If one could call a car a dear friend, then I would call Beverly the best.
Seems trivial, this I know. But the amount of time we spend in our cars is substantial.
The car that I dubbed Beverly, I had for 8 years. I drove her 190,000 miles, and she hauled boxes and belongings through 5 different moves. She could comfortably fit 2 winged back chairs and ample lengths of crown moulding. Over 90,000 square feet of beadboard, 120,000 square feet of dry wall, and enough secrets to make a Catholic priest blush. She saw me through many an estate sale, and drove me through back roads when I desperately needed some space.
But the day came where the mechanic said her time had come. The work and replacement costs were well over her book value. And when I heard this, I was embarrassed at my feeling of attachment. In my heart, her value was so much greater to me than any book, yet in my mind, I knew that I needed to trade her in. She was the perfect DIY car.
It’s a car, for crying out loud. But the attachment……..
Aye Aye Aye
It’s funny what we hold on to. Naturally, we hold our family and friends so very close to our hearts, but it’s our cars and those back roads that give our thoughts some freedom. Our cars really know just how poorly we sing. Or, how great.
My heart was heavy when I traded her in. The time had come, and my new wheels are spiffy. But Bev had history. New births. New homes. A lot of laughs. Lord knows some secrets. Miles of open roads.
So if cars can be friends, then I dedicate this post to a dear one.
Thank you, Beverly, for the thousands of miles you led me, and the thousands of pounds you hauled. I am grateful for all of those good times, even if I have a heart, and you have a battery.