Warning: This is a fairly sentimental post about a giant inanimate object with an engine, wheels, and well... flames. If this idea bothers you in the least, you may want to skip this one. 
There have been a lot of things going on in our little world lately. A lot of changes- some good, some sad, some necessary. One such change: We bid adieu to the Flaming Truck. Most of you who know me are probably wondering what kind of giant celebration I had and why you weren't invited; I have been mortally embarrassed by that truck since the first time I drove it. But, do you know when that was? A night in Jacksonville, Florida, over 8 years ago. The night I got pulled over because I didn't know that I had only turned on the parking lights. The night I went out to get Taco Bell for this guy with whom I was sort of starting to
fall in love.See, that's the thing about the truck. As long as I've known my huaband, he's had it. Love it or hate it, it was his. I rode around Northern Virginia in it when I first met his family and saw where he grew up. I followed it (in my Cavalier, which is also no longer with us) down the dark, empty road from Knoxville to Jefferson City when I met his friends at Carson Newman's homecoming, the glowing MAZDA letters offering reassurance that I was still on the right course. We rode in the truck when he showed me around Birmingham and took me on my first trip to the Irondale (Whistle Stop) Cafe. There were a lot of memories made in that tacky truck.
I remember the first time (I think) I drove it in Birmingham. I pulled in to the Target on 280 and took a deep breath, determined not to let myself look as insecure as I felt. I had only walked about 10 feet from the car when I saw two guys in camo and trucker hats looking at me. One exclaimed, "That was a girl driving that thing!" I think he was impressed, but that didn't make me feel any better about it.
That truck was definitely
not me. But it
was him- and I knew immediately when he pulled in somewhere to pick me up, or whether he was in class or back at his apartment- no one else drove anything like it. A few years later, I remember following those same glowing MAZDA letters at 2:00 in the morning, our vehicles packed with the last of our belongings as we moved into this house.
Since the girls have come along, I've had to drive the truck more frequently. Since they both have to be in carseats, whoever has the girls drives the van. If I went to camp early in the morning, or left Community Kids after the girls needed to be picked up from preschool, I took the truck. I always made litle jokes about it- offering it to people when they said they needed a new truck, joking about getting the Troy Lee decals removed,
never calling it anything except "the flaming truck." But I grew more comfortable driving it.
Once while driving it, I skidded off the road at the bottom of a hill in our subdivision. I was terrified, and resolved to try to avoid driving it in the rain. Another time (I think I blogged about it- if I find the post I'll link it here) hubby & I got it stuck in our backyard while trying to lay sod. Big Sister rode in it a few times, strapped into her carseat, holding her daddy's hand and listening to Snow Patrol sing "Shut Your Eyes."
It was a good truck. Gosh-awful ugly, but kind of like an old nightshirt you want to keep forever.
(BTW, I'm trying to part with a terrible, holey Yale nightshirt I've had since 8th grade... I have no idea why it is so hard) It always brought a smile to my face to see my husband pull in the driveway and reach out to get the mail, or to see it in the church parking lot or pulled around behind the shed at the softball fields. But the transmission was slipping, and it was more than a little scratched up, and
did I mention the flames?!?! In
good condition, Kelly told us it was only worth around $2,000. So when our favorite uncle (Sam) started offering $4500 for it, we decided it was time.
It was starting to die. It was ugly and impractical, and got bad gas mileage. But it was ours for our whole life together- and the hubs' for the last two years of his time in college. I still don't like to call it a clunker. Or think about it being crushed & recycled. My blue smurfmobile is still being driven around town- we see it once or twice a month because the guy (!) who drives it never took off the phi mu decal. But we'll never get to follow the flaming truck until I can take a picture of it with my cell phone. We left it in the parking lot of the Nissan dealer, and drove away with a Sentra.
And a lump in our throats.
And a big piece of flamage that I tore off before we left. What? They were just going to crush it up, anyway!
So, farewell, Flaming Truck. Thanks for the memories.
