I was filling my gas tank, when an unexpected memory came bursting into my mind that made me laugh out loud. The woman next to me looked at me funny, then tried to pretend that we weren’t facing each other and standing four feet apart with only a gas pump and a window washer tub between us. People are weird with their space issues.
The sudden memory was that my dad used to keep a little black book in his glove box. And no, this wasn’t your typical black book. Get your mind out of the gutter. We’re talking about getting gasoline, remember?
Each paper of the journal-sized book was lined, and my dad made sure to utilize the space provided completely and thoroughly, so not to waste any portion of that paper. Each pre-printed line had two entries within the tiny little space, which means that if there were twenty lines, he had forty entries—front and back. Though he may or may not admit it now, you could even say that he was a tree hugger back then by reusing, reducing, and recycling—before it was cool.
Every time he filled his gas tank, he would record what he felt was pertinent information in the little black book kept securely in the glove box. The data points consisted of the date, the mileage, the number of gallons put in, and most importantly, he then calculated the miles per gallon in correspondence with the used gasoline. Brilliance at its finest. All this occurred decades before our current ability to push a button on the steering wheel and view that same calculation on a wide screen on our dash board.
My dad didn’t just keep these kinds of tallies for gasoline. Earlier this year, I was rummaging through my parents’ basement. I’ve finally passed that stage in life where everything at mom and dad’s is like a free-give-away grocery store. I’m not quite sure what I was looking for per say–maybe an old memory. Who knows. Anyway, I found the cardboard backing to a legal-sized notebook. No yellow papers remained on the pad. Again, he always made sure to use every portion of whatever it was he purchased. Reduce. Reuse. Recycle.
Written, in that same tiny lettering, was on one side, every major repair he had done to the house, for example, wall paper – April 16 1982. The list didn’t stop there, or begin there. On the other side was a list of all his, my mom’s, and my surgeries. Again, a date and a description of the surgery. I don’t recall my brothers’ names on the list. So, either they didn’t have surgeries or my dad likes me best. I’ll go with the latter.
All these, of what I call a tiny bit of OCD practices, got me thinking, and I might mention laughing. While I thought he was weird for his detailed written information, I realize I’m not that much different in my maturing years. I keep lists, though now most of them are on a spreadsheet. Not all of them, but most. For instance, with a quick click of the mouse, I can tell you how many times I purchase a full tank of propane in a year. Sound familiar?
Here’s another one…every January, like most people, I replace last year’s calendar with the newest year. But before I affix it to the hook, I write everyone’s birthdays down in the appropriate square. “But Rebecca,” you say, “that’s not weird.” And you’re right. I also list the day and the number of years since each of my dogs passed to the Otherworld. I can also tell you the anniversary and which knee surgery it relates to. Still sounding familiar?
Oh, and I might have left out the funniest part of this story. Every day, I write in a little black book of what needs to get accomplished each day. Honestly, I have no desire to perfectly pen anything. My hand writing is practically illegible, unlike my father’s. I’ve never been one to write neatly between the lines and have always had issues with margins. But yet, I too, fill up a little black book. I guess some traditions stick.
While all of this is a fun tidbit about my life, I think there’s something more to the story. Each of us is provided a foundation. Yet, it is up to us to properly place the bricks that we have created or gathered, and build a place we call…home.
“Each of us is provided a foundation. Yet, it is up to us to properly place the bricks that we have created or gathered, and build a place we call…home.” I just love this! I have put this on a sticky note (lol) on my desk at school.
You make me smile.
I loved this because I thought it was only my family that had these calculations of gas milage and for my dad it was the constant stock market ups and downs in a spreadsheet he created with a ruler and pen or pencil to show how his investments were doing. I must say, that tradition did not go on much with me. I am lucky I took my kids height’s in a doorway of a closet for a few years, and even that was not really precise! I so enjoy your stories. Thank you for sharing.
Carol Lynn
I think we all put a little “fun” in dysfunctional. lol Thank you for sharing.
My best friend in high school always filled in the black book each time she had to fill up the family station wagon. I tend to keep scraps of paper with random information in a pile on my desk, just like my mom does on her kitchen table. I guess we do turn into our parents in some ways. Loved reading this!
I too keep little scraps of paper in places–desks, drawers, kitchen table, stuck in a sofa cushion, etc. You just never know when you’ll need that information again and sometimes it pops up at the most appropriate time, right? 🙂