My car is an older and larger design, somewhat like myself. In fact, she is a lot of car thus I named her Car-lotta. She and I connect on the deepest levels. Like her, my headlights are dimming and my springs have sprung. Her old engine chugs along and I will admit that my engine has slowed too. Her gears slip at times, as do mine, my memory slipping along with them.
Upon waking, we both need to warm up slowly. Carlotta refuses to engage first gear until well nourished by the accelerator. My body creaks as it groans into vertical position and shuffles down the hall in first gear. My mind also grinds into gear; any gear will do. Once warmed up, my body’s engine is able to slip from first gear into second, leaving my mind slipping from Neutral into Reverse. I can recall the past and relive swimming at the beach near my childhood home, climbing trees, playing hooky from Kindergarten, having spitball wars, and playing baseball on the road. When the day ended, I remember snuggling my black teddy bear as I went to sleep. These memories of the past are fresh and crisp as if yesterday. Currently, however, it’s an effort to recall what I did or might have done in the past few days. Thank goodness for daybook calendars! Sleep often eludes me for what seems like hours. Once in dreamland, I am interrupted by wee-hour trips to the bathroom. Car-lotta has an oil leak, and I have a bladder leak.
Car-lotta’s motor sputters and spits. My body complains as its engine attempts to rev-up. Car-lotta’s motor and mine jangle my nerves. Once our motors are, what I like to refer to as purring, we set off. We pace ourselves appropriate to our age with the goal of lessening wear and tear on our bodies, thus avoiding accidents. We already have more dents and scratches than can possibly be camouflaged. Enough is enough! AND it is hard to admit that Car-lotta and I no longer travel in the fast lane.
Despite the effects and protestations of age, there are always things I need to do, people to see, the garden to tend, the birds to feed and the housework, oh the housework, that never-ending dust. My mother often said, “Let it be! The dust will be there when you’re dead, so relax.” I hardly know what relaxation means, but I am slowing down, under duress. Oh well! I am pampering Car-lotta with a thorough clean and oil change and my own old body with a massage in preparation for our next excursion. We’re…
Goin’ places that I’ve never been
Seein’ things that I may never see again
Willie Nelson
