A Day of Firsts

First time driving a golf cart.

First time cooking a pot roast.

First time my car has been a victim of a hit and run.

An R.C.M.P. officer just called to say poor ol' Rodge, Matt and I's '97 Dodge Neon, was hit on the left side while innocently waiting outside our apartment building. The R.C.M.P. has already located the car that committed the vicious attack but it's driver is yet to be found. The officer said Rodge will probably be written off by the insurance company because his left side is smashed so it is time to say goodbye.


Rodge in better days.

And now his eulogy. We called you names when we had to pay for new organs (two batteries, two alternators, rack and pinion, water pump, radiator, transmission hose) to replace your failing ones and when you leaked oil and transmission fluid everywhere, resulting in a very painful process of trying to remove oil from concrete on our underground parking stall. You whined a lot- your engine light always on, to signal you wanted to visit the doctor again. But you had good characteristics too. Your windshield was nearly indestructible, your air conditioning was especially cold, and although at first it was annoying, the way you whistled in the wind on the six hour treks to Alberta became endearing. You were considerate too. When you did break down, it was almost always in convenient places, usually gasping your last shuddering breath as you pulled into our driveway. You lasted to the end of university, like you promised, remember Rodge? And for that these two poor students will be eternally grateful. Say hi to Bolf and Gretta in car heaven for us.