I am happy to report that I am not the woman whose car caught fire on April 5 on Interstate-90. My Subaru has a bad smoking habit, but we're no longer enabling her oil addiction. We'll keep her lubed, but after our last rehab, we're not visiting the mechanic anymore. Subie must give way to The Beast, the truck we're paying on. It seats all six of us.
My husband, Tim, drove Subie to work for the last time on March 30. She hit bottom, barely pulling up Sunset Hill. He shifted down, revving the rotations per minute upwards of 4000. After the Medical Lake exit, he shifted back up, and the universe righted itself-- somewhat.
I couldn't accept Subie for her faults, and during a trip to Spokane on April 2, I lost power on a slight incline on the Michael P. Anderson Highway. I had to turn around and return to Cheney. So now, Subie's retiring to live out the rest of her days in Cheney, shuttling between home, school, friends' homes and the grocery store.
I guess it's time to accept Subie's limitations and inability to grow. Tim now carpools with a dear friend from church. I have asked a friend for a ride to see my doctor on April 8. I could take The Beast, but this has forced me to realize I don't want to be alone when I hear the cancer-test results from my spring break surgery.
We are transitioning from oil-dependence to interdependence.
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