Ode to an Old Friend

Dear “ The Wave”,

Its time to say goodbye and its with ambivalent feelings that I do so. I am forever grateful to you in so many ways and in so many situations. I am grateful first of all to your registered owners, my parents, who so generously relinquished you to my care in March of 09 when I decided to move from the slower pace you were used to with mom at your controls, to the busyness and craziness of Calgary where you were a necessary component; where relying on ‘two feet and a heartbeat’ or the loser cruiser would prove to be difficult , annoying, and not conducive to a happy social life.

We’ve travelled Canada’s most dangerous highway together twice, well, really , four times. And in those two trips to Calgary and back, we cheated death on several occasions through white out conditions, congested traffic travelling at bat-out-of-hell speeds, and while 18 wheelers loaded with anything from vehicles to logs would whizz by us, no doubt not even realizing that we were there: let alone that your driver was hanging on with both white knucked, tightly gripped hands, sweating and simultaneously chanting “I’m going to die, I’m going to die” and frantically praying to God that we’d survive this round, no doubt making random and ridiculous promises if prayers were answered.

You didn’t even mind when I loaded you up with rubbermaid bins and stuffed you full of my life, or what was left of my worldly possessions and drove the 10 hours to Calgary to start my next chapter.

We bombed around Calgary, many times wondering where the heck I was and I wonder how many kilometers were tacked on, lost and driving around in circles (or more accurately, squares) trying to navigate the maze of one way streets in downtown Cowtown.

We were like Bonnie and Clyde, (minus the crime part)
Sonny and Cher,
Peanut Butter and Jelly.

You get the picture, I really liked you.

I must admit though, (now that you’re gone and will never read this blog post) that I wasn’t entirely always satisfied that you weren’t a bigger, flashier, more socially acceptable car, nor was I always proud to be your driver. I thought that sometimes I was too cool for you; but in reality, I wasn’t. And the very fact that I thought I was made me the opposite. You were practical and cute, small and efficient and I could parallel park you any-where!

You got me safely to and from many places; you got me through two Alberta winters, one of which we soldiered through the untamed streets of the NE, where they don’t plow in hopes of Chinooks coming through and melting the enormous snowbanks and ruts that accrue.

Remember that time the Chinooks weren’t “like they used to be” and they didn’t melt the snow? And you had to pretend you were a snowmobile. Yeah, that was awesome, wasn’t it?

And remember when the snow didn’t melt until May, and then we had two more snowstorms? Yeah, that really kicked some serious mood-altering butt too.

But I kept winter tires on you and we made a great team and Dad’s skid control training (since I was 7) came in handy and I relearned how to winter drive like I was going up the Mountain Road in Blues Mills.

So with this I bid Adieu, with fondness and nostalgia – you were with me during a very important time in my life . You’ve heard me sing a lot and loud (and terrible) (eeks sorry !), You’ve heard me cry both happy tears and sad tears, and empty tears and lonesome tears and never told anyone what I mess I was. You were there on Hwy 63 when I decided that my life as it was , wasn’t working out for me, and I committed whole heartedly to return to God and whatever that step entailed. You were used for the greater good when you drove Mustard Seed people to church and delivered me and random others clothing donations to the Seed. You were my freedom and couldn’t have done this part of my journey without you and I’m glad it was you along for the ride … Just ask the photo radar guys, they know more than anyone just how along for the ride you were.

I’m going to miss you and your mild inability to make it to 6o going uphill in an acceptable timeframe, but you’re so cute that if you had cheeks, I’d seriously squeeze them.

I hope you find a nice, new home with nice people who will appreciate you as much as I do.

Good Luck and Peace out Homie!