I was raised by a man who loves cars, Studebakers to
be exact. Some of my earliest and fondest memories involve old car shows. As a
young girl, I knew exactly what car I would drive when I was an adult. I would
be just like my dad and have a Studebaker.
Some people show their love by giving presents;
others show love through food. My dad has always shown his love through car
care. He checks my tires; he changes my oil. He takes care of the daily
maintenance of everything. Car care has been a time of bonding. We change the
oil together. If something is broken, we troubleshoot together. I adore these
moments with my dad and I wouldn’t trade them for the world.
I believe that I’ve written before that when my
father was in the ICU and we thought he was dying, he confessed that he wished
he had provided for the family a bit better. It’s still upsetting now to even
relay this. I HAD THE BEST, MOST MAGICAL CHILDHOOD EVER! Dad remembers that our
old camper van would break down each vacation and that we couldn’t afford hotel
rooms; I remember that my father could fix the van and how incredibly cool it
was that we got to stay in campgrounds and sleep in a loft that my father had
built! He remembers that he couldn’t afford to give his children new cars; I
remember him teaching me how to drive on an old Studebaker and thinking how one
day when I grew up I would buy an old car just like his. Perspective.
I’m using other people’s pictures for this post
since currently the closet, which holds some of the old pictures I was going
for, is blocked by the contents of my fella’s former car. A few weeks ago, he
bought a new car. He wanted a luxury vehicle to use to and from work to lift
his spirits. I just read Linnea-Maria’s post, “Throwing
out old garbage and looking forward to a fresh start” and her second point about
*if one can’t change an aspect of one’s life, try something else* resonates in
our household right now. She writes, “Think of doing something completely
different.” He wanted to transform his commute to something that was enjoyable.
I could go into more details but it’s his private business so I’ll just note
that he *emotionally* needed a change.
I’ve been thinking about getting another car
recently because the miles on my 2008 Vibe are really getting up there. I have
*always* used my cars until they cannot possibly be used again. My first Saturn
station wagon drove into the sales lot with all kinds of engine lights on and
died-died. It was almost at the 200,000 mile point. It had been a used but
new-to-me car so those weren’t all my miles but I put a great amount of those
miles on them driving the 525 miles back and forth to Boston during my graduate
school internship and my first year of teaching high school. Then there was the
doctoral program where I drove nearly 100 miles to teach in one town and take
classes and live in another. (Just a note to my International readers: in the
US, we drive. We don’t have great public transportation and the government
doesn’t put much stock or money into our train system so unfortunately we can’t
go everywhere on the Amtrak.) My first Saturn died and my second (another used/
new-to-me station wagon) was completely totaled when a tractor-trailer T-boned
me and continued to drive for a quarter mile because he hadn’t realized that he
had hit another vehicle. The first thing the police officer said was “I can’t
believe you’re alive”…not exactly reassuring but minus a bit of physical
therapy, I was good to go. I turned around and bought a 2008 Pontiac Vibe. It
was exactly what I wanted and exactly what no one else wanted (manual
transmission) so I was able to afford it easily. It was my first NEW car.
Within a week, my ex-husband slammed into it when he was backing up in the
driveway not paying attention. He said he didn’t see it. Unlike vampires, I’m
pretty sure vehicles have a reflection in mirrors so… an ex is an ex for a
reason (or in this case, reasonsssssss). My new car was fixed the best it could
be fixed but the driver side door (oddly enough as I write this, I’m just
realizing that is where the tractor trailer and my ex hit my cars… driver side
door. Hmmm) was never quite right. It’s become somewhat of an albatross with
each wonky hinge problem reminding me of my former life. My fella has been very
encouraging about us saving money so that we could get rid of our past wonky
memories.
This weekend, I went (nonchalantly… not planning to
buy because I’m slow and steady when it comes to decision-making) looking at
cars. While I had never test-driven or even been inside one, I was pretty sure
that I wanted a Nissan Juke because they remind me of goth cartoony cars (aka
if there was a cartoon with a goth character, I’m pretty sure that her car
would look bubbly like a Juke). My wants were somewhat small—a Juke in black
with a black or grey interior even though Dad says that black cars in the South
are ridiculous but then he’s a roll-down-your –windows-no-AC kind of guy.
