I’ve been on a transportation kick lately. Yesterday I spent a lot of time carving a block into a picture of an old-fashioned Volkswagen bus, the kind we had when I was little. It was bright orange and large enough to fit all five of us kids plus parents way up there in front. I tumbled out of that car. The door had not been closed securely and when my mother got to the bottom of the driveway, I leaned against it; it swung open, and I fell out right at the feet of the postman.
Anyone who has ridden in the VW bus will remember the sound of the engine, a high buzzing roar. And how about the side doors which opened like French windows — none of that easy-peasy sliding door stuff in those days. Because I was one of the scrawny little ones, they put me in the way back, a shelf over the engine, I think, on a trip from Boston to New York City to go the the World’s Fair in 1964. I thought it was a treat for perhaps the first fifteen minutes.
I learned how to drive in that bus. It had a stick shift that was about a yard long, coming right out of the floor of the bus. Ah, the good old days.
Here is the drawing:
and here’s the block print, test print: