When I was in college my father bought me a car. It was a beautiful Pontiac Grand Am. I loved the car, I felt proud when I was driving in it - puffed my chest up a bit, if you know what I mean. My dad called the color "steal me red". Lucky for me it was never stolen, but I did fall in love with the car - I named her Ruby Too Fast Tuesday and she saw me through some tricky moments on the road. Some major events happened to me while that car was in my life. I've driven her for eleven years. And when my dad died, I drove her and drove her until I could sit far away and press my head against the wheel and cry my heart out. Ruby died yesterday and my ability to pay to fix her died too. Eleven years was a good run - and I bought a new car, but I can't help feeling like I've betrayed a dear old friend. I cried my heart out all over again in that parking lot yesterday - in front of all of the sales men and other holiday shoppers. It was a sad day. Hell, I'm crying my eyes out as I type this. I know the emotion has little to do with the actual car, but more with the fact that I desperately miss my dad. I'm taking the memories with me and believe that the true spirit of Ruby will come along for the new ride:
This isn't my actual new car - but a good picture of what it does look like. Mine is gun metal gray, really nice color (one of my favs), not silver like this one.
If all goes well, I can secure my insurance on Monday and drive the new car home that night. I'm planning not to name this one - I can't have my heart break over a car every time I need to get a new one. I'm a sap to begin with, so Chris knows I'll feel awful every time we decide to make a change, but maybe next time I can do it with some dignity and with less of a sense of loss. Now I'm just trying to figure out if I want lo jack installed. Never thought about it...
Knitting soon, promise.