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Sep. 24th, 2004 08:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ursulaWhen I was an extremely small child, I took ballet lessons on Saturdays. At that point my father was working full time and finishing an engineering degree in the evenings. He used to fall asleep on the sidewalk outside my lessons, resting on a folded-out cardboard box. He insisted that the box made an astonishing difference from bare pavement, which in fact it does.
I have been helping my father fix my car. I am not mechanically useful; I pass tools and oil, and yank on the parking brake occasionally. He lies beneath it, on a familiar sheet of cardboard.
The car is a 1987 Peugeot. It is a sort of gray-blue and has rampant lions on the hubcaps; otherwise, it is unremarkable for its age. I acquired it from my brother-in-law, who never used the emergency brake. I am not such a fearless driver, and happen to live on a hill.
I have been helping my father fix my car. I am not mechanically useful; I pass tools and oil, and yank on the parking brake occasionally. He lies beneath it, on a familiar sheet of cardboard.
The car is a 1987 Peugeot. It is a sort of gray-blue and has rampant lions on the hubcaps; otherwise, it is unremarkable for its age. I acquired it from my brother-in-law, who never used the emergency brake. I am not such a fearless driver, and happen to live on a hill.