brick walls and a slick concrete floor defined the second and last carport.

In the heat of summer and on breezy days, they could be known to park the car further back in the driveway and not under the carport. This signaled that part of the evening would be spent in aluminum-framed folding chairs with the plastic webbing reforming our thighs.

Breezy nights on the carport lasted until after dark, when all you could really see was the slight red burn of my grandfather’s pipe as he pulled gently between the words of a long story. The house lights would be turned off almost entirely, so as to not make heat. One lone bulb burned in the hallway leading to the bathroom.

The kitchen was adjacent to the carport and accessed through the side door, which was in essence the true front door. To the right of the door was a tall, skinny cabinet which held the paper-bag-lined plastic trash bin. Right next to this trash can was a very special piece of cardboard.

Stay with me.

This piece of cardboard popped into my mind first thing this morning. I have a dear friend who is traveling all over Nebraska, Kansas, and Missouri for several days this week, and, although the dropping temperatures are really just winter in North America, I heard my grandfather’s voice in my head offering me a warning.

The special piece of cardboard was shaved by his hands to fit exactly between the metal grill of my grandmother’s little Toyota truck and its engine. He placed it there on terribly cold days when she was driving the forty-five miles to her job at the Masonic Lodge in the nearby college town.

“Arctic air is not to be trifled with.” His words when I asked about the slightly grimy cardboard after I sighted it the first time. I was in my early twenties. The story went on to talk about “when water and gas lines freeze” and “taking time to actually warm a car”.

My grandfather served with the Missouri Highway Patrol for his entire career after being in the Navy in WWII flying planes. His words to the wise about car safety and road smarts live in me. Basic principles and common sense. “Don’t drive into a storm. Nothing is too important not to wait for your life.” “Travel in winter means you pack water in the car for when you get stuck.” “Please, Sloane, put gas in your car and keep the level high in winter.”

The list goes on and on. Of course I have jumper cables and a first aid kit in my car right now. And blankets.

I never saw him place the cardboard into her car, as I mostly visited on weekends, making the three-hour drive from my home in Kansas City on Friday nights.

However, I can imagine him turning on the coffee pot in the dim sunrise, slippers and robe his only armor for the few steps into the carport as he prepared her car for the long drive in winter.

I miss him. I miss them both. I miss them all.

I did share a concern with my friend via text today to be safe and smart. I didn’t go into details. I just figured my grandpa made his voice heard today for a reason. I also received a report from the road that my friend’s destination number two was reached without incident.

p.s. The bin above is just the cardboard I worked with and recycled Tuesday at work. I can’t imagine what Grandpa could have done with all that!

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