Oh Well

In the words of the remarkable and long-departed Janis Joplin,

Oh Lord, won’t you buy me
A Mercedes Benz?
My friends all drive Porsches
I must make amends

I worked hard all my lifetime
No help from my friends
Oh Lord, won’t you buy me
A Mercedes Benz?

My beloved car has died. So says our trusted mechanic, the one who’s kept her alive all these many years. There are too many things wrong, the engine, this hose, that gasket, and then there is something about bubbles, which sounds a lot like a death rattle. I can’t even bear to think about it. This is both insignificant in the scheme of things and monumental to me. I risk being thought of as not a serious person. I am a serious person, just one in love with a particular car.

Nothing lasts forever, I tell myself. Houses, clothes, green silk bathrobes, and weddings rings hung on chains around one’s neck. You have to be able to go on after losing things or you will get stopped in traffic.

Nothing lasts forever except maybe our own selves. And perhaps one’s person if one is very lucky and unusual and not dependent on the longevity of cars.