Ode To My Car
Saturday, July 23, 2011

In ten days, my poor little pitiful Passat will be paid off. It seems absolutely crazy that a person could still owe money on an almost 10-year-old vehicle, but alas, I do. For ten more days.

And ten days after that, I'll probably go and sign myself up for another car payment. Sounds about right, eh?

It's so hard to believe that the poor little pitiful Passat's days are numbered. For months I've been salivating over the idea of new car, taking my sweet time trying to figure out exactly what I want and what's going to fit the needs of our family. As often as I find myself daydreaming of a smoother ride, a flawless paint job, and a built-in DVD player (oh, yeah!), I can't help but feel a little tug of guilt about trading my baby in for a newer model. Strangely, it just feels like an act of betrayal. She may be old, but she has character and personality. If she could talk, she'd have quite a story to tell about the 2,190 days she has spent carting our family from one destination to another.

Like a person, my poor little pitiful Passat has birthmarks, bruises, and scars which tell a story. They make her unique to any other car sputtering down the road, and tell the exciting tale of her adventures with our family.

The CHECK ENGINE light. It's been on for about...oh...5 years. It serves as a daily reminder just how fragile she is and how grateful I should be that we are able to get to and from the Pre-K Center each day.




A few years ago, I let the kids play inside the car so I could actually get something accomplished around the house. Or to go to the bathroom by myself, I'm not really sure which. At any rate, it cost me three knobs to my car stereo. At the time, it was probably worth it. In three years those suckers never surfaced. Not a one. They literally grew legs and walked off, never to be seen again. Lesson learned.




Her very first parking lot fender bender. Of the plethora of Subaru's and Volkswagen's in the City of Portland, I had to back into a BMW. Leave it to me.





This is why my husband is a doctor and not a mechanic. He could probably perform a spinal tap with his eyes closed. But when it comes to changing a tire...well...see for yourself (In his defense, he was on the very narrow shoulder of Interstate 5 in the middle of a thundersnow. Yes, Portland does in fact have thundersnow's. Just another thing that makes Portland weird). Soon after Eric risked his life and forever disfigured my car, we were very proud members of AAA. It's a good thing too, because we came to rely heavily on their services for the next year or two that followed.





This is a picture of my headlight. Nothing super special about it, except for the fact that a very special guest has been taking up residence inside of it for a little more than two years. Here. Have a closer look.


There would be days I'd find Wyatt and Avery tapping the glass and talking playfully to this little critter who was using my headlight as its coffin. Heck, before Josie came along, it was the closest thing they ever had to a pet. Sad, but true. What I find most amusing, however, is that even after I took the car in to have this very headlight replaced, the critter remained. He was destined to be with us.





And this one wins the award for Most Colorful Blemish. This one is pretty fresh, happening the day of Avery's birthday party when I tried to back out of the parking lot onto a busy street. I backed into their marquee sign instead. Normally, I would've beaten myself up about it, stressing about the damage and how to get it fixed. Rather, I took one look, shrugged my shoulders, and thanked God it was only a pole and not another vehicle, and that the pole was still in its upright position. No harm, no foul.

Over the past 6 years, this car has literally and figuratively taken a beating. By the kids, she's been spit up on, peed on, and has had countless goldfish crackers stomped and forever embedded in her floorboard. She's been pushed beyond her limits on some of the worst mountainous backroads found in the Pacific Northwest, and has driven us safely across snowy mountain ranges with chains snuggly secured around her tires. She's covered a lot of ground, this poor little pitiful Passat. With us alone, she's burned rubber in Washington, Oregon, California, Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, and now Oklahoma. Amongst the plethora of Tahoe's, Suburban's, and pick-up trucks, she is most certainly out of her element here...doesn't quite fit the Oklahoma Bigger is Better mold. Unfortunately, bigger is what our family needs right now, especially with the addition of a 50 lb animal, 50 lbs (or more) of sporting equipment, as well as other friends and family members to tote around town.

We've just simply outgrown our little VW. But she'll be a good car for someone. Until the alternator goes out and Volkswagen wants to charge $800 for a replacement. Then they'll want to drive her off a cliff and watch her burst into flames. Trust me. I've been there.







1 Comments:
Blogger Alex and Ashley had this to say:

I love it, so funny! Get a Suburban!!!

July 26, 2011 at 10:43 AM 


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My Wine Personality:
For the most part I’m a chardonnay, as I consider myself to exhibit a somewhat sunny and mellow disposition (most of the time), but because I find a tremendous amount of joy out of showering my two kids with hugs and kisses, I also possess the subtle sweetness often found in a riesling. But don’t be fooled. I love a great outdoor adventure and am willing to try anything once. This occasional display of boldness is thought to match that of a cabernet, whereas my appreciation for nature suggests that I have an earthy component to my personality—very characteristic of a merlot. (more)

 



“Wine rejoices the heart of man and joy is the mother of all virtues.”
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, 1771