We have two local dealerships. Because one is by the
mall, I avoided it because of the after Christmas sales even though I had a
better feeling about going there. I ignored my inner hunch and went to the
other location where I wasn’t treated so good and the salesman clearly was not
listening to me at all. He kept saying, “Are leather seats important to you?”
whereas I would say, “No, I’m vegetarian. I would prefer cloth seats”… repeat
five times. I test drove one of their SL even though it was in silver and had a
tan interior. Their website read that they had black Jukes but when I arrived I
learned that their partner-dealership in New Jersey has the black ones. Yeah, I
don’t know about you but if I’m going to buy a car, I want to test-drive the
actual car. After a great deal of bureaucracy and bullshit from the dealer
attempting to talk to my fella instead of me, I smiled (in a Southern way which
means F* you) and said, “No, thank you.” I have no idea what made me tell my
fella that I wanted to go across town to the dealership by the mall but we went
and there was the Juke Nismo RS.
 |
| my new car |
The Nissan website reads, “The
JUKE is wickedly fun. The JUKE NISMO® is downright wicked.” The site also reads,
“JUKE NISMO® RS – the ultimate performance crossover. More horsepower, sharper
handling, better brakes, a performance transmission, and overall a lower,
leaner, meaner attitude.” Did I need a leaner, meaner attitude? No. Everything
about it (the Recaro seats, the larger exhaust tubing, the red pinstripe, etc)
says race-car.
My initial thought is that I have no business buying
a car like this but pretty much without thinking, I bought it. My heart raced.
I squealed, “Gwee!” And, I brushed away the sensible girl I have become. I
realized that THIS too was something that I needed to shed. Where had the girl
who planned to buy a Studebaker gone? My dad and I had had big plans of remaking an old hearse. But, life happened.
I started this blog after years of therapy and hard
work figuring out how I had gotten myself into the hole I was in. The best way
to describe it is that I had been adding layers and layers of protection so
that I wouldn’t get hurt… so much so that I was hardly recognizable to myself.
Instead of peeling away the layers, I had cocooned myself in.
In March 2009, I got out. In December of that year,
I put all of my savings into building my townhome. In 2010, my divorce was
finalized. I moved into my house, got to travel to London and Hawaii for work. Gradually
I was becoming my old self. Even as I started a new relationship with my fella,
I kept my past hurt close because a girl’s gotta protect herself. I immediately
think of the lyrics from Romeo
Void, A Girl In Trouble (Is A Temporary Thing). Part of therapy has been rediscovering me, and
part of my therapy progress has been realizing that some things in the past
will simply stay in the past.
The therapist said I needed to write myself back. I
journaled and journaled. Before my sabbatical, I decided to make my thoughts
public never planning to become part of an amazing community of bloggers.
(Thank you all for letting me come sit, cry, and play with you.) I didn’t
realize that I would find you all, and I hadn’t realize that I would find part
of me again… which really was the hope, the plan, the metaphor of
gardening.
When I separated, I started gardening. I guess I
just needed something to grow. I discovered that I was quite good at it; and, I
discovered that I was pretty much addicted to it. I started doing things for me—nurturing
my hopes and wishes. I pruned out the parts that weren’t growing. I’m still
pruning. I’m still awaiting new growth. I’m still pleasantly surprised when I
rediscover a lost part of myself. It seems so silly to not remember something
about one’s self; but, it happens all the time. We lose ourselves to xyz. Yet
again, this blog is how some plants & flowers, creepy things, the dead, and perhaps my realization that I've always loved antiques and old cars have
brought me back to life… “She’s ALIVE!”, screams Dr. Frankenstein. Although my new ride brings me joy, it isn't an old Studebaker. My dreams aren't over. They're a work in progress.
Yesterday, my life-long friend,
Babushka, and I went to The Jefferson for a Christmas lunch. The hotel is lovely any ol' day of the year but during the Christmas season it is
beautifully decorated with hundreds of flowers, thousands of Christmas lights, and a large Christmas tree. The hotel becomes that much more festive with an entire agenda of performances. 
The hotel is quite popular today but it also has an
interesting history. While The Jefferson hotel was supposed to open on November
1, 1895, at the last minute it was realized that November 1 was a Friday, and
it was considered bad luck to start anything on a Friday. Instead, the hotel
was opened on Halloween :p
Alligators
once resided in marble pools in the Palm Court Lobby. Richmonders would vacation in Florida and
bring the baby alligators home as pets.
As they outgrew sinks and bathtubs, residents would bring them to live
at The Jefferson. The last alligator
died in 1948. There is still a great deal of alligator motifs throughout the
hotel.
