It was no surprise at the big going away party for Maven and the Night Ravens that the girls would get an earful of well-intended advice of all subjects. For example, everyone has an opinion on auto care. So it follows that Gloria, who with her fame and fortune didn’t drive herself much, that she be gifted with sage unsolicited wisdom.
This sendoff is down at the Rushing River, in Pioneer Park where the community was named in 1867, along the bank just across Via Valhalla from City Hall. Gloria finds herself at a picnic table; seated around her are the five city councilors and Sheila Petrovich, her stepmom. Sheila mentions Gloria has purchased a new Outback for her drive cross country to New York and the Bard Conservatory of Music.
“Now, Gloria,” dramatically advises Sheila, “be on the lookout for mice stowaways. You don’t want them taking up residence in your heating vents!”
“Yuck!” she responds. “A girl could get hantavirus!”
Tootie McDaniels sneers. “Mice? Really? In New York, you ought to be more concerned about rats and pythons and gators!”
Gloria laughs. “This is up the Hudson, not in the Big Apple.”
“Regardless,” rallies Tootie, “Be careful. And check your engine oil every time you fill up. Even on a new rig. Keep an extra quart and a funnel in the rear door pocket …”
George interjects, “And a rag, a good absorbent shop rag. Gray, not red.”
Sheila looks about her. “Aren’t you guys breaking some kind of public meeting law?
“Nahhh,” interjects Debbie Dacnic. “There’s no city business going on here; this is just a confab of concerned citizens ready to wrench Gloria’s brain with arcane mechanical advice.”
Gloria pipes up, “I’m all ears.”
Orin Holman grins, raising his left index finger. “I recommend new wiper blades every September, well before winter. And keep your windshield cleaner fluid topped off.”
George Ansbach nods, saying, “I don’t care what the manuals state. Rotate your tires every 5,000 miles and do that the same time as an oil change. Every 5,000, like clockwork. Everything will last a lot longer that way. And you don’t need to kick your tires, but do check your air pressure occasionally.”
Ike Moseseek laughs. “ My esteemed colleagues have touched most of the bases. Gloria, I say learn to feather your brakes. Don’t pound on them, practice the art of light tapping. That’s saved me from a lot of mishaps with deer up Mount Rushing Highway. And you’ll have a good hard winter there, lotsa snow.”
Debbie Dacnic mentions headlight lenses. “Now Subaru makes a fine car, don’t get me wrong. Keep an eye on your headlight lenses. They have a way of scouring up which decreases your nighttime visibility. There are products out there, rubbing compounds, which can bring those lenses back to brilliant clarity. You want to be able to see at night.”
Gloria sits as content as a soul could be, surrounded by these well-intentioned people. She feels cared for, loved.
The propane barbecues are going, broiling burgers, dogs, ribs, and steaks. Pete Petrovich mans a briquette unit, who never warmed to the convenience of gas. He is focused on a grill full of bratwurst sausages. To protect his eyes from the smoke, he wears a snorkeling mask. People are now starting to move to the side dish table, smelling the meat is about to be served. A chevron of geese fly in from the Big up the Rushing, coming in low, landing upriver beyond the hubbub of this going away party.
Gloria finds Patty, Shirlee, Tara, Heather, and Katy, gathering them up to go first in the food line. They all find themselves teary with all the hugs and waves, and smiles from a distance. They are leaving home, and all this kindness will act as a loving tailwind. The six girls form a circle and begin a soaring, angelic a cappella “Amazing Grace.” By the chorus, everyone present is singing.
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