Several people, including my oldest brother, have said, "Your driveway looks like a used car lot." My friends, it's not that we're trying to set an example. We view our cherished vehicles as pets and keep them until they die -- and then we cry. But I must confess: I itch every time I see a picture of a Tesla Roadster (traitor!).
Yesterday I added our dear 1988 Ford Ranger pickup to the collection of a neighbor, bringing our supply down from 5 to 4, from 870,000 miles to 645,000 miles. I hated to see 225,000 miles disappear. That truck moved the world for us.
"Say goodbye," I muttered as I drove away. When I returned, I think Karen said, "Were you embarrassed? I heard you the entire way and smelled the smoke." I guess I looked like Pigpen in a car. I was a tad concerned about the expired inspection sticker and the empty license plate holders, but embarrassed? No way. Would you be embarrassed going for a walk with your beloved spouse or grandmother if she threw a rod, sputtering flatulence, stinky cigar (to cover up) and all? I didn't think so. Love lifts one above petty embarrassments.
I'm waiting for an all-electric car I can recharge with a solar panel. If I surrendered these ancient vehicles, someone else would drive them. Buying a new car when we don't need one seems counterproductive and ecologically repulsive, but I'll be open-minded about it. I suppose we could spray-paint each one "clunker" and donate it to the pile of vehicles the U.S. government recently bought. Then they'd be torn apart, recycled and never driven again.
By the way, Virginia chose an old pickup when she realized she was going to do some hauling.
The Bowman Women; A Work In Progress
1 week ago