In Memoriam: Elegy to an Automobile

 [This was written years ago when we were young and laughed at life]

 

 Betsy died violently in a raging inferno of fire. At her death, she was in the prime of her life, with another hundred thousand miles or more left in her. Betsy was far more than just a car; Betsy was a member of our family.

 

            To some people (specifically my husband), Betsy didn't look that elegant. She was just a small, brown, Datsun station wagon, but she fit my image. She was short, stocky and very square, but then I am too. She projected an image of solid, suburban matron-liness, but then so do I! She wasn't fast or showy, but she was steady and persistent—just like me!

           
             It took me 14 years, four kids and a Cub Scout den to convince my husband that I needed a car like Betsy--a station wagon. He thought it might tarnish his image as a dashing, young aviator to be seen in something so conservative. But after my husband bought a sporty Toyota Celica, (that couldn't hold the whole family, let alone our dog) he ran out of excuses and allowed me to adopt Betsy. He pretended that she was just visiting us! 

            Betsy was just what I wanted and I loved her dearly. She was good‑natured and dependable. She awakened quickly and easily every morning no matter how cold the weather or how early the hour; she was never cranky or obstinate. She never stranded me or quit unexpectedly, and she never ever ran out of gas for me. (She ran out of gas occasionally for my husband, when he had to drive her, but that was only because he didn't like her and she knew it).

           

Betsy was not flashy or glamorous, and yes, she showed her age despite a new wax job and new tires. But her dents were signs of character; her scratches were ribbons of valor.

            There was the gouge in the upholstery where Marc had tried to attack Athena and missed. There was the sagging spring in the back seat where my oldest son Marlowe always sat before he got his driver's license. (His name was written in indelible ink on the back of the seat, in case someone didn't realize that was his designated seat!) There was the rubbed spot from the infant car seat and there was the light cover that always fell off and hit you on the head if you slammed the door.

            But Betsy's imperfections only made her dearer to us. She maneuvered so nicely on rainy roads and took curves so sweetly. She didn't have a tiger in her tank, and yes, you had to encourage her when she was trying to pass another car, or when ascending a steep hill. But that was only to prevent us from missing the breath-taking scenery around us. She was just like the little train in children's story-books. We chanted "I think she can! I think she can!" all the way up the hill and cheer her all the way down! She always pulled through, somehow, but that may have been due to all our prayers in her behalf.

            Betsy drove us safely through blizzards in Nebraska; she joyfully took us home for Christmas and to family reunions. She scaled Mauna Kea's heights with aplomb and loved nothing better than running down to the beach in Hawaii. Most of all Betsy loved the Texas freeways with their peaceful rolling hills, and open spaces, yet she gladly gave them up for the two‑lane country roads of rural Alabama. Betsy was a real trouper!

            How do you tell your husband that your car has been incinerated? I tried, in vain, to think of a way to break the news to him gently.

            "Sweetheart, I fried our car."

            "Which do you want me to buy this week, a new car or a used car?"

            "You know how you never really cared for Betsy? Well, you don't have her to kick around any more."

Finally I chickened out! I left a message for him to meet me at the paint shop where Betsy had been getting a new paint job when the shop burned down cremating Betsy. I picked armfuls of wild flowers, and awaited his arrival. When he pulled up in a cloud of dust and a squeal of wheels, I was throwing the flowers on Betsy's funeral pyre and mournfully singing her praises. I don't care what my husband thought (or said); Betsy was a real lady and I'm glad she went out in a blaze of glory!

It’s a beautiful Life

Photos by Janet Davis

"There are souls in this world which have the gift of finding joy everywhere -- and of leaving it behind them when they go." ~ Frederick Wm. Faber

Someone mentioned how bad it was that Ed and I had to wait in Los Angeles for Ed to get a new lung--how we must miss our family, our friends, our neighbors, all the comforts of own home.

I laughed, thinking of the disaster we had had the week before when someone (in any of the two floors of apartments above us) had put something down the kitchen drain and plugged it up, and since the pipes of all three apartments on the three floors were connected and we were on the bottom floor, we had a flooded kitchen. Until we could get all the upstairs neighbors notified and the water turned off, everything coming down the drains was coming out in my kitchen. It was a mess to clean up the dirty mess, then I had to stay home the next day to wait for plumbers, the roto-rooter man and then carpet cleaners to fix things up.

It is true that I wished then for my own reliable kitchen that in 20 years had never flooded, and for not hearing whenever neighbors flush their toilets, and for not sharing hot water with who-knows-how-many apartments—just knowing that I wait until I know everyone’s gone before I try to shower or I get your typical “freezing/scalding” hot water episodes during your shower.

Yes, our wait that we expected to be less than a month that is now almost three months, with no relief in sight, seems forever, but it also is an adventure. We can’t go work in the garden, because for now we don’t have a garden, or as Ed keeps reminding me every day—we have no snow to shovel or ice to trip on. No windows to scrape the frost off, no cold cars to heat up before you can drive them. Ed has enjoyed every day of the warm weather here in Los Angeles, and reminded me of it every moment. Even the rain hasn’t bothered him because it isn’t cold and it can’t freeze.

We have had fun exploring the museums in the area; I love learning about Los Angeles’ history, and despite the history books that say that California history began with the 1849 gold rush (HA), a lot happened before then and it fun learning about it. I discovered where the city of Los Angeles began (and it isn’t near the ocean), and what the first Mission was.

There is a wealth of ethnic restaurants, so we have gone out to eat at a different type of restaurant every week, trying Bosnia, Indian, Thai, Brazilian, Mexican, Kosher, as well as good old American cuisine. We have a very valid excuse also. Ed is still under weight and needs to gain more weight, which he does better when we eat out. We’ve even gone to movies, which I used to have to drag Ed to, but here in movie town, he seems more willing, somehow, especially if we buy a bag of hot buttered popcorn. I am even taking a three-day intensive genealogy course this week that I am excited about; who knows if I would have found time back home to take it.


Maybe it is the impermanence that allows us to enjoy our stay so much; if we were going to live here forever, maybe we would get into a rut and quickly burn out, but for now, it is still an adventure. Once Ed has his lung transplant, I am sure that it will be a lot more tedious and difficult. But we’re enjoying it tremendously now.

Last Friday I was walking around my neighborhood photographing the beautiful spring flowers and I thought how wonderful it was that I was in such a beautiful place to take photographs of.

Then my sister Janet sent me some photos she had taken on her morning walk. The area she walks in is not nearly as attractive an area as where I walk; some would say there is nothing beautiful, or interesting at all there to photograph. But the photos she takes are breathtaking in their splendor. They truly illustrate that beauty is in the eye of the beholder; that an artist sees with an inner eye. For her photos are magnificent glimpses of life.Janet's photos and her life show it IS a beautiful life.