Beloved Mule

I have come to a basic truth for me.  There is a very good chance that I will independently choose one car in my life.  And that car is gone.  I will have a say in the rest of the cars, but it is unlikely I will do the majority of the choosing.  I don't have the knowledge, or really even desire to do so.  Jet LOVES cars, he maintains mine.  So he has a significant say.  Obsidian looks to be taking in his footsteps, so even if Jet no longer can help make the car decision, I'm guessing Obsidian will be involved.

My first car, my dad choose.  It was okay.  I did not dislike it, but I was never in love either.  I was glad when I got rid of it.  I sold it to my dad.  Then I had to get rid of it again after my dad passed away.  It was a huge pile of problems at that point, so it was a little sad to get rid of my first car and my dad's last car, but I had no great love of the White Lady.  She was a car.  A very quirky car.

But from the time I was in college, I dreamed of getting my make and model car.  Which is sort of a crazy statement to make, as it is a very practical no frills car.  Not many people dream and want something as basic is it as their ideal dream car.  But that is my personality.  I had Jet look over my choice, and he found nothing wrong with it.  Since then, my mother, then my MIL, then my SIL (Jet's sister, although hers is the SUV), my sister, then Jet, then my brother, and now my youngest brother, have all got the same car (some little variances, some automatic, some manuals, but basically the same car). None of them loved their cars as I did, but they liked the practicality of each of theirs.

Jet literally proposed to me as I was signing the papers to finalize the sale of the car (it was odd, having to sign my maiden name repeatedly this week, as the car was still titled that way).  The next day, we drove across Canada to go to my cousin's wedding.  The craziness that was the first 18 months of my marriage, that car got me, and everyone it needed to, where it needed to go.  It went between 3 cities that were anywhere from 240 to 680 miles apart, repeatedly.  There was one month I drove it 1300 miles a week.  For a month.  And there was a different 2 month span I was driving it a minimum of 600 miles a week.  I listened to a lot of audio books and NPR in those days.  It got me, Jet, my MIL, and my SIL to my MIL's only sibling's funeral 3 states away, in the middle of winter in not great weather.  I 10 hour each direction road tripped it alone with the boys when they were 1 and 3.  Countless trips between here (where I grew up) and where Jet grew up (and mom is), 240 miles each direction.  In some very unfriendly road conditions at times.  All of the trips around here.

I always called my first car "The White Lady".  I had every intention of calling this car "The Mother-mobile".  Jet started calling it before we even had it a year, "The Mule".  It was a better fit.  We worked that car hard.  It was reliable.  Up until the bitter end (which was not its fault).  I had altered the name years ago to "The Beloved Mule".  I will miss it.  But in a way, I'm glad it went while it was still on the top of its game.  It had not become a problematic money pit we had to eventually just not repair.  It can always remain my "Beloved Mule" 

But still I wish it was in my driveway, waiting for the next trip.