My beloved van has finally reached its last days. Some years ago, I wrote about it this way:
A car is something with which to get from point A to point B and transport my family in some degree of comfort. We bought our minivan some years ago, because, with three kids and their many friends, what other option was there? But this minivan soon became especially mine both inside and out.
Everything from my political leanings, to my profession, to my beloved Boston Red Sox has a place to live. I did have a few other bumper stickers, but my kids seem to have made sure that they were removed, never to be seen again. Oh well, I think I’m running out of room, anyway. Even the license plate number has significance – when we moved to New Jersey from Maryland, my tag read (at least to me) MY 6(as in June)87 (as in 1987) Marriage – that’s our wedding month and year! it was meant to be!! Soon after that, we traded in our Windstar for an Odyssey, but I kept the plates – how could I not?!
On the inside, it is filled with “my stuff” – my favorite CDs (Emmylou Harris, the Grateful Dead, La Boheme, The Low Anthem), tons of pens and pencils (because you never know if you’ll be stuck somewhere and can get some grading done), New Yorker magazines I’ve been meaning to read, notebooks and post its (in case I get the urge to write as I’m waiting to pick someone up, and old grocery lists that I made and then forgot to take into the grocery store. Shopping bags – somewhere in everyday is a visit to some store.There are also traces of past experiences and wonderful memories. The trunk still shows signs of the mulch our girl scout troop picked up when my youngest, Olivia, was in second grade – every time I see it I remember what a great service project that was, planting beds all around their school. The bench seat at the back has several stickers from the time our son was a Pokemon fan – they make me smile and remember fourth grade to sixth grade Ben. The pocket behind the driver’s seat is ripped, but that reminds me of driving Elizabeth to college for her freshman year. She had stowed all the things she “forgot to pack until the last minute” – a LOT of things, as it turned out, but the torn pocket reminds me of my brilliant but often scatterbrained daughter. And the floor shows evidence of Sophie – rawhide bones here and there and odd sticks she has picked up on walks.Someday, I will have to bid goodbye to this van…