Charlie and I started out with a pair and a spare, his car, my car and his government car for work. My new Rav 4 had an inferiority complex next to his two convertibles and it is likely the neighbors thought a drug dealer rather than a federal agent lived in the house with the small showroom driveway.
After he retired we moved to Georgia, his red Celica convertible made way for the green Sebring convertible and finally the midnight blue Audi TT Roadster convertible. After a decade and a half of convertibles you can't call it a midlife crisis anymore, more a fixation.
My Rav4 was replaced by a 4 Runner, which was the perfect vehicle for the dozens of family road trips that occured in that window, but once the kids were in college I was glad to get back down to a Honda CRV.
The dawn of the girl's drivers' licenses brought "starter" island cars - vehicles defined by the simple utility of driving from the island where we lived to the mainland where they went to high school. (This was necessary because dozens, perhaps hundreds, of students before them had been struck with permanent mortification by having to ride the school bus during their senior year and were never quite right again).
Island cars, with their aged and indiscriminate pedigree, were replaced by twin new practical Corollas by the time college rolled around for both girls. Our agreement was that we would lease this last one, then they would be responsible for their own transportation.
Jessica's went back last year. Jen's goes back later this year and lives, as she does, in Georgia.
So we came to Buffalo with two cars and the determination to walk and take public transportation whenever possible. (Nothing like a summer gas price spike to awaken latent ecological awareness).
The decision not to replace the Audi at the end of the lease was made months ago. The last months have been a long goodbye with scenic sidetrips scheduled whenever possible.
With a "you'll shoot our eye out" persistence, people regularly told Charlie this was not a Buffalo winter car. He always countered as if his own child had been insulted and explained the value of the four wheel independent steering and heated seats. In his mind, the fact that it was four millimeters off the ground was clearly inconsequential. And so what if it would never start without a jump when the temperature dropped below 30 , it was simply in need of a new battery, he said defiantly.
Every time a young man drooled in envy or a young woman flirted at a stop light, the car bought itself another set of indulgences. It was extremely well-stocked with that particular accessory.
Charlie Griggs is not a sentimental man, but I feared the dam would finally burst when he called me at work yesterday to say it had been returned to the dealer on schedule.
But no, he was calm, level, simply Charlie. I was so proud of the financial and environment restraint he was demonstrating. We aren't just downtown homesteading urbanites, we had shed three cars (and three insurance payments) and were perilously close to political correctness.
And Charlie seemed absolutely good with it.
The source of his serenity slid sideways into our dinner conversation. There was a new (open top, of course) Jeep at the dealer that was much less than he expected.
But, he explained, we'll wait until spring to get it.


Copyright 2005 Judi Griggs