“This is a better fence. I don’t think it’s going to fall down in a few years. That one over there, those kinds they fall down after a couple of years.” I’m prattling on as we are driving. I always take note of the kind of fences that surround properties. Our community is lined with fences of all kinds.
“The companies that make those fences are pulling in a lot of money. You have to replace them every five years or so,” I tell Denny.
I really don’t like fences. I like big, open properties. The fences I’m talking about are the wooden slats with lattice on top.
“You’ve never seen that sign?” Denny asks me.
“Yeah I’ve seen that sign.”
“It says 30 on there.”
“I think they just put that out there, recently.”
“No, it’s always been there. Where there is a sign like that you have to slow down for schools.”
I’ve been speeding, doing 50 km (maybe more) through the school zones. I keep thinking the sign is new. I don’t know why I didn’t notice it till Denny pointed it out to me a few weeks ago.
I don’t take this route to work anymore, I tell Denny.
My favorite song used to be Take it to the Limit, by the Eagles. It wasn’t anybody else’s favorite song. At first I would get strange looks when I told people it was my favorite, so I’ve kind of kept that to myself. I listened to it the other day and tried to analyze why I liked it. Maybe it’s because the song starts out describing most of my teen life, “All alone, at the end of the evening….”
Somebody else has got to like the song or they wouldn’t have played it on the radio.
Speaking of taking it to the limit, I took my Chevy Nova to the limit once on the highway that goes through Sarto. I don’t tell people how fast I went anymore, because they don’t believe me. But I’ll just say, my next car, my Camaro, couldn’t go that fast.
Well, maybe I didn’t really take the Chevy to the limit. I’m still wondering what the actual limit was. When I looked at the speedometer and then back up, I suddenly realized how much distance I had covered in that second and thought I’d better slow down. If a raccoon or a skunk crossed the road I wouldn’t be able to stop on time.
I’ve only got a speeding ticket once. I was on my way to Winnipeg to pick up our wedding invitations. I wanted to surprise Denny that evening. I was a live-in caregiver for a senior lady and she always took a nap in the afternoon. I planned to make it back before she would miss me, in an hour and a half or so. That meant taking backroads and trimming about fifteen minutes off the time both ways. I admit I was surprised when I heard the siren behind me. I hadn’t even thought about the fact that I might get stopped for speeding.
Between me and Denny, I’m the one more likely to get stopped. But there was a time I remember fondly, when Denny got pulled over. I had warned him. Twice. We were passing people. It was a church event we were going to and he thought we were late. The boys were in the back seat and they enjoyed the moment as much as I did. It was even more fun to see the reactions ranging from sympathy to amusement, in the people we has passed, as they commented to Denny on the “unfortunate incident back there.”
We don’t take chances like that much anymore.
“When you go over this bridge, you can see them right there,” Denny points to a clump of trees ahead, as he is driving. “They’re not there right now. But so many times when I come home from work, they’re waiting there. You have to watch for them. Watch your speed. Don’t speed here. I know it’s easy to speed here.”
Yes, I get it.