by Dani

I realize that there is a certain point in a person’s life where as people age possessions turn to keepsakes. I am well known for being a purger of sorts, lacking sentiment, so this concept has never been something that I could easily wrap my arms around.  I wear my mother’s wedding band. Dad calls this my “souvenir.”  As if my life with her was a trip to the boardwalk to play skee-ball and eat snow cones. I believe we are all different and I make every effort to respect these differences. I really do. But I would be lying if I said it wasn’t hard.

I remember a line from a Dion song that my mom loved when I was a kid. It went, “Cadillacs end up in the junkyard… I put away my idols” It referenced worshiping possessions and mom liked to apply it to my father. The 1978 avocado green Eldorado that at one time cruised the streets of Lawrence turning heads did in fact end up in the junkyard. That junkyard was located at 190 Mammoth Road, Londonderry, NH. Passersby might recognize it as the English Tudor with the colored water fountain.

When my sister and I were kids we used to wait for snow days so we could get out our flying saucers, climb up on the trunk, and sail down the windshield flying out over the hood. (mom eventually had this car towed away citing the squirrels’ nest in the engine).

After the Eldorado came the Buick, then the Peugot, then the “new” Eldorado, then the BMW (which I briefly resurrected) and today, we are at odds over the Chevy pick up. To clarify, none of these were old cars collected for parts. These were shiny new cars that we drove until one day maybe the starter went. Or the battery died. Or the break pads failed. I recall driving a car that dad bought my sister and me to share. On our way home from school the breaks failed as a result of neglected maintenance. Dad’s response, “If it’s not good enough for you, don’t drive it.” So we didn’t. Swap out the make and model and you can write the script for the demise of any of our family vehicles.

Presently we are in a heated debate over a 1991 Chevy pickup. This “discussion” has been going on since 2008. I am of the ilk that if you have a vehicle parked on a field of grass for say, nine years- with broken windows- through New England winters, you can pretty much call it a day. He is still reminiscing about the transmission he had replaced in 1999 citing it’s original cost as it’s present value. I am no math whiz, but even I understand depreciation.