I often walk Jesse the Dog on Hiawatha Street, a winding, tree-lined suburban street, not much traveled. On a 15 minute walk a couple cars may pass or none, if it’s early. This is good because Jesse prefers to walk without a leash. Leashes offend his dignity, so I carry one to appease the fair city of Knoxville, but rarely apply it. To the point. Saturday morning, a quiet cool day, about 9 a.m,, only Jesse and I were up and about, Jesse sniffing, me musing on Chapter 8 that I’m writing. I’m normally oblivious to cars makes, but there was a gleaming 1950’s Thunderbird, coral, coming out of Hiawatha. That’s strange. And then an old Cadillac soon after, turquoise. Another 50’s color, sadly gone from modern automotive design. A De Soto sedan. A 1940’s (?) Jaguar, a few convertibles, buffed to a mirror shine. A black and white Oldsmobile, rounded 50’s vintage. A Plymouth. These were not self-propelled, of course, there were people in them, usually a couple. They seemed pretty sure of themselves and there was that whiplash moment of thinking: “Who’s in the wrong time zone here, me or them?”
Pamela Schoenewaldt, historical novels of immigration and the search for self in new worlds: WHEN WE WERE STRANGERS, SWIMMING IN THE MOON, and UNDER THE SAME BLUE SKY (all HarperCollins).
pamelaschoenewaldt.com 
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