After several days of emailing calendars back and forth, our little AWANAs planning committee finally was able to find a date to meet. By some strange twist of Providence, even my husband's rest cycle cooperated and he was able to take the kids.So there I was, leaving the house alone. Going in to town alone. And standing in the driveway, I realized I could take the Saturn. My car. My car.
By my sophomore year in college, I had saved $8,000 and was in a bit of a quandary as to what to do with it. I wanted to go to Australia for a month and visit this crazy guy I had met in Germany and had carried on quite a lengthy letter-bound relationship with since. I wanted to see if this thing could actually work, in person, without letters to hide behind. But I also wanted a car. A Saturn.
After work, I'd go across to the Saturn dealership and look at the four door sedan I had picked out. Then I'd go home and look at the last letter I had received. Then I'd drop by the Saturn dealership after another day of work and run my hand across the car. Then I'd go home and read another letter. And finally I decided. After all, I knew that the freedom of summer vacations long enough to let me take a month off to go to Australia were soon to be a thing of the past. And cars would always be sitting in that lot, waiting for me to save enough money to come back.
Nine years later, I was standing in another Saturn dealership with that crazy Australian who had become my husband and our little daughter signing the papers for our first new car. A nice little four door sedan.
It felt so nice to slide behind the wheel of my little car again, after four years of hardly driving it. I still can't quite bring myself to call the mini-van my car. I like it ok. It is functional and serves its purpose. But it isn't the car I dreamed of and saved for and finally brought home after years of working toward it. It's just a car.
The Saturn doesn't drive as nicely as it used to. And there's the hood that was crushed by a deer my husband hit over Christmas. It needs to be serviced, but it is also getting enough miles on it that I know the day is coming when we'll be exchanging it for something else. Strange emotions as you contemplate saying goodbye to a thing...an object...of no real, lasting value. But there are a lot of memories and dreams stored up in that car, too.
Finally, I got to my destination. And I suddenly realized why the minivan is my car now. At nine months pregnant, at least I can get out of it.
