Automotive Indulgences

Have you ever patted your car?  Like when you're driving and a can rolls in front of your wheels, but by a small maneuver the tires avoid flattening the thing, so then you pat the center of the steering wheel where the horn is?  Atta car.  There are Thanks for Getting Me Home pats; It's Okay, I'm Not as Young as I Used To Be Either So Don't Worry If Everyone is Passing Us pats; and Oh Good, We Didn't Hit It pats.  This might be part of the belief that if the car likes us, it will keep us safer.

What is really keeping us in one piece are the engineering folks at the car plant, but it's way more fun and immediate to demonstrate affection to the ton and a half of metal that just stopped hurtling through physics and successfully stopped.  Easier done than hugging a guy in a lab coat who isn't present for the grateful appreciation.  So lab guys, feel the love.

I named one car, and that was Tony, a 1998 red Cavalier whose demise came too early in a snowstorm.  A semi had crunched into the back end of a Lincoln, followed by a SUV, followed by another semi that buckled across the highway of ice.  I was the eleventh in a series of 22 cars, and learned how big a semi's tire is when your car slides sideways into it.  We bounced and arced in half a circumference, twisting the car frame and folding one tire underneath.  With all the emergency vehicles that were already arriving, the gathering crowd of people involved wondered why didn't anyone stop traffic from feeding into the Skyway?  I lost Tony, and haven't named another car since.

Where did this affinity come from? Why did I feel as if Tony and I were traveling partners?  I have had cars that evoked a warm connection, and others that were cold metal boxes of combustion and exhaust.  The car after Tony was such, maybe I resented the circumstance.  It was another Cavalier, a 1993 blue that after I was able to get another became a benevolent pizza delivery car, maybe still ghosting around the up side of town, dropping off pizzas and bread sticks to families.  A Fairy Godpizza Car.

My current car is again, a red Cavalier which is now 10 years old.  On the way to work, there are many, many people that cross against a light, some hurrying to get to their own jobs, some sauntering in defiance to traffic rules and the fact that you the driver are sitting on upholstery and listening to music in climate-controlled air.  They are hating on you.  If driving into blinding sunrise, this can get dicey really fast; my solution is to go five miles per hour in the two areas where this pedestrian nonsense happens: across from the MetroRail station, and the intersection at the city college.  However, car folderol happens during the same ride to work.

There is a left turn onto a one-way arterial that turns into a race around the corner for some drivers, only to end a short block at a traffic light that is Timed to be Red.  You are stopping soon anyways, you are winning nothing, and everything will be fine except for the honest walkers that tried to cross with the light and almost got hit by these bullies.  A suitable solution is to cross on the south side of the intersection, as no cars are turning right against the one-way, and those that do so reach the sidewalk safely.  However, this isn't the point, a driver shouldn't try to outgun people crossing the street by scaring them with a four-wheeled monster, including the cyclists, baby strollers, and people with boxes of donuts.  These people do not wish to pat your car in neither admiration nor affection, they more likely want to bazooka it and you all the way back to your grandfather.  I don't blame them.

Today I drove to a farmer's market, the usual Saturday foray; my friend and I brought home apples, squash, and cauliflower heads for our families, all trundled home in the back seat of my red car with the one black door.  Rain and wind blew sideways, but I got home with the goods without harm, warm and mostly dry except where the replacement door seal is not tight.  A few drips hurt nothing.  Carrot and squash soup, a beef stew, and a frittata were concocted for the week's menu, thanks to the convenience of being able to haul groceries in the car.

The winds have subsided; here is a short story: a silver bird ornament hangs from a kitchen cupboard and was tinkling like a bell for no apparent reason.  It rings against the wood when the door is opened, but there was no movement except for the shiver of the bird alone, tinging and tanging delicately, musically. Am I losing my mind?  Why is this thing moving?  Grandma? Is that you?

No, it wasn't a visiting ether of Ida Ruth.  The building was swaying because of the high winds, this twelve-story brick monument was giving and bending with the force of wind.  Remarkable, but there I go again, thinking magically when physical fact was at hand.  The realms overlap so much sometimes it's hard to tell, so I will continue to tell my car that it is a good car, and pat, pat, pat.

I know you appreciate the machinations of inanimate objects, the strength of rope, the durability of good winter mittens, the piped in hot water, the turn of a page of flattened wood fiber.  Every night we wrap our tired selves in sheets and blankets, set clocks, and extinguish currents running to lamps.  We have so much to be thankful for, and I think we are.  Children say goodnight to things, do you?  Goodnight wooden dresser that once held my mother's folded things, goodnight shoes that fit just right, goodnight apples in a paper bag that make the place smell like earth and sustenance.  Goodnight, you.  It will be alright, things always work out in spite of unwanted changes.  Hold on.  Life doesn't get easier, it just keeps going and makes places for you to be, in the lives of those that love you.  Night is here, angels fly. Always.