Mamo is my grandmother. She's a very nice little old Australian woman who lives in Northern California on a ranch in the house that she built with my grandfather in the 50's. She's lived in the US since the early 30's, but she refuses to become a US citizen (to do so would mean giving up her Australian citizenship); and so every few years she has to renew her visa. I just hope that Australia doesn't piss off our country and Mamo is deemed a threat to national security. I'd really miss her.
OH, but Gee, you probably want the story about the Met.
My grandfather died in 1975. Mamo redefined herself, gave the '71 vanilla-green Lincoln Continental to my father, and bought herself this 1959 Nash Metropolitan. She says she had always admired the car and her friends, Nellie and Mitch were selling it (Nellie was a very nice lady with beehive hair who was partial to polyester jumpsuits and Mitch was missing half his leg), so she bought it on a whim. As I see it, Mamo needed a little happiness in her life, and, let's face it, the Met is the epitome of a happy car.
Mamo decided that she wanted to be an artist. So she started taking art classes 15 miles away in Plymouth. She drove the Met there Monday and Fridays and painted brilliant pieces of barns on the ranch, the lake, and various flowers from her yard. Every once and awhile she'd go crazy and do some ballet dancers in a style reminiscent of Monet. I have a few of these.
Every summer I'd visit Mamo. I am one of those freaky people who like washing things. Dishes. Lawn furniture. Porches. Once Mamo got the Met, I added the car to my list of things I loved to clean. And so inevitably, a day into the visit, I'd be outside washing and polishing it.
In '94 the Met became a little too hard for Mamo to drive. And so it sat under her carport and became her extra garden storage area. Who knew you could fit bags of potting soil, fertilizer, pots, and an electric shrub trimmer all in the trunk.
Growing up, everytime we'd leave Mamo's house to head back to Oregon, as we'd pull down the driveway, my father, thinking he was very funny, would say "Wave to Mamo, you know she's old and she might not be around much longer.". Now this may have been humorous to him because Mamo was in her 60's and in fantastic shape. But, unfortunately, as a kid I didn't really get this irony. So I grew up fully expecting that at any moment Mamo was going to die. In 2000, when Mamo was 86 I unfortunately visited her when I was pmsing. I spent the whole visit contemplating her mortality and crying. In the midst of this I wrote Mamo a very soul-felt letter telling her I loved her and asking if I could buy her car. Probably because Mamo thought at any moment I was going to have a nervous breakdown, she gave it to me.
Mamo is now 93. In 2004, my aunt and uncle towed the car to my house. The first two years I had the Met, it mostly broke down every time I drove it. And sometimes it even broke down without me driving it (like the time I walked into the garage and there was puddles of brake fluid underneath each tire...).
But, dare I say it, it's been running great for the past 1 and 1/2.... of course, this was after replacing the fuel tank, the fuel pump (twice), the carb, and putting in an inline fuel filter.... work to still be done is all the rubber has pretty much failed -- so gaskets and things need to be replaced. My master cylinder is getting ready to go, and my steering componentry needs a bit of help. I LOVE this car!
