My Jeep Wrangler has 350,000 miles on it. You read that right. I passed a quarter of a million miles on that baby 100,000 miles ago. It has a “personality” at this point. It jumps out of first gear sometimes. Upon occasion, if I pass over a bump when driving on the freeway it will go into what I call the “death wobble”, which feels like I have a flat. But if I slow down and keep the steering wheel perfectly straight I can usually get it to calm down. Otherwise I end up having to pull over on the shoulder, come to a complete stop (maybe sweet talk it a little), then try again to re-enter traffic, slowly accelerating and keeping it as straight as possible.
The top leaks when it rains. I keep savings set aside when I can for the inevitable repairs. Some time ago, some idiot thief used a box-cutter to cut out the vinyl window to break into it. Newsflash, crackhead… the vinyl window opens with a ZIPPER. If you wanted to get in to steal my empty water bottle, yoga mat or the old CDs forgotten under the front seat, all you had to do was unzip the damn thing. This break-in scenario has happened TWICE. Which is why I haven’t bothered to fix it yet, and instead have placed this label on the window that I repaired with duck-tape:
Why have I not traded in this old Jeep? It’s paid off… but, actually, that’s only one reason. At this point, the old rattletrap has sentimental value. I bought it brand new. It was my dream car. I had always wanted a Jeep Wrangler. You can’t beat a 4-wheel drive convertible. It was a beauty sitting in my driveway when it was brand new. Since then, I’ve driven it on the beach, on countless road trips, camping trips, and wandered the back roads. Everyone I love has at some point ridden shotgun. It’s not just a car, it’s a member of the family.
I love it almost like one loves a loyal old dog. Like my old dog, Pearl.
I got her when she was a puppy. Pearl was a purebred bloodhound and she was unbelievably cute. All floppy ears and big feet. She had the classic wrinkly, droopy bloodhound face. She did have one unusual physical trait: she only had three feet. One of her back feet was mostly missing. All that was left was one toe with a large toenail. A birth defect. We called it the “Creepytoe”. It didn’t slow her down one bit. And she was still cute as hell.
When my marriage ended, Pearl slept on the foot of my bed every night. We had a standing ritual. She would follow me to the bed and I would help her hop up. The bed was kind of high and she needed my help. Once I got settled in, Pearl would walk her little circle (like dogs do), then lie down across the foot of the bed, dropping her head across my ankles. She would then heave a heavy, peaceful sigh. We would drift off to sleep like that, in that position, night after night. She snored.
As she got older, her red fur faded to gray. She was no longer the irresistible, adorable puppy that I brought home. She was a beat down looking old hound dog who smelled like a beat down old hound dog. Still, she was my canine soulmate. I’ve had other dogs, smarter dogs, more beautiful dogs, but there was something special about the relationship between Pearl and me.
When she got sick and was clearly in her final days, I had a very hard time letting go. During her last couple of days, she and I were inseparable. Her head was in my lap when she passed, when she sighed her final sigh.
Things that are pretty, perfect, shiny and new… those things can be great to show off and are easy to appreciate. But there is something special in the affection one has for something (or someone) that has stood the test of time and developed a special meaning in our lives. Things like an old stuffed toy from childhood, torn and frayed, threadbare and missing one eye. Once cute and cuddly, but now worn out and completely devoid of the charm it once held.
Others who are unfamiliar with the history, who were not there at the beginning, couldn’t possibly understand. The beauty isn’t visible to them. But the person who has the memories will always be able to see through the eyes of old love.
When they look, they see so much more than what is before them. They are aware of the flaws, the ravages of time, but they also see what the object of their affection has been to them. From time to time, in just the right moment, they can still see it as it once was.
Of course, people love people that way too. And it’s a magical thing.
If we are lucky, we get to grow old. If you keep on living, you will age. Let’s face it, if you keep living long enough. you will fall apart. At first some gray hair, then maybe less hair. Wrinkles. Then your wrinkles get wrinkles… and they get deeper. One day you realize that you are at war with gravity, and gravity is winning. The day comes when you look in the mirror and the truth is there. You are old.
When I was a teenager, I volunteered with a friend to deliver Meals On Wheels. We delivered more to these elderly folks than just food. We were much anticipated visitors and we delivered the opportunity for a conversation.
At one of our stops, we met a married couple. They were both at least in their late 80s. He was still able to get around, but she was now confined to the bed and suffered from dementia. He took care of her, and quite well it appeared. When we came by she would be sitting up, hair neatly done, pretty white nightgown, even makeup.
We asked how long they had been together, and he told us that they had met when she was 16 and he was 18. They married young. The husband said to us, “I know we both look like old people to you, but believe me when I say… when I look at her, I still see the same pretty 16 year old girl I met back then. And she was the prettiest thing. I’m looking at her right now and to me, she hasn’t aged a day.” His wife smiled and gazed back at him with the brightest, bluest eyes I’ve ever seen and, for a moment I could almost see her that way too.
Like I said, when people love that way, it’s a magical thing.