Years ago, before I had much sense, I traded a ’72 Beetle for a 1940 Buick 4-door sedan that was not in running condition. It still ranks among one of the worst decisions I’ve ever made. Fortunately that stinkin' Buick is long gone now.
Last night I dreamt about my parents driving that car, still the same burgundy red with silver roof, but fully restored, and in coupe format instead of 4-door sedan.
They were just leaving a large family gathering at a church. It seems to have been a gathering in their honour. I rushed outside to get a ride with them, and in passing declined a ride from someone that was going to the same place they were leaving for. I got to the car only to realize that there was no room for me in the car because the back seat was folded down flat for my Dad’s collapsed wheelchair. That in itself was strange because he always pulled it into the car to store it folded but upright, immediately behind the driver’s seat.
I was left standing in the parking lot as both cars left and I had no ride.
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