In July 2002, we bought a 2003 silver Toyota Corolla.
It’s been a good car and we drove it. A lot. Over 134,000 miles.
Last week, we had it at the dealership and found out that the gas tank is corroding. It’s not leaking yet, but will soon. The cost of the repair is expensive enough that we have decided to retire the car.
We have decided to donate the car to charity. We have begun to make the arrangements and will probably be able to turn over the car by the end of the week.
Daughter T has graciously given us permission to use the car she inherited from Grandma as a second car for now, so we are holding off on getting a replacement.
My dream is to replace it with a fully electric, plug-in vehicle. I am very interested in the Chevy Bolt, which will appear late this year or early next. We’ll have to see if we like it when it becomes available to test-drive and what it would take for us to install a charging station at our home.
Meanwhile, we say good-bye to our car of fourteen years, longer than we have ever owned a car. Thanks for your service and for getting us safely and economically from there to there. Many, many, many times over.
A little over two years ago, I posted this poem about my friend K’s cancer diagnosis. It subsequently appeared in an anthology that raised funds for a UK charity.
Today, we received the sad news that she had passed away.
Rest in peace, K.
March 25th, 2016 was Good Friday.
So was March 25th, 2005.
The only reason I remember that fact was that that was the day my friend Angie died.
When she died after fighting cancer for over four years, both of B’s parents were still alive. His dad died in July, 2005, also from cancer; his mom, on Tuesday of Holy Week, just a few days before the 11th anniversary of Angie’s death.
In the early morning hours of March 25th, when I couldn’t sleep, I visited the website of the the charity that Angie’s family established in her memory. I always make a donation on March 25th and on October 25th, which was Angie’s birthday.
This year, the paypal link was broken, so I emailed to ask about it.
Her eldest son sent me a reply and set about getting the link fixed. He also sent me a wonderful photo of his daughter, whose middle name is Angeline, after the grandmother she will never meet on this earth. In the photo, she has a marker in her tiny hand. She may be an artist, like Angie.
Life goes on.