Thursday, September 06, 2007

I woke up this morning to rain, sweet, wonderful, cool rain. I stepped outside and became a prisoner of my nose, inhaling a freshness that I had almost forgotten. I headed to my car to start the day's running around and headed off through town.

Because my life wouldn't be recognizable if things went smoothly, a couple of minutes after I started my car, the windshield wiper on the passenger side started flapping wildly, then groaned and died. It will lift an inch or two, leaving me with half of a clear windshield, and I know what this month's car repair will be. I also know that it's getting time to trade cars, and I'm just not ready, either emotionally or financially. It's not that I just love this car. It's only been quasi-reliable transportation. This car never developed the kind of automotive personality some of my other cars have. I've never even named it. It's just the Buick.

My car was my father's though, and I began using it when I was taking care of him. Then my own car got totalled in a car wreck with an uninsured driver. Since we couldn't allow Daddy behind the wheel, his car got transferred over to me. It still has his Shriner's faux license plate on the front, and well, that car helps keep him with me. This car was one of the ways that Dad and the rest of the family acknowledged that he was getting old. When he bought this one, he traded in his Camaro. For the first time since I was a kid, my dad wasn't driving a sports car. It was almost unimaginable. So was the idea that my father, whose age had been "39" since before I was born, was really getting old.

I've been driving for over thirty years, and I've never acquired a car without my father pitching in advice, money or both. That's sweet, sad and really rather embarassing. It's one of those things that makes me look at myself and say, "You call yourself an independent woman?" I'll get this repair done, but I know that sooner or later (shudder), I'll have to deal with a car salesperson. I'll also have to literally release a piece of my past.

One year on Father's Day I finally found my dad the perfect card. It said on the front, "With you in my life, I'll always have love in my heart, security in my life..." Inside it read,"and oil in my car." I had my oil changed this week. I took care of it the way he would have by taking it to a shop. I'll deal with the car dealerships too.

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Blogger Lisa :-] said...

I sort of wish we still had one of my dad's vehicles...but he died in '99 and none of his cars was less than thirteen years old at the time. We kept them around for awhile, but they have all long since gone to the great junkyard in the sky...

September 06, 2007 11:08 AM  

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