Petunia rambles on and on….

Well, I finally gave in and filled my tank.  It was either that or push the car home.  I don’t know why I delayed – the damn price only got higher and higher each day – or so it seemed.   Perhaps I just couldn’t face getting that close to the overpriced fuel.  Perhaps I was afraid that the heat of my anger would either blow up a gas pump or cause me to explode into flames. 

It didn’t happen, though.  I filled the damn tank, grumbling a bit to myself, and the grumbling was carried away by a lovely cool breeze on a beautiful day.

But after I got home, I started thinking (yes, you can believe that; you can take it to the bank) and started calculating.  

I am old.  Like an old Indian (Native American sort) I’ve seen many moons and many summers.  And EVERY damn summer, the price of gas goes up.  Every year.  They know people are going to travel, the kids are out of school and now’s the time.  They know people have made plans, whether it’s to see Grandma and Grandpa, or to see Mickey Mouse at Disney World or a week at the beach or the campground in the mountains, promises and reservations are set, and short of total financial ruin, most folks are gonna hunker down, figure out a way, give up a few things they otherwise would have bought, and continue on with their travel itinerary.  And the gas companies know it.

Now they’re gonna blame it on the recession or the war or politics or elections or this or that or that your sunny-side-up eggs were over-cooked this morning.  And folks might believe it.  But then, why does it happen again and again and again?   I’ve been driving since gas was (oh, geez)  29 cents a gallon, and I’ve seen this too damn many times.  I’ve seen people forced to line up for gas, odd- and even-numbered systems, limits on the amounts of fill-ups.   When I moved here from Florida, I drove 1000 miles with a 3-year-old in the car, and gas stations in Georgia and through the Carolinas would only give me 3 gallons.  They were ready to fill up my tank until they saw the Florida tag on the vehicle and knew I wasn’t a local customer and I wouldn’t be coming back.  I lived in fear of running out of gas on the old US 301 highway with a baby in the car.  That was over 30 years ago – was that the fault of the war in Wherever or the current political party/person/administration?   And why, with 30+ years to think on it, haven’t they come up with a better plan than – Just feed your kids less and fork over the cash at the pump????  And smile and accept it????

Bastards.  They’re making a fat, fat profit off of us.  They’re talking about families that are already skimping on groceries so that the breadwinner can get to work to “win the bread.”   It just ain’t right.

Our plans were made months ago.  Reservations were booked and paid for.  A week in the mountains, Shenandoah area of Virginia.  Oh, my, I’ve been looking forward to it.  With each stressful week or day or incident, those mountains seems more beautiful, more restful, more peaceful, more necessary.  I google-mapped the way and found that it is 241 miles, or about 4 and a half hours of driving.  That length of time could probably be reduced by a good third if someone moved Washington, D.C. about 6 hours east.  We’ll have to go halfway around the DC Beltway, a trip not for the faint of heart.  Not for the elderly or those concerned about gas consumption, either.  The elderly aren’t gonna live long enough to see the other side.  Last time I was on the Beltway, I was going to Wolf Trap, so we traveled about half of it, the lower half.  Driving a vehicle on the Beltway is slightly faster than walking.  I’m not sure if it’s faster than riding a bike.  What I saw was 4+ lanes of traffic in each direction, with cars at a standstill, idling, burning gas.  If it was a friendlier sort of place, you would have plenty of time to get to know the folks in nearby cars.

Now that I think about it, moving Washington, D.C. 6 hours east would probably solve the perceived gas shortage, too.

My mouse often takes the same convoluted paths as my brain.  And I was lost wandering about the internet today, looking at socks and ambitious projects and flowers and dog lead-thingies to make the poodle behave and cable sweaters –  well, that’s the way my mind works, ya know.

So I went to a site and there was a mention about a contest within the ABC-Along (which I did not join and so, can’t participate in the contest) and they are up to the letter “I” and I thought of a few words, then noticed that the “hostess” for the contest was called “Jerseyknitter.”   As a knitter, and being originally from New Jersey, way back about 300 years ago, this Intrigued and Interested me.  So my mouse clicked that way.  After reading about the contest, and seeing the lovely Iris prize, I clicked on her banner and got the most recent post.

Beautiful pictures of the Cherry Blossoms in Branch Brook Park.

I remember my mother talking about Branch Brook Park.  My dad would take her “strolling” in the park, before they were married (1935).  She still blushed, 70 years later, at the memory of catching that big, tall, good-looking fellow, the one that all the neighborhood mothers wanted for their daughters!! 

We were 139A, then moved to 98.  Folks from Jersey understand this.  Thanks, 151, for posting the lovely pictures.

In 2 days times, it went up another 10 cents. 

Damn!!  I swear they’re changing the price while you’re standing at the pumping filling your tank.

And two days ago, when I drove by here and only photographed it at 10 cents less per gallon, I should have filled up the tank.  Now I NEED to, and the price is up, and will probably be higher yet by the time I get to the station.