Thursday, December 20, 2018
Meechie Mail #12
Hey, You …
I have a hooptie. One of the many definitions found at the Urban Dictionary website defines a hooptie as: any old car or, more specifically, a large domestic sedan.
I am so doggone grateful for my 2007 Ford Taurus, I can’t even begin to list all the superlatives I know, in any language, for the joy, comfort and convenience she has brought me.
She has taken care of me. And, in return, I’ve taken good care of her, too.
Her name is Mercedes, Mercies in English; because when she came to me, it was an act of mercy from the Universe.
Plus, we have the same color hair.
Mercedes is a senior citizen by the way cars go, and she has begun to exhibit some geriatric ills.
All the care I’ve taken counts toward something, yes, but nothing restores youth. Function will not be same as when she was brand new. And, we both have to make adjustments in order to get the most effective, the most efficient and the most thoughtful use from her.
(You know me too well.)
A couple weeks ago, the Check Engine light came on when I started Mercedes in the morning. Just a hint of cold weather means a longer warmup period and a more extensive soundtrack of clinks and clanks.
I was, of course, surprised and worried when the light came on.
Oh, damn, what could it be.
Oh, hell, I don’t have any money for this. My budget didn’t factor a surrogate until next year.
I just sat there in the driver’s seat, staring straight ahead, looking at nothing but the horror movie playing in my mind of all the different ways I’m going to have to beg, borrow, steal, hitch, walk, run and/or bike to make my life happen.
At the arc of my private film – when the remarkably helpless waif falls whilst running to catch the sloth-paced Metro bus – Mercedes chimed softly then turned off her Check Engine light.
My celebration was … well … there was no celebration, as I was convinced this was an evil twist in the Meechie-flix epic, already on its third sequel, where I am skateboarding to work.
I drove straight to the mechanic who did a diagnostic and proclaimed, verbatim, “ You know you have an old car, Meechie. You have to let it warm up longer. I cleared the engine light. There are no major problems.”
Guess what … on any given day, the Check Engine light comes on in my body. My back. My knee. My hip. My left pinky toe.
Guess what … on any given day, the Check Engine light comes on in my psyche. I’m afraid. I can’t. What if. I shoulda. Maybe if.
Guess what … on any given day, the Check Engine light comes on in my emotions. In my spirituality. In my yoga practice. At work. In my relationships. In my diet. In my writing.
In my everything.
Those are the times when I have to idle, in place, a little longer. I have to warm-up a little longer because I have a little more wear and tear to process.
I need to respect my experience at the wheel and adjust my driving.
At times, I require more love and more joy and more patience and more gratitude and more humility to make sure no part of me locks up and becomes immovable, almost impossible to repair.
I do not function the same as when I was brand new; and, in certain areas of my life, that is a very good thing. J
And, I am still here. Still moving.
A proud hooptie.
P.S. If any of y’all call me a senior citizen,
there will be hell to pay!
 Mechanically. The interior is a hot mess, at times.
 Kinda … I’m not a mechanic, so I have to paraphrase my understanding.
 And then handed me a “no major problems” bill totaling $400+. I digress.