My Sweetie

It was love at first sight.  Ahh…  This story of romance reminds that shinier is not always better.  

It is up to me to choose to be grateful for what I have even if it is not perfect.  Tweet: It is up to me to choose to be grateful for what I have even if it is not perfect. https://ctt.ec/5GY0r+

This is a memory of one of my first loves.  I’ll share it here so that its memory will live on. I  first wrote it for a class assignment years ago.  Out of respect for that time in my life I’ll leave it unchanged.


A Sweet Camaro

When a light film of dirt settles on the dashboard I think, “Where did that dust come from? I just wiped the entire interior the day before yesterday.”  But as I grab a rag and the Armor All bottle, I feel a sense of warm pride inside as I gently wipe away the dust.  As my rag caresses the panel of buttons and knobs, I take a deep breath and feel the sweet, crisp, clean, scent tickle my nostrils.

Meanwhile, the headliner droops brushing my hair and face.  Somewhere deep inside I know this car is slightly beat.  I know the paint has chips and rust, and I know the sagging headliner is not the only flaw inside.  I hear the squeaks and groans of the door and seat springs.  I see the cracks in the dashboard and the holes in the apholstery.

But I see beyond that.

The dark navy paint shows you your reflection after a thorough wash and wax. As I place my rag aside, the black dashboard gleams.  The wire rim hubcaps shine, and the light blue pinstripes down the sides outline the sleek body.

When I walk toward my car in a parking lot, I do not turn my head to look after quieter, shinier, newer cars.  Instead I scan the lot and focus on the sweet Camaro that I bought with my own money, lock my eyes on it, and I think, “Oh baby, You’re mine.”

I can’t wait to slide into my own private sanctuary where everything feels good.

By the way that bucket seat cradles my body, it seems to be made for me alone.  The fresh polish leaves the vinyl slightly slippery, but in no way greasy, so that I can easily move around to make myself comfortable.  I can reach the glove compartment without difficulty to remove the vanilla air freshener which lightly mists the air leaving an almost sickeningly sweet perfume.

The radio plays familiar upbeat music with lyrics I know by heart.  The seatbelt fits in place perfectly, and even the shoulder strap refuses to annoy me.  As I drive along knowing exactly when to let up on the clutch as I deftly maneuver the stick shift into gear controlling the transmission which my father refers to as “a bear,” I smile.

I watch the sunlight sparkling off the new glass buildings I pass and glisten on the hood in front of me.

I listen to the engine running and feel it working through the slight vibrations under me.

I know that I am aware of how grateful I am to be here in this car, at this moment, content in my own solitude.


 

Since then I haven’t been romanced quite so beautifully by a car.  In fairness, as my life gets busier, I probably don’t romance my cars in the same way that I did my Camaro either.

But it goes to show that there can be romance in unpredictable places.  You just have to choose to look at life with a grateful spirit.

Do you have a Valentine in your life who is grateful for their car?  You could get them revved up with a simple gift for their car.

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