CAR BOAT

 “You must take life the way it comes at you and make the best of it.”

—Yann Martel. Author of Life of Pi.

 

 

DREAM: We Drive into the Water. (June 15, 1991. One year and nine months after my memory returned.)

 

I am in a passenger in a car going to the beach. A man drives the car into the ocean. We are floating and everyone is sitting there unconcerned. I am panicked because I think the car could sink and I could drown. I can’t get out and can’t swim. I am standing on the floor in the back seat looking over the shoulder of the man. The car is floating and is not going to sink. I wake up and am very frightened.

Here in bed, I can still see in silhouette the back of the man's head sitting in the front seat.The car is moving in slow motion. It is like I am actually there. It's a flashback.

 

After my memory returned, I realized this dream was about being in an amphibious car. But wondered if such cars were available to buy by the general public in 1948. At the library I learned they were, but you had to be very wealthy in order to afford one. They were put in  mass production from 1961-1968, until government restrictions made it unprofitable to produce them.

 

MEMORY: The French Man. (July 1991. One year and 10 months after my memory returned.)

I am at the ocean with Frank.

Another man in a cowboy hat meets us.

“We’ve come to see the Frenchman,” says Frank.

“He’s expecting you.”

We get into the man’s convertible.

I am in the back.

We drive into the water.

My blood rushes.

Water splashes around the doors.

I stand up and look past the driver and his cowboy hat.

We move toward an enormous yacht.

We dock and walk up the gangway.

“That’s the Frenchman,” says our driver.

He points down the side of the yacht.

“Go talk to him,” says Frank, giving me a shove.

I walk to the Frenchman.

He is fat, but muscular.

He looks like a man you don’t mess with.

He does not smile.

He is all business.

 

I’ll leave the rest of this to your imagination. 

Although I have had thirteen dreams with the name Frank in them, I don't know who he is, or what he is doing in my nightmares.

AMPHIRCAR

Amphibious vehicles were used extensively in WWII by both sides to transport troops and supplies. In Germany they were called landwasserschleppers; in Britain, The Terrapin; and in the United States, the DuKW-353, or “Ducks.”

President Lyndon Johnson owned an amphibious car: the amphicar. It was his favorite automobile. He enjoyed taking his guests on a tour of his ranch, and then as he approached a lake would yell, “The brakes are out,” as he plowed into the water, unnerving his passengers. This was played out in the 2016 HBO movie, All the Way. Bryan Cranston is excellent as LBJ.

 In 2017, while on vacation in Florida visiting Disney Springs, I saw one on Lake Buena Vista. Twenty-minute taxi tours were available to the general public for $125.

 

 Teenagers enjoying an amphicar.

 

 BICYCLE ROMANCE (New York, 1969-1970)

 A bicycle was part of my New York life in the late 1960’s. She became my best friend. We went everywhere together. I rode her to work and to all my lessons. Up and down Manhattan, to opera workshops, Italian and French lessons, coaching, voice lessons, and the movies. I darted in and out of traffic, passing taxis and buses. Late at night, after rehearsal, I would speed home down Fifth Avenue. As sweat poured down my face, I carried her up three flights of stairs and hung her on a hook on the ceiling of my closet. The more I rode, the slimmer I got.

On Sundays, my best friend, Joan Kapcar, and boyfriend, Kingsley Hastings, would ride with us. We would spend the day in Central Park, riding from 59^th street to 110^th. We took the ferry to Staten Island several times and rode to the beach. My cycle adventures were endless.

One day, a man approached me as I waited at a stop light. “I’ve seen you three times riding all over Manhattan. You look like someone I would like to know.”  

His approach appealed to me and I accepted his invitation for a drink. We listened to jazz music and sipped wine.

“Would you like to come to my apartment in Brooklyn?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think so.”

When he wouldn’t take no for an answer, I got on my bike.

“Lesbian,” he yelled, as I rode away.

 

When I think of New York, I see myself riding through Central Park on a sunny afternoon. This was the happiest time of my life. I was young, busy, and having fun.

 

One day, I rode my bike to audition for conductor Vincent La Selva at the New York School of the Opera. That was the end of my bicycle romance. A new friendship had begun. 

 

                                       Central Park                                                        Brooklyn Bridge

 

Onward and upward.