Going Green In The Foothills

Yesterday we bade farewell to an old friend, a reliable gal that stuck with us (and sometimes to us) through thick, thin and in between. We honor her memory and wish her well in her new life. That companion, of course, was our venerable Mercedes-Benz 230C, a 2000 model we bought when she was less than one year old.

The evidence that we would need to part ways with her were there, we just ignored it. Our dog, Weasel (the beagle mutt) has peed on the back seat enough times - without us cleaning it promptly, of course - to cause the leather to start to disintegrate. Instead of repairing it, we did what anyone else would do who lived in denial AND loved their dog … we covered the corroded leather with some froufrou faux tiger skin pillow so Princess Piss-A-Lot could have her way with something less valuable.

Then there was the nick here, the ding there, an unsightly scuff in an embarrassing place (including one little episode with the garage door I'd rather not admit to). You know how it is: signs of wear and tear that every vehicle exposes to the world, much like our own ventures through life mark us in interesting and unusual ways. Eventually, our Maker (or Makers, for at times, man seems to have been designed by a committee) tells us our time is up and we needed to be traded in for a newer model.

There you have it, the three biggest businesses wrapped up into one lovely package: maternity, religion, and carcass disposal. Who would've thought that philosophy was so interwoven in buying a new car?

Unbeknownst to our old Benz, we had rented a Prius for a week while on a trip back east to visit family. My wife had started on the marketing campaign earlier in the year and convinced me we should try it out. Her arguments we simple: they use less gas and are therefore better on the environment and they help save a lot of money on fuel costs. I wasn't that convinced. Frankly, I thought that the Prius looked like a pregnant warthog and felt like it would attract elements from a fringe society I'd only read about in long screeds in the news media: yes, I mean environmentalists. If we owned a Prius, would I have to buy Birkenstocks, too?

I didn't want to give up on the old girl, though. I have a ten year / 100,000 mile / three major problem rule with my cars. If any of those criteria are met, it's time to replace the vehicle. At 97,000 miles, she was still cranking along, as reliable as ever. It wasn't going to make the 10 year mark until 2010. However, after we took her in for a regular service, we got the bad news … it would cost about one-third of her Kelly Blue Book value to bring her up to "code." Since the extended warranty expired in August, we'd have to pay the full freight. Not to mention the fact that the trunk door, a spring-loaded affair, had a failure, making the door dangerously prone to dropping onto an unsuspecting hand (or head). OK, her time had come.

Saturday started off innocently enough. My wife dropped me off to get a haircut and she was going to "run some errands." Little did I know that she was plotting to pick me up and take me to the local Toyota dealer to scout out a magnetic gray Prius she found was lurking there when browsing the internet. Two hours after getting my ears lowered, our bank account was reduced by a proportionate amount … though I think the latter expenditure was a better investment in time and money. And our little Mercedes … traded in as part of the deal.

Sail on, silver girl.

From our villa to yours, stay cool and fire-free this week.

Michael