Letting Go
Thirteen years ago today, I bought the convertible VW bug featured in the photo as an early 50th birthday present to myself. I fell in love with this car the moment I saw it. A mid-life crisis? Maybe. But my motivation was driven more by the fact that I no longer needed to ferry my girls to softball games and I now had the time and the means to head off on road trips.
The inaugural road trip happened the next month, a trip along the Pacific coast, from the suburbs of Vancouver to Gualala, just north of San Francisco. The drive was exhilarating, the scenery was spectacular, and the experience, well, the experience was not quite what my husband and I had anticipated.
My husband drove the first stretch, the I-5 all the way to Portland. We arrived at our hotel, unpacked, and took the tram into the Pearl District. We stocked up on books at Powell’s and enjoyed a beer and burger before settling in for the night. My husband woke in the middle of the night sweating profusely, he felt fine though so we didn’t give it much thought. The next morning we headed west towards the coast, with my husband in the driver’s seat again. But by midday I was driving, my husband sleeping in the passenger seat. We considered heading home but decided he was just stressed and exhausted from work.
Gold Beach, Oregon was our final stop before the last stretch to Gualala and we woke up that morning with a feeling of dread, there was something seriously wrong with my husband. I called Renata at Mar Vista Farm and Cottages* and asked if she knew a doctor who might see my husband when we arrived. She said she would check with the local community health centre. She called back within minutes, yes they would see him but we needed to get there before they closed at 4:30. I barely remember the drive that day as I sped through some of the most amazing scenery – giant redwood trees, terrifyingly high oceanfront cliffs, and blinding mist. We arrived at the clinic with minutes to spare. My husband had walking pneumonia. He spent the next week sleeping and resting in our cozy cottage, snuggled by the wood stove on the cool mornings and enjoying the afternoon sun from our front yard. I picked organic fruits and vegetables from the garden, and every morning we woke to a basket of eggs hanging from a hook by the front door. I read through a big pile of books. My little VW bug sat parked the whole week except for my birthday, when we headed to the Anderson Valley for some wine tastings.
This was the first of many memorable trips enjoyed in my little car.
The next year Tucker joined our family; puppy-size he fit perfectly in the car. And over the years, he has fit his growing body into the back seat of the car, even sleeping comfortably on the many ferry trips to our island home.
I wasn’t the only one who enjoyed my car. My girls would borrow the car to drive to music festivals and weekend get-togethers with friends. Even my husband enjoyed driving the car, the roof always down and music blasting from the radio. I met women who were envious of my car, it seems a lot of women have dreamed of owning a convertible VW bug. And I spoke to numerous elderly couples who reminisced about the old VW bugs from their younger days.
Fast-forward thirteen years. Tucker is almost twelve years old, deaf, and arthritic. He has not been in the backseat of the car for over a year. I hardly ever drive with the roof down anymore. A melanoma scare a few years ago has made me wary of the sun. And my little car, while still peppy, is visiting my local mechanic more often these days for repairs that are getting increasingly more expensive.
So a few weeks ago I bought a new car, or rather a new-to-me car, a 2003 Subaru Outback wagon. The Subaru is older than my bug and has more kilometres on the odometer, but it is sturdy and dependable. Tucker can easily jump into the back and stretch out, and I now have loads of room for lugging things back and forth to our island home.
The dilemma is what to do with my sweet little VW bug. I don’t want to let her go, I don’t know if I can let her go. I thought about parking her on the island, she does make the perfect island car, but I almost always take my car the ferry, Tucker in the backseat, and every available space stuffed with books, food, clothes, and stuff! So I really don’t need an extra car on the island.
Struggling with the fate of this little car has had me thinking of how difficult it is to shed belongings. I have just finished packing up my mother’s apartment for the second time in a year. This time around it was much easier because last year when we moved her from the island to the mainland, we were ruthless in getting rid of things she had spent a lifetime accumulating. I wrote about it in a blog post last July, Swedish Death Cleaning (FYI - also by far my most-read blog post!). In Swedish, the word for death cleaning is döstädning, which is a term for the cleaning and decluttering you do when you begin to reach the end of your life. It has been described as the opposite of Marie Kondo's decluttering method which focuses on only keeping things that bring you joy. The purpose of Swedish death cleaning is to keep only the things that your friends and family will want once you've died.
Frankly, neither of my daughters want my little bug, nor do any of my friends. And really, it doesn’t bring me much joy anymore. The wonderful memories I have will stay with me long after I sell the car.
Now I just need to cultivate the same attitude to all the ‘stuff’ crammed in drawers, hidden in cupboards and displayed throughout our home. A few times during these pandemic months I have attempted some decluttering but without much success. But I know I need to get serious about some Swedish death cleaning. As Margareta Magnusson, author of The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning, writes - "A loved one wishes to inherit nice things from you. Not all things from you."
* Mar Vista Farm and Cottages has new owners, however looking at the website, the property and cottages still live up to my memories! They still even have the Japanese soaking tub!