I don’t wash my car that often – I’m pretty tidy in general and I don’t take it off-roading or anything. So, when I do get out the hose and bucket I tend to get swept up in memories.
Funny things, those memories. They jump from time to time and place to place – with little in the way of linear progression.
I remembered that day in early march when the weather was not really warm enough to wash my car but I did it anyway since I seriously needed a day outside.
I remembered being a kid and helping wash the family car with my parents and my sister. And that incident with the bucket…
I remembered going through car washes and being amazing and a little scared. And still a little amazed going through them as an adult.
But mostly, I remembered Jeff.
He was fanatical about keeping his cars clean and it wouldn’t bother him to spend hours washing and waxing and detailing his Honda or that gigantic classic caddy. Occasionally, he would wash my car too – I think more out of pity for the car than anything.
And I think he would have been pleased that I took a little time on a sunny day to give my car a good scrubbing. Pleased, and perhaps a little astonished. And maybe a little disappointed in my technique.
I did an okay job on the car and then got on with my afternoon. Other projects to work on and plans to make.
But, for a little while, my car and I took a short trip down memory lane. It’s shinier and I’m maybe a little more at peace.