Ode to Betsy

Today I gave away my truck...a 1991 Ford Ranger club cab. I didn't imagine when I bought it brand new after I signed my first teaching contract that I would drive it for 17 years. It had more than 327 thousand km's on it and was still going strong. The only problem was that it was getting hard on gas for some reason and we were given a newer vehicle (1992) in much better shape with much lower mileage and it seemed crazy to keep them both.

My truck took me all the way to Inuvik via Vancouver, the Queen Charlotte Islands, the Cassiar Highway and Dawson City in 1992. In 1993 it helped me survive the L.A. Freeway after I drove it all the way to California. In 1995, it took me all the way out to St. John's Newfoundland. It never needed any major repairs, could start at temperatures up to -30C and had room enough in the back for a bed. I once calculated that I spent a total of 7 months sleeping in the back of it.

Part of me is very sad to see it go. I kinda wish I could drive it until it's last breath, when we would slide together to the edge of the highway and I would know it was over. I want to honor the longevity of a vehicle that hasn't self destructed after the warranty ran out, something constructed without built in obsolescence. I traveled with it as it aged from cool to clunker, never needing a new vehicle to replace the one that worked perfectly well despite the gathering blemishes.

It probably wasn't the most environmentally friendly thing to do, driving an old truck, but after 17 years I figure I spent less than $100/month for the privilege of getting from A to B. These days, that's a pretty good deal. I am grateful that Bob, the new owner, can fix it up and use it for a few more miles. (Why is it that the mileage that I got 17 years ago is better than the fantastic mileage that they're offering with new vehicles today?)

Keeping the Faith

There are moments and days that I feel intense despair. I don't know how to explain it other than I shiver to my soul. What brings it on? Maybe it's an election where 7% of the vote doesn't get any seats in the House of Commons, but 10% somehow grab 42. Maybe it's how the looming spectres of peak oil and climate change enter so many of our conversations and news stories yet they doesn't seem to invoke any real commitment to change. Maybe it's how a personal pizza can make a mockery of everything we claim education is about. Maybe it's just about how much I miss the guiding lights that always seemed to know a way out of the darkness.

Do I tilt at windmills or do I dig my hands and feet into the earth and search for that spiritual connection that I know is there? Do I spend the rest of my life playing with extended metaphors or do I give myself over to daily mediations and the present moment? I should be old enough not to mess around with this kind of angst but it's been a helluva year.