About six years ago, I had a 1990 Subaru Legacy. It was silver, dented from a one-car wreck and a back door no longer opened from the outside. The passenger front door didn't open from the inside. The engine was ok. I ended up selling it when I got The Buick.
The Buick was quite a step up. It was my step-mom's car while my little brother was a small kid. The funny thing is I found a lot of batteries in the backseat from my little brother's Gameboys, CD players and various gizmos. The first thing I did was put the darkest legal window tint on the windows mainly for the cool factor, but also for the Texas sun.
But, the doors all worked, it had leather interior and the ride was smooth. It was a nice car and quite the upgrade for me. We drove it to Chicago twice in it, once pulling a trailer. The car was very nice in Chicago for groceries and pet trips.
Now, my little brother is 15 about to turn 16 in a couple months. And he is inheriting the Buick. Instead of AAA batteries stuffed deep into the backseat, he'll be digging out dog hair. Yesterday, they came by to pick it up. I put some serious elbow grease into it and I think we were all surprised how well the car cleaned up.
Now that I have the Element, I realize the main thing I loved about the Buick. Perhaps the only thing, I don't know.
Here it is: The Buick is an old man's car.
Am I an old man? Some might think so, but that's not the point. The old man's car has major comfort. The seats are nice, the steering wheel is loosy goosy, and if you leave the turn signal on too long, the alarm goes off (for all those old men like me who leave their blinkers on for miles down the highway). The sunroof/moonroof was great at night and the driver seat had power adjustments. It had a lot of extras that were as cozy as a wool blanket next to a fireplace.
Now, I say all this not because I miss the Buick. To be clear, I don't and it didn't really go that far away if I ever do.
What I do miss, is that stage in our lives. When one car was enough. When we loaded four baskets of laundry with our current books and headed off the the laundromat. Or how 15-20 bags of mulch in the trunk and backseat made the struts squeak. Or when other drivers on the road in their nice Mercedes or BMWs played chicken with me, they lost every time (I had less to lose).
So, enjoy the car Frogboy. You're going to love it.
What I do miss, is that stage in our lives. When one car was enough. When we loaded four baskets of laundry with our current books and headed off the the laundromat. Or how 15-20 bags of mulch in the trunk and backseat made the struts squeak. Or when other drivers on the road in their nice Mercedes or BMWs played chicken with me, they lost every time (I had less to lose).
So, enjoy the car Frogboy. You're going to love it.
1 comment:
My first car -- the car I learned to drive in and that my parents let me have during my senior year in college -- was a 1980 Olds Cutlass Supreme. I have those same kinds of feelings about it. Smoooooth suspension, it just glided over speedbumps and potholes, loose steering, shifter on the column, bench seats, fantastic acoustics. In college, it got me and everything I owned to and from school at the beginning and end of the year. I can't believe there was a time in my life when everything I owned fit into an Oldsmobile.
To be fair, it was a piece of crap in many ways. The air conditioning had long ago ceased to work, the ceiling upholstery was loose and sagged downwards, there was no power anything on it except for steering, and it stalled out every time I put on the brakes. I got so used to braking, putting it in neutral, restarting the car, and shifting into drive, all while the car was still rolling, that after a while I didn't even have to think about it. My mom was scared to let me drive it; my dad was not willing to spend the money on a safer used car; I was too poor to afford anything on my own.
But, like you, it marked a stage in my life that I kind of miss sometimes; I was testing my wings, learning to fly on my own, and that car was a symbol of my growing independence.
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