Bessie Lives

The good news is that Bessie lives. The auto repair people, who have been scratching their heads over her various and mysterious ailments for the last year, finally discovered what the problem was and fixed it. Of course, it cost us a pretty penny, but she now runs without stalling and even better, the turning indicators don't spit and fizzle. However:

Esteemed hubby no longer trusts her, he says. He doesn't mind hanging on to her for a while longer, perhaps even allowing her to go live with one of our sons, but he doesn't want to worry about getting to work on time.

Thus--new car shopping. We drove a hard bargain down at our friendly Toyota dealership, where a lovely Indian man with a beautiful accent (and one odd eye) almost pushed us from the SUVs (even the little ones) to the 2007 Avalons they wanted to unload. So now we have two Avalons. Yoko (our 2002 white Avalon) has been joined by a new sister, an indigo-blue gal whose name is as yet undecided. I'm leaning toward "Bonny." Texas residents will understand.

At this point, the deal is for me to drive the new one and for esteemed spouse to get Yoko back. After all, he does have her all outfitted in electronic wires and gizmos (like the gps). But it seems wrong, somehow, for me to have the new one. The school for which hubby teaches prides itself on its lovely blue and white school colors. (The school I teach for is maroon and gold, and sorry, but I can't imagine driving a car colored like that.) We test-drove a black Avalon (Mizzou school color), but I'm not especially fond of black cars. The Southerner in me says, "Too hot in summer!" even though that's hardly a problem here in Michigan. And it would have been cool to have Ebony and Ivory in the garage, but that started me singing along with Paul and Michael, so to save the ears of all who know me, perhaps blue is better. I must admit, it's one gorgeous blue. They call it indigo, but it's more like the Crayola color of midnight blue.

It comes all decked and tricked out in stuff that I doubt I'll ever figure out how to use. Some of it will be useful--leather seat warmers! (Mother Nature has endowed me with quite an efficient seat warmer already, so it's more for hubby's bony backside that I care.) The mirror has a button on it that will open the garage door (no more attractive plastic black-and-white clip-ons on the sunvisor). The steering wheel not only moves up and down but also telescopes. (Big warning in the owners' manual not to adjust the steering wheel while driving, lest the driver lose control of the car. That amuses me.) And, if I can ever figure out how to use it, dual climate-control. Hey, I'm a simple woman. Give me heat, air, defrost, and working windshield wipers, and I'm fine. Besides, for a menopausal woman who alternates between hot flashes and cold chills, there is no climate-control in the world sensitive enough to handle it.

Mainly, for the safety of yours truly, there are umpteen-dozen airbags--along with the requisite umpteen-dozen warnings. Don't hang a cup holder on the window. If the airbag deploys, you get a cup holder embedded in the side of your head. The short story is that if I get in a wreck, I'll be lovingly encased in a tempurpedic mattress of airbags, even one for my knees--as long as I don't have a key chain so dangly that keys become airbag-driven projectiles. And there is also traction control. That, I'm happy to say, is one safety feature that I'm pretty sure I'll need. Of course, if there's black ice under both front wheels, I'm a goner, but maybe I'll get lucky enough to have only one wheel at a time go sliding.

So right now, the garage is filled with Avalons, and poor Bessy sits outside in the rain, with wind-blown leaves plastering the side of her lovely burgundy paint. To prove what a beauty she still is: hubby took her to the UPS office to mail a package. A man came up to him and asked him if he was willing to sell her, that if so, he wanted to buy her. As dear as she is to me, and as much as both my sons need an extra vehicle, I was almost tempted to take him up on the sale, simply because he seemed to appreciate her.

I don't know if Bonny Blue will ever hold such a dear place in my heart. I suppose after a week or two of driving her to work, I'll have a sense of whether she is meant to be mine. Dr. S.