Boys and Their Toys

I’m struggling with my emotions today. 

“Well, big deal,” I hear my inner voice saying in my head. “You’re not the only one. So you’re selling Don’s classic car. At least you have a car to sell. Think of all the widows out there who are struggling with major financial issues.”

Been there, done that after Don’s stroke, I answer back. I paid my dues in the Financial Difficulties Club. Today is different. It’s not about money or downsizing. It’s about seeing the Vette loaded up on top of the transport truck and feeling like a piece of Don’s heart was going down the street.

“You are such a sentimental cry baby!” 

I’m trying not to be.

“Try harder.”

Yadda, Yadda, Yadda! Quit talking to me! Life is hard enough without voices in my head second guessing everything I do. 

“This is the perfect time of the year to get that car gone over by a mechanic so it can be advertised to all those guys who are looking for a cure for their middle age crisis or their winter cabin fever.”

I know. All they need is a silver anniversary Vette to cruise the open highway, t-tops off, as they smell the sweetness of spring in the air.

“Oh, brother! I hope you’ll let someone else write up the advertisement. Guys don’t want to hear about smelling freshly mowed grass, pine trees and cow poop in farmers’ fields when they’re shop for a sports car. Hey, you should throw in a few of those old Snap-On calendars with the hot girls checking out one of those ’78 Vettes. Let your potential buyers visualize the kinds of women who are attracted to that car.”

You’re being ridiculous. Those hot girl models would climb all over a tricycle for the kind of money they get paid. Guys know that.

“No they don’t. Remember the calendar Don had hanging in the garage?”

How could I forget it? He had a lot of fun with that calendar…or I should say with the photograph he took of that calendar. He had his coworkers believing that was me in that bikini. He even had me sign the photo with something sappy to make it look more creditable. I wonder what ever happened to that picture.

“One of the guys at work probably stole it out of his tool box.”

I still have that calendar though.

“Yup, and you still have your memories. It’s time for the next generation to build some memories with that Vette.”

I know. Can you go away now? You’re giving me a headache! ©

Selling the Silver Anniversary Corvette

A few years ago I wrote a blog telling the story of Don’s love affair with his 1978 silver anniversary Corvette. (See the link below) He truly loved that car and it was no easy feat to hold on to it after his stroke, but doing so was one of the best gifts I could have given him. Or maybe I was just a coward because while selling the Vette when Don’s prognosis was do dire and our future so uncertain would have been easier for me it would have broken Don’s spirit. That’s the last thing I was willing to deal with and that’s where the cowardly act may have come in.

I’m getting ready to sell it now. I don’t have mixed feelings about that decision but I’m sure there are a few people who think I’m moving too fast considering Don’s passing was just over a month ago. I’ve read many stories written by other widows of how they can’t let go of their husband’s vehicles even though holding on to them is putting their financial futures in great jeopardy, still making payments they can no longer afford. For me, that doesn’t even enter into the picture. The car isn’t costing me anything to continue storing in the garage and I’m not planning to move from here until a year from this coming summer. The way I view it, I did for Don what I could do for him while he was here to enjoy it. Selling the Corvette so soon doesn’t make a statement about the depth of my love (or lack there of as some have implied) for my husband. I’m just a realist and getting the car ready for a spring sale makes the most sense.

The Corvette was fun to drive when we felt like playing and I drove it back and forth to college the year when I was finishing up my degree. (Don thought that was appropriate since it took me 25 years to go back to school and the car was the 25th anniversary model.) Even after Don could no longer drive the car it never lost its place in his heart. He was proud to own it. I will always treasure the memories the Vette helped us build but now it’s time to let go and move on. ©

Link to my other blog entry about Don and his Vette can be found here.

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