Heres a sure sign of spring: Husband washed my car last week.
Actually, hes a good sort who washes the exterior of the car pretty frequently, but this time the cleaning was inside and out. Gone is the grime and dirt from sloppy footwear, the smashed, hard french fry from mid-December and the half million straw wrappers from the half million Diet Cokes that are consumed in a seasons time.
You know what a clean car makes me want to do? Drive. Aside from the occasional axle-busting pothole, the roads are devoid of winter obstacles and its time to get out and drive.
So, as I was driving, I got to thinking about Americas love affair with the automobile. Four tires are just as ingrained in our national psyche as stars and stripes and apple pie.
Cars are in our music: In My Merry Oldsmobile, Little GTO, Greased Lightning, Little Red Corvette.
Leave public transportation to the big cities. When youre a rural Ohio native, a car is the way to travel.
Theres a magazine that has a regular feature called, My Life in where a celebrity is asked to relive his or her life based on the jeans he or she wore, or the hair style or the music he or she listened to.
So think about your life in cars.
My first car was a white 1972 Plymouth Duster. I drove it from North Lawrence to Mount Vernon on my way back to college in Westerville. We stopped in Mount Vernon, because thats where the squealing got unbearable. I blew a rod. End of car.
Oddly (or more like, economically) my next car was a forest green 1972 Plymouth Duster. In 1972, I imagine it was pretty sweet. By 1985, it had seen better days. But it was mine and it ran and it gave me the independence I craved.
After school and my first job, I moved up to an advertising agency, where Id park my Duster next to the vice presidents Jaguar. One day, said vice president took me into her office and said, Do we not pay you enough, Tami?
Sure, I said.
Well, she said, I was thinking that if you need help buying another car we could maybe make you a loan for the downpayment.
And it was at that point I realized there are a good number of people out there who think your car is a reflection of who you are. I was a young professional and a 15-year-old car, however sentimental, could not be part of that.
So I bought a 3-year-old Ford Tempo. It looked really nice but it was pretty boring. The job turned out to be pretty boring, too.
My newspaper reporter years were marked by cars I could afford, everything from a Sunbird with a nasty crank problem to a 1971 VW Beetle with a sweet soul, an AM radio and a heater that ran like a blast furnace.
Once I was married and owned a home and had a baby on the way, someone suggested I would need to move up to a four-door Something, in order to accommodate the baby carrier.
Ick. A four-door Something was what my parents drove – and my grandparents. Still, overcome by that maternal grown-up feeling, I opted for a Camry with four doors. After months of grappling with the baby carrier, I had to admit it was a good move.
Somewhere along the way, a former boss suggested I get a mini-van or an SUV for the truckload of children and soccer equipment I would have to tote around.
And there I drew the line. I kept my life to one child with no soccer equipment and thus, no mini-van.
So now, with a growing son and into the Middle Ages, I am out cruising around the greater Wayne County area in an Acura TSX. Why? Well, it has four doors, I could afford it and it is bright royal blue (the latter of which appeals to my colorful side). No neutral or black full-size sedan for me – at least not yet.
Ive reached the point in my life when Id like a smooth ride with a five CD changer. Smooth sailing with Little Deuce Coupe cutting through the spring air.
Wooster Weekly News columnist Tami Lange can be reached via e-mail at tam108@hotmail.com.
