They don’t make cars like they used to
30 Nov
On Friday night, Terry’s car left us forever. It was a sad time for us me. I’ve said before that I get ridiculously attached to things, especially cars, so I may have gotten just a little bit misty-eyed as I walked past it that night and thought, “This is the last time I will ever lay eyes on you, oh good and faithful servant! Well, ‘good and faithful’ except for that time you dumped us on the motorway at 11pm in the rain, and then refused to ever work again, obviously.”
As it turned out, I was wrong about the whole “last time ever” thing, because when I glanced out of the window an hour or so later, the men who’d bought it were still out there trying unsuccessfully to push it onto the back of a pickup truck. In the end Terry had to go outside and spend 30 minutes helping them push, so that made the whole thing a little less sentimental, to be honest, but hey ho. So, the car is gone, but not forgotten. It was the car that saw us through the first seven long years of our life together in this house (because, yes, it was THAT OLD.) It was the car we had when we got married. It was the car that took us on dozens of happy days out, and it was the car that drove Terry to hundreds of dialysis sessions and hospital appointments. (Well, I mean, Terry drove it, and sometimes I did. It didn’t drive itself: if it could’ve done that, there’s no way we’d have sold it.) It was the car that got pulled over by the police three times in as many weeks, because they were convinced we’d stolen it. It was the car Rubin once had really explosive diarrhea in on the way back from…oh no, wait: that was MY car, wasn’t it? Gah.
What I’m trying to say is: we will miss it. Or I will, anyway. It was a good car – when it wasn’t breaking down on the motorway, obviously. Its replacement, meanwhile, will hopefully be joining us at some point this week. I’ve decided that this time I WILL NOT GET ATTACHED. This will not be like that time when I was a child and I refused to speak to my parents for a week because they’d sold a car I’d viewed as an integral part of our family. Oh hell, no. It is JUST A CAR. Just. A. Car. I will be friendly but detached. Yes. Just you watch me.
Goodbye, old friend
“They don’t make cars like they used to
I wish we still had it today
The love we first tasted
The good life we’re still livin’
We owe it to that old ’57 Chevrolet”
~ Billy Jo Spears, ’57 Chevrolet
P.S – I got me a shiny new Google Friends Connect thingy, (which is the same as the Blogger followers widget, and is integrated with it), which you can see in the sidebar, so if you want to follow, please do, and I will follow you back!
Cars are probably the one thing I don’t get attached to. The amount of junk accumulated in our house shows just how attached I get to everything else though.
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I’m the opposite – I quite regularly purge the house, and will quite happily throw out/donate stuff, but I feel like cars are almost a member of the family in their own right! That said, I don’t give them names or anything – I’m not quite that bad. Yet.
But cars come with ready-made names on their number plates – my first car was called K282. (We were on first-name terms.)
This is true! I remember when I was in uni, my best friend’s car was called “GYM”, after its plate. And of course, we did always call it Gym! Sadly, none of ours have had plates that lend themselves to names (I do like K282 – it sounds like a character in Dr Who or something…), but the one Terry is probably going to buy has a rather saucy sounding one!
Our cars have names…
*shamed face*
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Oh, don’t worry – it’s not like I haven’t considered it!
(OK, full disclosure: when I bought my car, I decided to call it ‘Orlando’. But! Somehow the name just didn’t catch on, so it is known simply as ‘The Car’. I can claim no high moral ground here, though, obviously.
)
Also, you do realise that having admitted this, you’re going to have to reveal what they are?
hahaha, just letting you know you are freaking awesome.
& I very much understand what you mean about the whole car-love issue. I think its important to note that people think that car-love is justified by the calibre of your automobile. Like, its ok to sweet-talk your Jag but my poor ole mediocre lil car doesnt have feelings.
IT DOES. And they’re HURT.
But yes, my deepest condolences on your loss.
Oh God, yes, ALL cars have feelings! And especially the little older ones – they’re the ones with the most character, after all!
I cried when Mum sold her old pale blue Renault 10 (I was about 10 years old). I was even sad when I was able to sell my crappy Celia for $80! No more cars for me now, parting is just too hard…..
I know, this is why I refuse to consider ever selling mine, even although its older than some people I know. By the time I’m an old woman I’ll have a driveway full of clapped-out cars, and the council will try and evict me or something…
As owner of a little older car, I agree that it DOES have a wonderful personality – complete with its quirks (who wants to go in reverse when it’s cold out? Pshaw!). Mine is a Mazda and, in a fit of academic wittiness, I named her Ahura.
Ha, mine is a bit like that too – it doesn’t like to start when it’s cold out, for instance. And I don’t blame it!