On our recent trip back to the P family homestead, I was reunited with an old friend.
Continuing the tradition of rescuing (read: pack-ratting) ancient (read: heavy and breakable) components and dragging them across the country, I carried my 32 year-old friend back to California in my suitcase.
As you might imagine, this looked a bit unusual in the airport x-ray machine, so the nice TSA folks tossed the contents of my suitcase like a ceasar salad. (Any person crazy enough to pack this 30 pound case of wires must be a true security threat!) And once I’d emptied my pockets to show that I wasn’t hiding a reel-to-reel or any wayward 8-tracks and we’d collectively negotiated the threat level back down to chartreuse, the war on terror and air travellers was pushed to the background for a few minutes as the Agents all gathered around to take a look at my treasured receiver and offer their opinions on its merits.
This little gem was the heartbeat of our household for many many years, and has a strong affinity for classical and jazz. She’s a little powerhouse, with snappy push buttons and strong, solid tuning knobs. Her signal window is downright sexy.
But the best thing about her is her warm green glow.