My birthday trip to the Mendocino Coast was much needed. However, it also marked the end of a long and fabulous run for the champagne-colored Barbie car.
Somewhere around Orr Hot Springs, we realized the transmission fluid had long been completely dry on a road that made Honey Run Road look like a straight-away.
But luckily I was able to still drive it to Redding, where the Bureau of Automotive Repair gave me $1,000 to have it crunched.
(Three days after cashing the check, a letter arrived noting the state no longer had money for the car-crunch program).
(Alas, this photo was taken at the auto dismantler in Redding, after the Saturn's last ride).
Before the car's untimely demise, I picked up some part-time work to save for a newer car, and had already cut all non-essential expenses, except for pinball.
When the Barbie car went kaput I was riding my bike, working a lot and arriving home during the last half hour of sunlight.
I've missed a lot in my garden these past several weeks.
Tommy dutifully kept track of the garden.
I'd come home at dusk, slather on some bug spray and do a garden tour. Often he had been waiting, fingers dirty and sweat glistening on his tan forehead.
With pride, he pointed out the hedges he had trimmed (not exactly the way I would have chosen), wandering mint plants he had subdued and various plants he had relocated.
While I had been away, the umpteen tomato plants had started to produce, recently tallying a whopping 40 developing green orbs.
The surviving primrose is mysteriously blooming in June, the towering foxglove is on the way out and the star jasmine has decided to climb from the arbor into the birch tree.
Like a workaholic parent, I felt like I had missed out on the best weeks of my garden's life.
My dad loves to wax philosophical on most things. One of his Dad-isms is that gardening is a constant, slow process and that most things that need to be done are accomplished in just a few minutes of work each day.
Somehow, I need those few minutes a day even more than my garden does.
Driving without style
Driving a stylish car is not something upon which I place high value.
Most of my rides have been gifts or hand-overs from family members.
Needless to say, I was out of my element when shopping for a car.
My first car was a 1975 Gremlin -- beige with a darker beige "racing stripe." It served me well through college, and through my first many years working at the Enterprise-Record.
During the early 1990s people mistook the Gremlin for a Pacer and a couple of times people yelled "Wayne's World" when they spotted me cruising around town.
Near the end, the driver's side door of the Gremlin was held closed with a belt and I had to shimmy over the bench seat to get to the driver's side. The vinyl seat cushion was peeling and frequently I would crawl out with foam balls on my behind.
When the brakes were metal-on-metal I drove the car to a local scrap metal yard, where I received $16.50 in cash.
Another vehicular gem was the 1980 Lincoln Continental that set me back $600. Other than the 13-miles-per-gallon, that car was a great conversation starter and could comfortably sleep a family of three. It had both leather seats and working air conditioning.
Having driven several cars to their bitter end, this made me that much more cynical when shopping for a replacement car.
Many of the ads for used cars stated that the oil had been changed every 3,000 miles.
However, it makes you wonder, if a car was so well maintained, wouldn't you first offer to sell it to a family member?
Then there were the intriguing stories about the car seller needing to leave town immediately, or trade the car for a fishing boat.
One woman even told us she had broken up with her boyfriend two days before. She and her former sweetie had bought the car together and she wanted to unload it dirt cheap out of spite.
When she failed to show up for our appointment, I was tempted to call her and tell her congratulations for the reconciliation.
Then there are the disclosures such as: "needs tuning."
I interpreted this as a cracked engine block.
In the end, I decided to rely on feminine intuition.
The couple who sold me the car seemed very nice, and even let me pillage from their pluot and apricot trees.
Plus, they had receipts showing they changed the oil every 3,000 miles.
With all things, even car shopping, there are hidden blessings. During that time that I was riding my bike, I learned that I have really nice friends, and a great Mom, who helped me with things including big grocery shopping and driving to look at cars.









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