ME-OW

I love it when opportunity presents a moment to simply appreciate the things we already have. Others may have so-called "better", but finding those little perks can certainly do much to keep jealousy at bay.

Deat used to name all our vehicles. His convertible Mustang, was, of course, Sally. My little Ram 50 from when we first married was Rachel. His Sebring was Fritz. My GMC Sonoma was Gertie Mac.

My current truck is a 2001 Dakota, she had just 4,000 miles on her when we brought her home. We needed the Dakota because at the time, it was the only small extended-cab truck that featured a bench for a car-seat rather than the traditional jump-seats. My old job kept me on the road constantly, so in keeping with our previous logic, he chose one with a 4-cylinder motor for economy, plus it met my preference for a standard transmission. We test drove it a few miles, it seemed perfect for our needs.

That said, let me add: there's a reason Dodge stopped making 4-cylinder Dakotas in 2001. The body is too big for the motor. "Daisy" has no power at all. Living on the edge of Appalachia, Home of Steep-Hills-Everywhere, this doesn't make for a pleasant driving experience. Going north on the interstate, in several places I have to down-shift to keep her from dropping down to 40 miles per hour.

I will say, in this manner she has probably protected me from my lead foot on more than one occasion. And, she's managed to take me over 160,000 miles (Deat couldn't drive a standard, so I know it was me). Deat picked her out, and made every single payment as a present for me. Money can't buy her.

The current car is a 1997 Buick Riviera that has had the same last name on the title since she first came off the lot. She belonged to my in-laws, and we bought her from them a few years ago when my mother-in-law decided to upgrade. Deat loved new cars, but since she had all the bells and whistles, she was satisfactory to him. She also embodied a nice typical Buick feature, the simple smoothness of the ride. He never loved her enough to name her, however. She's given me very little trouble, despite the 131,000 miles showing on her odometer.

When I embarked on attending school, I knew times would be lean, but I decided that was okay; I didn't have any debt outside my mortgage, and while they aren't the newest, I had two completely-paid-for vehicles to drive. I figured if one broke down, I'd have the other one to use until I could get repairs. So what if the newer of the two was nine years old?

A few weeks ago, I spent quite a bit of time riding with my sister in the new Tundra she bought for her husband. I had no idea of all the technology available. It has blue-tooth installed to take your phone conversation right through the speakers. It has GPS. It has a jack for their I-pod so they can choose from hundreds of songs they want to listen to. I could go on and on. It's a beautiful truck.

Since then I've been the teeniest bit green over it. I looked at the vehicles in my driveway with a bit less pride, and perhaps the slightest bit of distaste. I started noticing that it seemed that everyone at church, every one of my peers at school had nicer and newer automobiles. I started to feel the tiniest bit inferior.

This morning, however, the Buick gave me that "second-to-savor" I needed while driving back from taking the girls to school.

Miss B.B.'s preschool is on the very south end of town, right off the old north-south route. This road, especially near the start and end of the school day, is as busy and hectic a road as any I've driven in Lexington. At this particular intersection, you might wait and wait and wait even to simply turn right. Oftentimes, especially in Daisy, I have to wait for the light to change to get out. It's not horrible, but it can be an annoying, lengthy wait because the "change" trigger usually does not engage unless there is another car across the intersection.

This morning, I arrived at the intersection just as my light turned red. Northbound traffic was really moving, but I saw a small break coming up. The Riviera has another wonderful feature: a Supercharger. I turned, stepped down on her and she took off like a shot, 10-20-30-40-50. She seamlessly merged in, never even slowing the vehicle behind me. I grinned at the small adrenaline rush I had when her motor awakened from her typical almost inaudible purr to her quietly powerful roar.

I think I'll call her "Kitty."