A 1978 Chevy Malibu arrived in my life the same day as my junior prom dress.  In the land before cell phones my parents schemed (?) that as I came into town my dad would be checking out my new, surprise, car.  I drove it until the frame rusted through in college and I was heartbroken (as was Ron my mechanic as he had done a lovely job with it).

A 1989 Plymouth Horizon arrived in light of the death of the Mailbu.  One third the size and a stick shift it became my most robbed vehicle (twice) and it sat in the best parking place in apartment complex for 18 months (without ever moving) while John and I shared our good car and  carpooled (and car sang) to work.

A 1998 Honda Accord (purple with pin stripe) replaced John’s 1991 Geo Storm and we shared that car for a long time.

A 2001 Honda CR-V was purchased for my birthday the last summer John was alive, having convinced him that I needed something under warrantee if we were going to be driving half way across the state indefinitely.  Blue, stick shift, perfection, I still miss that car.

A something or another white caviler couple was cash purchased when I wanted to be debt free after John died.  The lowness to the ground and the enormous doors were absolutely rage inducing and it was by far the most ball-sucking-piece-of-disgusting-trash I ever owned. It was also a fully functional vehicle with no problems and I had gotten cute cow seat covers for it.  I have no idea anymore if the car was that terrible or if I just needed some place to focus being distraught.  It doesn’t matter anymore because it was the right car for somebody.

A different 2001 Honda CR-V at the loving hands of my mom and dad.  In times of grief and chaos it is easy to see symbols and signs.  We did, it was, and it became the car I drove from the summer of 2002 until this morning.

Jeff got pretty sentimental about the car this morning, so we loaded up and went to Dunkin Donuts to take it for a final drive.

I spent two hours at a Nissan dealer and had a lovely experience.  I might not have had the psychological victory of Beating The Man At His Own Game but I also paid what I was willing to pay for a vehicle I wanted to drive.  So, the sales guy had an easy sale on a beautiful morning and made a little more than he would have otherwise??? So?  If we aren’t mad – what is the problem?

Having a 12 model year jump (this is a 2013) means I’m surprisingly idiotic about the inner workings of a car with Navigation, Bluetooth, and a key with no key — but hey.  It works out fine.

It felt good.

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