No. Not me. My car! Finally, after nearly 20 years, my sweet faithful black Prius, which I bought used (10,000) for $19K and drove nearly 9000 miles across this country giving workshops on processing grief for two months, way back in 2006-7, keeping a journal along the way . . .
On the Road with TVB
Excerpt:
. . . is now headed for the graveyard.
But not without objecting. In fact, once the salvage guy got her started (she has been sitting in Marita’s driveway for awhile now, just too scary to drive, given thick rust on the bottom), she refused to turn off.
Here’s Marita with the salvage guy, trying to figure it out.
It turned out that not even Marita, who had driven her most recently, could get her to go.
Their mutual consternation made me yell out, laughing, “She doesn’t want to die!”
After this, I admit, somewhat emotional parting, I asked Marita if she would take a couple of photos of me, one with no expression on my face, and the other with (slight) expression as I pass by strangers . . .
. . . knowing that my neutrality (on the inside) actually comes across as meanness, or depression (on the outside), all due to gravity’s pull on the face!
Of course! I’m nearly 83 now, and with no plans to exit this body in the near future. So wow, I guess I am like my old Prius after all.
