Minnesota-bound, in the buttermobile

When my grandpa was alive, he liked to tell funny jokes. What I mean is, his jokes were really funny to him, and the fact that they tickled him the way they did, combined with the fact that we all loved him very much, tickled us as well.

When Grandpa told a joke, his hands folded across his big belly, his eyes squinted, his face pinkened, and he laughed silently, with his shoulders bouncing. Or at least this is how I remember it.

Grandpa sold used cars, and my then-boyfriend/now-husband Matt had an old diesel Mercedes that he'd converted to run on vegetable oil. So that was something they had to talk about: vehicles. Grandpa had a joke for Matt, whenever they'd meet.

Are you still driving that buttermobile?

Or...

Does that car of yours still run on Ivory soap and peanut butter?

This cracked Grandpa up... I guess it was the idea of Matt scrambling through the kitchen cupboards like a cartoon character, filling up a mop bucket with assorted jars, jugs, and bottles, and heading out to the garage to tank up his car with miscellaneous household products.

Matt sold the Mercedes and bought a well-used diesel Dodge Ram when he started the bakery, so he could transport all his bread to the farmers market. It also runs on vegetable oil. In the past couple weeks, he's filtered 95 gallons so we can drive to Minnesota to visit his family, and have what I'd say is a well-deserved vacation.

Here's a picture of Matt's gas station in the garage. That's our garlic hanging from the ceiling.

One other thing about Grandpa... he respected smart frugality, and I think that pleased him about Matt's project as much as anything: Matt was doing something really weird but totally practical, for free, and by god, it was working.