The Cars of Me and Mine

The Great Pumpkin as she was then.

Ralph.
With, from the left: Flint, Iggle and Muffy

I love cars. Especially old ones.
We have owned many vehicles which have taken our family, in its various incarnations, to many places.
Most of the cars worked.
Some didn't.
All were old. And all had a personality of their own.
In the early days of our marriage, my husband and I had a Dodge Colt.
On which my Dad had made the down-payment before turning the monthly payments over to me.
My husband used to tell people that he married me for my car - and got the payments.
But I digress . . .
And we had an old beater of a truck.
For which my husband paid $200.00.
The Colt, we called The Great Pumpkin. Or GP for short.
Because it was orange.
The truck we named Ralph.
For no real reason.
Both were dependable.
One had character. I know you're wondering, so I'll tell you.
It was the truck.
Ralph would start completely without a key, which was notable.
And under any conditions. In Alberta, Canada, that could mean anything.
Ralph's horn honked when you pulled out the ash tray.
Really.
I have to admit, here, that the horn renovation was my husband's handiwork. He liked character.
After Ralph and The Pumpkin, we went through a steady stream of vehicles.
An Impala, The Lemon or #$%^&*@#$!!!, that looked really, really good, and was only missing one part.
A transmission.
Let's just say that transmissions are really, really important and move on.
An old Chevy van, Block-ie (with a home-made bench seat bolted to the floor), that we got by trading in a rusted set of harrows.
A station wagon, TanVan, that we got by trading in the van. Actually, that station wagon, an old brown Chevy, was interesting to start.
Oh, it would.
Start, I mean.
It just took a little 'coaxing'. And by coaxing, I mean that Grant would have to crawl under it with a hammer and give the solenoid a little tap while I, seated comfortably in the driver's seat, turned the key.
For those who do not know, a solenoid is a little wire coil that theoretically acts as a switch or relay between the car battery and the motor. In reality, it is designed to act as aggravation for the car owner.
Especially when it is pouring rain or is -40.
As often happens in Alberta.
On consecutive days.
Moving on . . .
We traded that old brown wagon for a newer blue one, Blue-y. Yes, imaginative, we aren’t.
Then we traded that one for a 12-passenger Beauville. Das Boat.
Trust me, we needed the space.
Then, as our family began to move out, we traded the big van for a nice car.
A really nice car. Aptly named: Lady.

Buick. Root beer brown. My husby's favourite colour.
For a few wonderful years we knew what comfort was.

But, like us, it aged. And finally, pooped out in our front drive.
Sigh.
We could never replace it, so we did the next best thing.
Supplanted it with an almost new Olds van from some good friends.
“Owlyet’ ran dependably till it died an ignominious death somewhere near the mis-named Hope, B.C.

It was replaced by a 2010 red cross-over (unimaginatively named ‘Red’) purchased from Daddy when he decided he was done with driving.

And that is what we are driving today.
Oh, and my Dad's old 2000 Sonoma truck, Everready.

Good vehicles all.

But you know what? I miss Ralph.