Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there.
It doesn’t matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching, he said. The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.
I don’t have any pictures of it, but those of you who rode in it with me on the Bynars tour a few summers ago will undoubtedly have fond memories of being stuck in the “way back” seat with no A/C and windows that just barely opened.
Its last voyage was on Friday. The spare tire rolling around bashing against the rear hatch door will be thoroughly missed, as will the drivers side speakers that didn’t work half the time.
I decided to donate it to the American Diabetes Association, because diabetes is horrible and 8.3% of Americans have it. If you have a vehicle that you would like to donate, the ADA was super painless to deal with. Call 1-800-ADA-6570.
RIP, 1999 forest green Dodge Caravan Sport. Your ability to move my band’s equipment and friends will be missed.