mustang sally

Five years ago right about now I was due with our elder lad.  Looking for some diversion and exercise in an attempt to encourage the babe (whose gender we did not yet know; we haven't found out genders in advance of any of our children's births) to come out and meet us, we accepted an invitation from my dad to go to a car auction.  Having never been to anything of the sort, our curiosity was piqued.

It was a world entirely foreign to anything I'd experienced.  Most of the cars would merit a "vintage" label of one kind or another.  Some were souped-up hot rods or trucks. Others were classic cars from the mid-century years.  There were even some antiques -- as in, Model T's and those of that era.  There were a few late model cars, but the main offerings were of the collectible, tinker-around-in-the-garage kind.

The people-watching opportunities were vast and varied, and the auctioneer and his assistants highly entertaining. He'd say such things as "You're buyin' it today," or "here's a great daily driver!" or "this one's in mint condition."  The air in the exhibition hall in which the auction took place was heavy with exhaust in spite of all the doors and big wall vents being fully open.

The lad didn't make his entrance into the world for several more days (time enough to clear all the exhaust I'd breathed in).  His brother and sister have been similarly tardy.  We'll see if Bambino #4 (a.k.a. "Quattro") follows suit.

Last year my dad and my beloved took the lads to the car auction.  They had a great time looking at all the cars.  The noise was a bit much for them, though, and their interest waned after a little while (before Dad's and my beloved's had).

This year was a different story.  The lads remembered the auction from last year and thus had an idea of what to expect.  Dad and my beloved procured kid-sized ear plugs on the way to the car show.  We planned to meet for lunch and me bring the lads home for siesta time in case the adult gearheads wanted to look around some more.  I came home with a worn-out younger lad and the lass, but the elder lad returned to the car show with his dad and grandfather.  It might've been the most walking he's done in his entire life.

With stories of a "blueish-orange" truck, one painted with flames, and lots of interesting classic cars, the lads were happy to tell of their adventure.  When I asked them if there were any Bambini Rides like ours, they said no.  "Most of them," the younger lad told me, "were from the Ancient Sixties."