Some people reminisce about the number of lovers in their life. Some people count the number of cars they have had. Sometimes the two overlap.

My first car, bought as a teenager with help from my dad, was a white second hand Ford Pinto with a manual transmission. The deal was that I had to pay for part of it and he would help. It was a lesson in responsibility.

Since that time I have owned six white cars. Only once was the choice deliberate (high-visibility for safety while driving kids around) but the other times it was just what happened to be available. This year there seems to be so many white cars on the road and in car lots. Most of the ones I saw had been prior leases, so I’m assuming the cars that dealerships tend to put up for lease are primarily white.

There are pros and cons to having a white car. You can see them at night better, and reports state they have a lower rate of accidents due to the contrast of color (how does that play out in a snowstorm?). Supposedly white exteriors don’t get as hot in the summer as they deflect heat. While some people feel they show dirt, others say that actually it is the opposite. Some people think they look classy, some feel they are a bit boring. For me, I always thought a couple of my past white cars looked like ambulances.

On reflection, I’ve owned an awful lot of cars, perhaps more than should be normal for a woman my age.

Of the ones I can recall (and I think I’ve remembered all of them), as of today they add up to sixteen cars. Most of them were not bought new. Like old lovers, a number of these used cars had issues and didn’t last as long as hoped. A few of them were run right into the ground. Some were driven on long daily commutes or did cross-country trips.

Each one provided a ride through different chapters of life. A few were testaments to various levels of poverty, while the later ones reflected periods more prosperous. One was totaled by a boyfriend. Another seized up on a road trip and sold for parts in central California. A couple of those cars chauffeured my beautiful new babies home in them, shuttled them back and forth to school, drove them off to college, were driven in the middle of the night to be present for the births of their own children. When I think about it, while each car was tied to a story, the purchases of most of the white cars had an element of caring or happiness attached to them.

While lying in bed at night trying to fall asleep and thinking of useless distractions, I sorted them out. Of the sixteen, they fell into a number of categories:

The Models – Ford Pinto – 3 (the cars known to explode); Volkswagen Beetle – 3; Chevy (Nova and Impala) – 2; Oldsmobile (Omega) – 1; AMC (Gremlin) -1; Toyota (Tercel and Corolla) – 2; Subaru (Brighton, Crosstrek, Impreza, Outback) – 4.

The Colors – Silver – 1, Orange – 1, Brown/copper – 1, Blue – 3, Green – 4, White – 6.

The Transmissions – Manual – 9, Automatic – 7

What started this weird rumination was the fact that my car was reaching the end of its affordably serviceable life – unfortunately a bit sooner than I had anticipated. I had purchased a silver Subaru brand new a little over ten years ago – actually ordered it – where I could choose the color and features.

At the time I declared this would be “The Last Car I Will Ever Own.” It was a peppy little thing that handled nicely, although small, very noisy, and not the most comfortable on a long haul; but I was very fond of it. I did not anticipate outliving this car. Yet – perhaps surprisingly – I’m still here, suddenly needing to find a replacement sooner rather than later. I had hoped to pass it on to a grandson, but that is not going to happen now. I am rather sad to say good-bye to it.

Under the current life situation, buying a brand new vehicle wasn’t really in the cards, so the hunt was on for a good used one. It has been a bit of a shock to discover that in today’s market, a decent used car costs almost as much as a new one. Perhaps it is rather shallow, but one issue I was stuck on after dealing with all the practical requirements was the color. I wanted something different, something that was a reflection of my inner self. Something I would be happy to see sitting out in the driveway every morning. Something I could find in a parking lot amid the glut of sameness. And yet every vehicle I found that checked the other boxes and happened to be available was White.

So I held off, and waited, and resisted, and kept looking, while anxiety grew and grew. Until all of a sudden I found myself in the situation where I had to get a car immediately. I found one that was a few years old. White Car Number Six.

And here is where my Senior Stuff kicks in. All the technology makes me a little bit anxious. The only things I really wanted on this car (besides Not White) were a back-up camera and heated seats. I wanted to clearly see what was behind me so I wouldn’t hit anything, and I wanted a warm butt in the winter. That was it. I don’t want and will never use things like a sunroof or cruise control, yet most of these recent cars don’t even give you a choice. I didn’t want leather seats or leather anything.

What I discovered is the more recent cars don’t even have a key for the ignition, you have a “fob” you keep on you and push a button on the dashboard to start the car. You don’t use a key to open your door either, instead you touch the door handle with your finger to unlock and lock your door. I seriously dislike this. I don’t like that when you stop at a stoplight, your engine turns off and then kicks on when you begin to move again. I want to permanently disable this feature. I would love to have a regular key instead of this fob thing. But that’s not the case. Embracing state-of-the-art seems to be a bit of a necessity. I am dragging my heels while going forth.

I know, this really sounds like First World Problems. And it is. But here we are….

