You carried me to my first job. And my second job. And my third and fourth.
Even though you sat outside for several winters, you always started.
You carried me to Madison from the Twin Cities hundreds of times, so I could visit my boyfriend.
When that boyfriend became my husband, you brought me to my wedding.
I drove you into a ditch, you were unscathed. Even after we were both plowed in.
You carried a canoe over a pothole-filled dirt road near the Boundary Waters with no problem.
You drove to parties, visits with family and friends, restaurants, plays, movies.
You helped me move to four different apartments in three different cities.
You sat waiting at the airport while we flew to Florida, England, Hawaii.
You carried me and the precious cargo I was carrying to each appointment.
You didn’t bring me to the hospital, but I know you would have.
We had one last summer of taking baby to visit family and to doctors appointments. And to Target. Many times.
Comfortable leather seats. Sunroof.
Crappy cup holders. A rusted out undercarriage. Dim headlights. A trunk that won’t latch properly unless you close it just so.
I know you are just a car, but I am sad to let you go. Thanks for each of those 230,000 miles.
Well, hello there…
Get ready for the next 230,000 miles. We intend to drive the heck out of you.