Friday, November 4, 2011

The lasting comfort

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By CHRIS MILLSPAUGH

When you come to that stage in your life when all the children are grown and busy doing their own thing and there's no significant other nor a dog or a cat, your attention and affection turn toward the only thing that you truly cherish that gets you through thick or thin, rain or snow, good or bad times and is always there for you.

I'm talking about your own personal vehicle that you drive every day. In my personal vehicle, I have had more conversations, sang more songs and let off more steam while driving alone than any other therapy session I have ever attended with mere mortals.

The vehicle of my choice is a 27-year-old burgundy and white 1984 Cadillac Coupe de Ville. In dog years, that's 184 years. In mechanical years, it's a miracle. Summer, winter, spring or fall, the big boat just keeps on going on, and the ride is, well, like driving on a cloud.

Of, course because of its twilight years, there are a few flaws. One mildly bothersome glitch is the fact that you can't open the driver's seat's door because the door latch was knocked off when I exited my garage in a snowstorm a couple of years ago along with the outside mirror. Therefore, I have to enter the car from the passenger's side. When it's warm outside, I just leave the window down and reach inside for the handle and pop right in. When it's cold, I have to do my rolling tuck-and-go spin from the opposite side. I've become quite adept at it—so much so that onlookers believe I'm stealing the car.

It's hard to date when you have to push her out of the way and crawl in first, which is probably why I dine alone. But no matter—it's my lasting comfort and it works for me. Take a drive with your pal this week and rant all you want. What happens in the Deville stays in the Deville.

Nice talking to you.

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