Cars & Life

There has been a profound absence in this blog now, and I could say that many things have occurred that I have to catch up on. On the other hand, I could say that it was all, as the crude-but-apt phrase goes, "same old shit, different day". In point of fact, although many things occurred, there were no personal crisises, no dramatic, life-altering turns.

Yet some things must be marked. It became official that I have but two more years inside. A disappointment, yet at least now I know. Though I have an application in for a good job, I don't expect to get it, so back to the school grind I go. This, at least, gives me some stability to plan from.

Meanwhile, my parents became beneficiaries of an unexpected harvest. This has resulted in some major tree surgery in the yard, garden rehabs on a scale never before scene in so short a time. There is now funding enough that when I propose an investment of serious cash, it seems to be an achievable plan. I think I'll finally get a chance to finish the Upper Garden, as part of my legacy, before I leave.

But there are... odd... side effects of this. Money has been spent on other things as well, like bigscreen TVs. But not just for them; I got one too, along with a DVD player. So I get to benefit a little from the largesse. Okay, as far as it goes. Now let me take you down a side road that, I swear, ties back in.

Recently, a friend from out of state came up and crashed on my futon so he could make a job app at UP. After the interview -- which sadly did not result in an offer -- I took him, at his request (thought with much typical-of-me griping) to Woodburn. We spent a half day foaming before I had to dump him off on MAX to the airport so I could go off to a meeting. While we were out, though, I noticed that the Cav's slow coolant leak had gotten suddenly and dramatically... shall we say... less slow? Constant refilling of the resivior kept it going for the rest of the day, but it puzzled and concerned me. Talking with my friend, I was describing my parent's situation, and joked that if I really begged for it, I bet that they would buy me a car to replace the Cav with.

The next day, Thursday, today, I determined that I would have to fix it. Not for the first time, I was cursing the over-complex methods that GM uses to pack all the extra shit that is generally electrified only because it could be. Dad and I tore into it, traced it down -- thanks to Slacky's advice the previous night -- to the heater core. Ripping it out, a quick walk to NAPA got a replacement and it was fixed.

In the midst of this, though, in my anger, I wished for a simpler car, and not for the first time. I even browsed ebay motors and craigslist, looking at cars such as GT6's and Spitfires. Being from a British car family, these kind of cars were far more understandable to me. They are also considerably simpler and easier to work on. They are, granted, foreign, but they are actually far easier to get parts for now than they have been in decades, thanks to the internet, an increasing appreciation due to the passage of time, and the entrance of many after-market and repo makers. In my anger over the Cav's latest crappy hat trick, I would have easily clicked "buy it now" on $2500 worth of Spitfire if I had had it in pocket. Afterwards, when I calmed down, I was thankful to have gotten away with a $27 bill and four hours of labor.

Then my parents struck.

I get out of the shower and I hear my father on the phone, talking to someone... about cars. I recognize a comment about a "hood repaint", and I recall that one of the Spitfires I had looked at online that afternoon had had its hood repainted for some reason. Hairs on the back of my neck began to stand. No way. This was almost like when Dad bought the MG -- another of the Windfall's children, on the excuse the TRs would not be drivable for a while yet -- and kept the knowledge from me until he had the check in hand ready to go get it.

And yes. They were buying it for me.

I protested. Calmly. Tried to convince them otherwise. When I said I didn't want them to buy it for me, Dad instantly said I could pay them back. When I said I wasn't ready, Dad said I didn't have to drive it now. It was a good deal. We had to get it. The more I protested the more stubborn Dad became, until when I very nearly had forced him to call and cancel going to see it, I realized that he was taking my rejection as a personal insult. "We're your parents, we don't have a right to give you a car...?" There was an edge to his voice I could hear. I knew I could still turn it down, and Mom suggested that maybe I didn't want this specific kind of car. But though that was a window I could go through, I knew that it would not be an easy one.

And I weighed my options.

And I took the car.

I'm sure that once I begin to drive it, once I feel it is truly mine, my reluctance will disappear and I'll be overjoyed. But it will take getting used to still. And I still feel... odd. This is just the latest and largest in a series of things that they have paid for for me that I essentially owe them for. And I know, even on a conscience level, that the more I protest and turn them down, the more likely I am to benefit from more of them. It is strange to live with the knowledge that I could likely ask for very nearly any earthly thing a sane man could purchase, and get it bought for me.

In so many ways, my life is the opposite of so many of my friends lives. I can hear many of them thinking, now, "I wish I had YOUR problems...." Even after a youth where my father and I did nothing but argue, even now when we aren't really close in the way I am with my mother, I still find that my relationship -- with BOTH of them -- is better than the relationships that many of my friends have with their parents. But I fear for them. Every dime of this windfall they spend on fence boards or trees for the garden, or even cars for me, is a dime that won't be there when they are old and need it. And they are already old. In their early sixties. I will not have them for much longer. Ten years at least, I hope. Perhaps twenty or thirty if I am fortunate. I hope so; I would hope they live long enough to see the grandchildren I can only imagine giving to them now. But the clock is ticking, ticking, ticking....