We got our car back yesterday. It's been in the shop since Monday morning having some minor repairs.
It's hard to describe how happy it makes me just knowing it's sitting in the driveway.
Emotional attachment to an inanimate object? you bet.
We name our cars - this one is called Jit, which happens to be the first three letters on the license plate. (We've had Biskie the Biscayne, and Katie the Acadian, among others).
I liken my emotions to what it must have been like to have a horse a century ago; a means of transportation, yes. But much more than that. I remember my mother talking about the horses her family had owned - about Sis, her mother's little black mare that pulled her buggy when she went to meetings of the Ladies Missionary Society or to be a mid-wife during a delivery, and the fact that no one else ever drove that horse and it didn't do farm work - or about the big plough-horse who, when ploughing the garden stopped suddenly and refused to budge a step forward. So Grampy clucked his tongue, shook the reins, slapped the backside, and then walked up front to discover his toddler son standing directly in front of the big horse.
So, when Jit arrived back home yesterday, I went out and rubbed my hands over her. I checked the back bumper where she'd been damaged and found it good as new. I sat on the passenger side wheen Seelerman drove us to bowling. Today I will take her for a spin myself. I have to stop at an ATM, and maybe pick up a couple of grocery items. Tomorrow I'll drive her to church, and we will be back into our routines.
But it is good to haave her home.