All these modern changes remind me of my own mother’s resistance to technology years ago. She had a simple microwave oven in her kitchen that had dials on it. You adjusted the dial to the minutes you wanted and another dial to turn it on. After many years of happy use, eventually it stopped working. By that time, microwave ovens all had panels with push-button keypads on them. She was adamant that she did not want a keypad on her microwave. We laughed at her, but she insisted that was the only type she wanted.

There was no internet back then to do a search for a microwave. After scouring every store to accommodate her, I think we probably found the last microwave with dials ever made in some dusty carton, forgotten at the bottom of some big box store shelf. She was delighted with it. After she passed, nobody wanted such a dinosaur; we couldn’t even give it away. I just looked up dial microwaves to see if I could find a photo of an old one, only to discover they actually still do make them and can be ordered online. She would have been very happy to know that she still had this simple option.

I fear I have inherited some of my own mother’s traits in that department. I only use the most basic of functions on my keypad microwave. And honestly, a washer and dryer with dials instead of computerized keypads is much more preferable. In my mind, the fancier these devices and machines become, the more apt they are to break – and the more expensive they are to fix, if they can even be fixed at all.

There are some nice safety features in the newer car though – the blind spot indicators are my personal favorite. There has been a learning curve, but my friends and family assure me I will get used to it all and eventually come to love it. As I write this, I am not at that place yet.

In the meantime, I drove three blocks the other day and passed six identical white cars to mine. Not just white-color cars, but the same exact white car as mine. Went into a store, came out, and could not find my white car among all the other white cars in the parking lot.

Maybe I should have settled for the neon yellow/green one that I waffled over a few weeks ago, but I just could not get my head (or my stomach) past that color. Someone referred to it as a “snot-rocket,” which pretty much summed it up. I don’t think I would have felt good about seeing that somewhat vomitous color parked in the yard each day. Maybe I would have felt differently about it thirty or forty years ago, but not now. The salesman told me that people will actually approach me at the gas station to admire such a great color, and that I would be noticed in that car. I told him I really didn’t need any more people noticing me, as I’m already noticed too much.

Out of the sixteen past cars, only a few of them have been referred to with nicknames. There was Skylab, Omega, The Gremlin, Big Blue and The Silver Bullet. “Skylab” had been badly damaged in a hit and run. Over time, pieces of it began to periodically drop off, much like the space station that fell to earth. “Omega” was an Olds Omega; it was a no-frills, unassuming, do your own thing kind of car – “the new Olds is old news.”

“The Gremlin” was actually an AMC Gremlin, light green in color. It lived up to it’s name – that car was possessed. Inexplicably, a rim on it once shattered while I was driving, sending the entire wheel – both rim and tire – careening down a hill where it just missed hitting someone, leaving me skidding along the road on an angle, the axel sending a shower of sparks in its wake. The driver’s side door of The Gremlin also decided to no longer work, so you had to climb over the center console and through the passenger side to get in and out of it. Evil car.

Big Blue was just big and blue. It was a very comfortable car, but it did not have a “friendly face.” I will share that I often see faces and other images in random objects, which is a phenomenon called Pareidolia. Big Blue had headlights that tended to make the car look slightly annoyed, if that makes sense. When I moved on to my next car, having an affable face was a consideration.

My last car was the Silver Bullet, because it was silver and darn fast for such a little thing. Over time though, I had begun to refer to more often as “Skylab II” as it had taken on the appearance of a dented tin can. Getting the first dent is always the most painful. After that, it’s just more dents.

The front bumper shattered one sub-zero winter’s day, when I stopped at a neighbor’s house to feed their pet turtle while they were away and drove over a ridge of ice at the end of their driveway. It seemed every time went shopping, I would come home to a new scratch or dent on that car. It came to a point that when my son-in-law backed into the rear corner of it, I told him not to worry as long as the tail lights still worked. When my daughter backed into the front end of it, I just stood in the driveway laughing like some crazy person. I told her the same thing – as long as the headlights still work, it’s okay. My five year old granddaughter added a few blobs of silver paint to the scratches. That car had character, and yes, I will miss it.

I’ve decided to name this new car to help ease into it. It has a nice pearly finish to it, and came into my possession on the full moon. So I’ll call it “Pearl Moon”. Pearl Moon is going to need a number of stickers and other identifying objects stuck on to it in order for me to find it in a parking lot, so I’ve begun to do that. By the time I am done with it, it’s going to be a rolling advertisement for “Old Lady Who Can’t Find Her Car.”

I’m hoping with time I will get over my aversion to all the fancy stuff and come to love it. I hope I will handle the first dent with grace. Today, after weeks of drought, we have had rain. I walked outside to see my car covered with wet Japanese maple leaves that have been artfully plastered throughout. The contrast is rather decorative. I drove all over town with those leaves stuck all over the car, and was able to find it in a parking lot, since it made such a loud, autumnal statement.

I hope Pearl Moon will eventually have some nice stories attached to it. Coming full circle, this will probably be my Last Car. Odd how both the first and the last are second-hand white cars, although miles apart in technology.

Although, you never know….

~*~