I remembered to check the oil but forgot one other important thing

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on September 28, 2016 7:52AM

Reminiscent of the familiar line “This one time, at band camp ... ” in the 1999 film “American Pie,” my husband, John, doesn’t let me forget about this one time I added oil to my pickup.

My first vehicle, a 1973 Ford Courier pickup, ran like a champ. The only problem is it burned oil.

I had just graduated from college and struck a deal with the youth pastor of the Free Methodist Church. I gave him my 100 Honda motorcycle and a couple hundred dollars and he handed over the keys to the baby-poop brown colored pick-up.

I loved that truck. It gave me the freedom to throw gear in the back and hit the road. Since I wasn’t able to afford to get it fixed, I bought a case of oil and always carried a couple of quarts with me.

When I first met John, he had an old 1971 Volkswagen Beetle. To start the VW Bug, you often had to be on a hill to get a rolling start and then pop the clutch.

So, when we were taking a trip to Seattle, we decided to take my truck. In preparation for the long drive, I checked the oil level and topped it off.

I was proud of the fact that I was an independent woman with a college degree and could take care of my own rig. I made a point of telling John that I added oil for the trip.

After packing, I went to John’s apartment to pick him up. He tossed his bags in and then slid behind the steering wheel. I figured he had driven that rode numerous times and could deal with city traffic better than me.

We also picked up another George Fox student, who hitched a ride with us. We laughed and talked as we cruised up the road. Everything was going smoothly until we dropped the gal off in Tacoma.

Stopping at a mall just off the freeway, John turned off the engine while we waited for her ride to pick her up. All hell broke loose with black smoke pouring out of the engine compartment.

John opened the hood — that’s when he noticed that the oil cap wasn’t on (and the inside of the hood was covered in oil). Evidently in my excitement about the trip, I forgot to put it back on. By some stroke of luck — after driving 150 miles — the cap was still sitting in the engine compartment where I put it while adding the oil.

To this day, John grins and shakes his head whenever we recall this story. And, if I add any fluids to vehicles, he double-checks to make sure all the caps are secure.

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Tammy Malgesini is the community editor. Her column, Inside my Shoes, includes general musings about life and appears every other week in the Hermiston Herald. Contact her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539. Her car care tips are something of a cautionary tale of how not to best care for your vehicle.

The game of life features friends, connections

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on September 13, 2016 10:17AM

It seems that I’m getting to that age where I meet up with old friends at formal gatherings. And, such was the case during a recent weekend when I attended a celebration of life service and a marriage ceremony.

Although I had only met mama Briley a few times, I went to the service out of respect for several of her children — including her youngest son, Mark.

My friendship with Marko began when we started working together. With an adventurous spirit and a sarcastic sense of humor that often came out in made-up songs, Marko and I hit it off right away. Acting as Mark’s seeing-eye person, we’ve skied some of the best powder in the Rocky Mountains and swam in the warmest waters in the Gulf of Mexico.

When we discovered we were born two days apart, we started telling people we were twins. While it’s a medical oddity, it is possible for twins to be born on different days. However, it’s generally not possible for twins to have different fathers and mothers.

Also, John and I, along with Marko and Teri, have taken many family vacations together. We’ve flown in a helicopter over the Grand Canyon, ended up in total darkness in Carlsbad Caverns when the electricity malfunctioned and egged Mark on to share a fabricated abduction story at the UFO Festival in Roswell, New Mexico. We’ve also gone to more baseball games than I can count. And, Mark’s love for the game, I learned, was passed down from his mother.

As far as the wedding, it was special to be there when Isaac Williams tied the knot with Tonieshia Rich. I met Isaac’s mother, Matilda Ritter, shortly after we moved to Hermiston.

When she found out she was pregnant, Matilda invited me to be present when she gave birth. Knowing that John and I weren’t going to have children, she wanted to share the wonder of childbirth.

I’m still not too sure how thrilled her then husband was about the whole thing, but Bruce did call me in the wee hours of the morning on July 6, 1987. I had fingernail indentations that lasted for hours from Matilda gripping my hand so hard while she was in labor.

Isaac Alvin Williams made his appearance at 5:15 a.m. A few days later, he wore his first Yankees jersey that I had gotten him.

Before he started kindergarten, John gave Isaac a cool haircut in our bathroom. And, even though John hadn’t stepped foot inside a church for some time, we both attended Isaac’s baptism a handful of years later.

Through life’s transitions, we grew apart for several years. However, I met up with Isaac again when he was a senior in high school. Catching up, I asked about his interests and activities. He shared about skateboarding, playing guitar and watching the Yankees play baseball. “I got that from you,” he said with a smile.

At the wedding reception, I overheard Isaac introducing his wife to John. He proudly told her that I was in the room when he was born.

That weekend reminded me that the connections we have with people is what really matters in life.

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Tammy Malgesini is the community editor. Her column, Inside my Shoes, includes general musings about life. Contact her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539