Car scars

I came upon a realization the other day as to why we love new cars. The new car is like New Years Eve: hope in fresh starts and the thought that somehow this new journey will be different.

I was walking out to my car (Vera) the other morning (since we got a second newer vehicle, Vera has been downgraded from the garage to the driveway) and some birds had defiled the exterior. I am not talking about an innocent splatter. This was a systematic effort to cover my roof and windscreen with their apparent disgust in Swedish engineering. That, plus remnants of webbing from the three looming golden orb spiders in the tree right next to my car door, was enough to convince me to get my car washed before I went to work.

Normally, I bucket wash my car on the weekend. Not every weekend. Maybe once a month. But in my defense I quote Jeremy Clarkson who said: So how much do you have to hate the sight of your wife and children before you think, “I’d rather go outside into the cold and spend a couple of hours burnishing my wheel nuts”? I completely agree. A normal basic car wash without all the fancy waxes will cost you $10 in this town, which means my car is bathed with a bucket and sponge. Except of course for this one morning. I am only writing this tedious explanation to demonstrate why I feel it was not a colossal display of stupidity for me to leave my radio on, which resulted in the car wash brushes snapping off my antenna.

Here is my point: my car is a continual display of all my past lapses in concentration and/or judgment.

-the dent in the boot from when I backed out of the garage while the door was closing
-the dozens of times I have scraped my rims on the curb (kerb-for the Australians)
-the bent front license plate holder from parking a little too close to the garage wall at work
-don't even get me started on the marks on my back seat from the kids dropping candy

I am sure there are many other things in life that embody mistakes, but my car is a reflection of me and my collective driving errors. As I spend my time looking around Brisbane for a replacement antenna I can't help but think it would be easier to just cash it all in and start over.

The latin origin of the name Vera is truth. Living with my mistakes and still loving my car is not easy for me. I have to choose to remember all the great times we have had with her and how she faithfully starts every morning and saves me from the scourge of public transportation.