Yesterday, Kim and I joined my cousins for an afternoon trip to the Oregon Coast. Our aim was to harvest a bounty of clams. We came home with zero. We managed, however, to harvest a bounty of mussels. Plus, the dog had fun.
My cousin Duane carpooled with us to and from the beach. We rode in Kim's car: a 1997 Honda Accord that's showing signs of its age.
“It's a little warm in here,” Duane said about ten minutes into our drive. “Would you mind turning down the heat?”
“Well, I can't turn down the air,” Kim said. “It's stuck on high. But I can turn down the temperature.” She laughed as she demonstrated that the knob for the air volume has broken off at the post. The vents now permanently blow at full force.
“This car is falling to pieces,” I said. “Literally.” As if to prove my point, a bit of molding fell from a roof handle. I picked it up and wedged it back into place.
“I like my car,” Kim said. “I have an emotional attachment to it. But I've come to the realization that it's time to start searching for something else.”
More and more, it looks like our vehicles have reached the end of the road. [Read more…]