Since The Vulcan rarely goes out with the children and even more rarely drives the van, he thought there was no reason not to drive the current one to death. I, on the other hand, was the one who ran the risk of it breaking down on the expressway with Foghorn in the car, whining in my ear for hours on end waiting for AAA. Not to mention I've been fighting sticking side doors for years. It all came to a head on Saturday when Grandma tried to close the door from the inside only to have the button she'd depressed get stuck and the door refused to close all the way. I decided it was perhaps not wise to have a woman about to turn 79 ride home holding onto the handle to keep it from sliding open. There I stood, in full view of a restaurant full of people, kicking the hell out of the door panel, trying to get the button to dislodge and/or the door to shut all the way. Foghorn even got to kick it from the inside, but instead of hitting only the button she kept hitting the glass and I could see her entire foot going through, so she had to be restrained. Once I finally got that door shut, I placed a loving, calm, and sane call to my husband, telling him we were going out to look for a new van. I may have cut him off mid-sentence by hanging up on him, but that really doesn't sound like me..
Foghorn was extremely enthusiastic about the idea of a new van, although she kept insisting I also check the car lot for an RV. A couple years ago she became obsessed with owning a Winnebago and began saving money in a three foot tall Coca-Cola bottle bank. That was fine (even though the price tag on the model she wanted was $180K and it would take her a good 25 years to save that much from her allowance). What I objected to was her insistence on hitting up people for money. Grandma and Chester regularly had their pockets picked, which was bad enough. The straw that broke The Warden's back was when she started panhandling to complete strangers in stores or restaurants, pleading for pennies for her Winnebago fund. When that didn't work, she began going around saying she was a "poor little urchin" and could someone spare a dime.
|The Professor in Gatlinburg -- 2008|
|Camp Gonnawanna - 2008|
The Professor is a harder nut to crack. He's old enough to ride shotgun now, so he's able to fiddle with knobs in the dashboard and is enjoying that I can hook the iPod right into the stereo where he has easy control over songs. He loves the automatic sliding doors, especially opening them with the button on my key chain. And he thinks having 10 cup holders is just the best idea ever. Still, he's having trouble letting go of the old van. Repeatedly while riding he says, "I'm not saying this one isn't better. I'm just really gonna miss the old one."
|My beloved Tristan|
|Frank gives it two paws up.|