Good-bye, old friend

I recently parted with my beloved Mazda Protege out of necessity. The frame was rusted through in several places and unsafe to drive. The trip from my driveway to the dealership for the trade-in was painful. It was like my car was singing "And I am telling you, I'm not going..." as I tried to drive her down the road. One of the rear wheels refused to turn as I drove down the street, laying rubber in a stream of smoke. I finally had to call a tow truck. And then I cried as I traveled along side the tow truck with the Protege on the flatbed.

Going through the trade-in process was extra painful after the experience of having to clean out the car. I found the detritus of 12 years of ownership: poems from ex-boyfriends, half-empty bottles of perfume, spilled ibuprofen, tennis balls, invitations to weddings and showers, CDs, earring backs, outdated technology cords, and pens. Lots and lots of pens. I'm not buying any more pens for the rest of my life. In truth, I can't figure out how I got so many writing instruments in my vehicle.

Yup, here are all the writing implements from the car. And before you, ask, YES, Mace Windu (far left) IS indeed a pen.

I am now driving a Pontiac Vibe. This car is a rebound relationship after my love affair with my trusty, beat-up Protege. I don't think it will last me nearly as long and when the time comes to let it go, I'll be pragmatic about its place in my life. In the meantime, thanks for the memories, Protege. You were reliable and unremarkable, but unforgettable.