Goodbye, Dear Friend

Today we said goodbye to a dear friend.

Groucho was (is! Not was! He's gone to a happy little car farm where he can run free in green fields!) a 1998 Mazda pickup truck. In the past few years his health had been failing. It was never anything major, just super-annoying little things. First his "door open" indicator and overhead dome light wouldn't turn off. We finally just pulled the fuse because it was such a pain to drive at night with the light on all the time. Then the fuel gauge went, so we had to use the mileage to determine when it was time to fill up on gas. Then the passenger side seat broke, so you couldn't access the extended cab backseat on that side. The doors would sometimes decide not to unlock, even with a key. The air conditioner stopped working. Then the lights on the dashboard began to go one by one, so you needed a flashlight to see your speed or odometer. Then those went as well, making it a moot point anyway. We had to just fill up with gas two times a week to be safe and just guess-timate how fast we were driving.

For all his annoying ailments, though, Groucho has taken us a lot of places. He's been cross-country twice for Pete and I and once with Pete's brother. He helped us move all our stuff from one apartment to another before we were married (around twenty trips- I don't recommend it. Just rent a U-Haul!) When the house my sister was living in burned down, miraculously sparing her small apartment in the back, Groucho was there to quickly move all her stuff out before the place was boarded up. He's hauled many a yard sale or "free at the curbside" treasure, or a refrigerator or couch for a friend in need. Many a night has been spent in his cap-covered bed; on camping trips, on nights when we were too cheap to get a real room, on nights when we just couldn't/ shouldn't drive... His cap was decorated with stickers and drawings from places like Carlsbad Caverns and the Roswell Museum in New Mexico, 3 Different National Parks in Utah, and the Barbed Wire Museum in Kansas, along with various assorted stickers of things like Ralph Wiggum and Australian Shepherds and our favorite bands. He was like a mobile scrapbook of where we'd been, an icon of sorts for who we were before we were parents, when we were just a young couple enjoying life on our own terms.

When Corinne came along Groucho became impractical because we couldn't safely put a car seat in him. Therefore we only had one car that we could use as a family. We decided that we would hang on as long as we could, but that the next time he developed a problem that was more than just annoying it would be time to say goodbye.

Well, that time came a week or so ago. Pete came home saying that the brakes were pretty much shot, making an awful grinding noise that was probably the rotor. Not a major repair, but a repair nonetheless. It was time to let go. Pete drove him just to and from the train station, feeling that the highway and hour-long commute into Boston was pushing it too much. Sensing that he was about to be cast aside Groucho decided to let his clutch go as well, making our decision that much easier.

The most tragic part of this story is that we replaced Groucho with...... a mini van. I know, yuck! Not cool. And this from me, the woman who fought tooth and nail against the purchase of our Subaru Forester (who is named "The Family Truckster") three years ago because I thought that was too "dorky and family car". My consolation at that time was "well, at least it's not a frigging mini van!" My, the times they are a changin'! Our rationale on why we chose the lamest car possible: the kid + the kid's stuff + the dog + the dog's stuff + the parents + the parent's stuff + traveling to Saratoga and Maine and Vermont and New York to visit family and friends + yard sales and curbside treasures still to be had + lugging my wares to various craft fairs = a big ol' mini van, sadly. Sigh. All I can think of is "This is not my beautiful car. This is not my beautiful life! How did I get here?"

As we cleaned Groucho out and said our final farewell, there was some mourning for the end of an era, the never-really-very-cool-but-at-least-kind-of-fun couple that once drove this vehicle. Now we move on and look ahead to new adventures with our daughter, who's becoming a pretty fun person herself. We may never sleep in the minivan or drive cross country (though I really do hope that we can do that again someday...), but I'm confident that when the time comes to turn in this car (who I've already named "The Family Dorkster" in my head), we'll look back fondly on the memories that we created in it, this time as a kind-of-fun family.