Minni Miata is toast. My lovely little car is toast.
I remember the day we bought it. We were looking for a little car to tow behind the motorhome while we drove to Virginia to scatter Addy's ashes. I was thinking more of a little Saturn, or Hyundai...something light and cheap. Jim, however, was thinking of something light and fun to drive, and cheap was not part of the thought. He had cashed in one of Addy's annuities, and we went to the Mazda dealer and bought Minni. Minni had about 500 miles on it...it was a demo model, and he wrote a cheque for the full price, after a suitable amount of haggling, of course. That was my part.
Of course, we got it home and found out we couldn't tow it, because it's rear-wheel drive. When backed onto the dolly, the front end was almost on the road, so we were faced with a choice. Either I had to drive it, or we would have to leave it at home. I drove it. That was the trip when I really learned how to drive, following Jim in the motorhome. Who knew a motorhome could go 80 or 90 miles an hour? Not me, until then.
So, I drove Minni. After we got home (4000 miles later), I was stuck with Burbie, and Minni became Jim's. After he died, it took me six months to empty and throw away the ashtray. I never did clear out the console.
Here's where the fraud part comes in. Remember when I said that I never wanted to be trapped by "stuff" like Jim was? So, it's just a car, right? A car is just a mechanical device which, when manipulated by a set of levers and fueled by gasoline, will transport a person wherever they want to go, thus increasing the person's range of influence. Just a machine.
So, why am is sitting here, crying over the loss of my car?
Could it be that this thing has acquired emotional significance because it connects me with Jim? It was the only thing of value that we bought together, and I know he loved it. He never put the top up unless it was raining. Hot or cold, he drove it with the top down, and either the heat or the AC at top power.
I had hoped to drive it for the rest of my life. It still had less than 100K miles, even though it was ten years old.
I kind of feel as if it died saving my life. Sacrificed itself, if you will. I am a bit dinged up, but I'm not totalled.
So, I am a fraud. I'm sitting here, crying over a car. How stupid is that? I'll be able to get something to drive. I don't know what, yet. I feel as if I want to find another old Miata, but maybe I should be practical and get something new (or newer). I am just gobsmacked by this.
This year is not starting off so very well, Dearly Beloved.