Hello Again,
This morning, while showering, I was reminded of something my wife said the other day. It was an off-the-cuff remark related to our search for a new car. New to us anyway. To replace the Toyota Highlander we’ve driven for the past 11 years. We treated it well and it returned the favor, but it’s time to move on. (We decided 2 years ago to let go of our second car-my ’98 Jaguar XJ6 and become a one car family. The Jag needed a lot of work. The expensive kind. It also devoured a lot of high-octane fuel. It looked cool though. I sold it for cash to a guy wanting to surprise his fiancé. She was being released, yes released from prison in a week. What better way to say- welcome back. I asked no further questions but was impressed with his candor. So far, having only the Highlander has worked well.)
We knew pretty much what we wanted. A Toyota Highlander-Hybrid within a certain price range, well maintained with reasonable mileage and in good condition. Pretty much what everyone wants in a slightly used vehicle. This hybrid is our first venture away from the gas guzzlers we have always owned. A compromise of sorts. We’ll use less gas. Save money and leave a slightly greener footprint. We’re not exactly saving the planet, but every little bit helps, right? We will also, knock on wood, never find ourselves with the EMPTY WARNING flashing on our dashboard. A comfort to both of us as we have several road trips planned for the near future.
Truth be told though, I really, really like the regenerative braking systems in EVs. Love’em, actually. I believe they make me more of an active participant in the entire driving experience. Especially going downhill on a mountain road. What a joy.
We had our feelers out for several months but without any urgency. We had time. No rush. We heard nothing from anyone. Toyota Highlanders of any make and model are in high demand, scarcely available and rarely sit on the lot for more than a day. Deb had some time on her hands one Thursday evening and called the local Boulder Toyota Dealership. They had a car that just came in that pretty much matched our specs. It was on the lot, inspected cleaned and ready to roll. She set the appointment for 3pm the next day. A Friday. Scarcely off the phone, we both expressed concern for the late in the day appointment time. Let’s call back and move it to 9am. That’s when they open. So, we did just that. Mustn’t take chances with a hard-to-come by automobile.
We arrived early, met with the agent, took it for a test drive and, as with most of our other vehicles, we purchased the 2024 Toyota -Hybrid on the spot. We would have taken possession right then and there, but the salesman agreed upon a free windshield replacement. The original had a small crack and their mechanics needed more time to complete the installation. We could pick it up in the morning. Good thing. The delay enabled us to actually read the contract we signed earlier in the day. Yikes. Thousands of dollars in add-on’s we never approved caught our attention. Deborah read them the Riot Act, and everything was straightened out the next morning. This glitch, however, reminded us that used car salesmen have a less than stellar reputation. Time honored since the first Model T traded hands, no doubt. So, I suppose we should not have been surprised by our salesman’s attempt at pulling a fast one ahh maximize his profits. Still others would claim “I know it seems like criminal fraud, but it’s not. It’s marketing”. Anyway, it’s clear they are not expected to behave like boy scouts.
Reminds me of a scene in the movie- Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl. Captain Jack Sparrow played by Johnny Depp, is caught in a lie or at least deception. Depp’s response is memorable and all telling. He simply responded PIRATE. As if you should expect anything else from a pirate for goodness’ sake. USED CAR SALESMAN. Hello.
I drove our new car off the lot following closely behind Deborah, trying to ignore yet figure out some of the new bells and whistles. Hey, a backup camera that works. Nice. I can use voice commands? Later, later. Pay attention. Deborah was headed to our daughter’s house. We were giving our old Highlander to Owen, our youngest grandson. He’s looking forward to getting his driver’s license when he comes of age in late October. His older brother G, inherited his mom’s big SUV two years ago. It’s comforting knowing both boys are driving tanks. Or as close as you can get without actually owning an M4 Sherman.
Deborah at some point in the days leading up to our visit to the Boulder car dealership and the prospect of purchasing a new car, said something like- “This is or could be our last car”. In that moment her statement made little impression. I was probably emersed in the NYT’s game Connections or it’s daily Spelling Bee. BTW, I have yet to achieve a Queen Bee status.
But now, one day into owning a new car, with water running down my nose, preparing to reach for a towel, I paused to rehear what she had said previously. Our last car? As in final, there will be no more. We will not be shopping for, test driving or owning another car. Never, ever, as in zilch, none, zip. Yikes. A real eye opener.
Recently there have been other mentions of “lasts”. Some not so bad as in “my last colonoscopy”. The others related to as “in the past”. The last movie we watched. The last restaurant we visited, or my last bike ride. Not as in final. I must now face the facts: A preponderance of evidence is building reminding me that I will not be living forever. I was hoping to avoid the D word altogether. But then I would have to invoke another D-word, denial. I actually have a folder on Death and Dying, a not uncheerful compilation of my personal experiences related to the subject, from childhood through the present day. You of course have your own. It could be interesting to compare and contrast what we know, what we think we know, and how we feel about this often uncomfortable but important subject. We’ll find out, I guess, when it’s published. For now, I will tone it down a bit, death-lite if you will.
The subject of death is never that far away. This fact of life is less distant than it once was given my age, even if I’m in relatively good health. I do not dwell on it but it does creep into my psyche at times unexpectedly. Like in this very moment, drawing my attention away from the contentment of new car ownership. Take a deep breath and move on TJ.
You know how the days, months, and years seem to be shorter, passing more quickly? It’s because they are a smaller or larger percentage of our accumulated life experiences up to that point. For a 10 old, one year is 10% of the life they’ve lived so far. For a 50-year-old its only 2% and drops from there to 1% for a centenarian. I’m guessing that all of you fall somewhere between 1 and 2%.
Remember how our childhood summers seemed almost endless (yet always too short when a new school year dawned) while a year now can seem to disappear way before we are ready for the next. The psychological impact is real. As adults we unwittingly slip into familiar routines. The months contain fewer unique memories then they did as a kid. Back then everything felt unique, packed with firsts: my first school, my first bike, my first kiss and at times in the 1950’s…my first spanking.
Growing up, we’ve also experienced a million “lasts”. Our last at bat. But that’s today. We’ll be back playing tomorrow. Our last year of high school or college. But our whole life was in front of us. And so on.
Okay, so knowing how time warps, flies, shrinks and stretches in our minds, hearing those fateful words “last car” placed me on a light speed trajectory toward my own death, the week after next, and I’m being generous. Could be tomorrow. Or even before I complete this sente…. My last sentence. True but unlikely.
While still coming to terms with Deborah’s last car prognostication, for whatever reason I recalled something our realtor and friend Rick said several years ago when we purchased our home in Niwot. Paul, Deborah, this could be your “forever home”. Ahh… you could almost hear the angels singing in the background. Yes, my forever home. Sounds marvelous, comforting, reassuring, hopeful. I will be content in my new forever home- well-forever. As in a long, long time.
Rick could have said this could be your “last home” but he didn’t. Any salesman worth their salt would never use the word last, especially when dealing with senior citizens. Forever sounds so much better than last when purchasing a home as well as a car. Even though at the end of the day, using one of my all-time favorite expressions, it’s a distinction without a difference. Because at the end of the day, it does not matter. When the time comes, my forever car or my last home will be exactly what they always would have been, a true joy for as long as they lasted.
Deborah, perhaps sensing the impact her statement had on me threw out another thought on the matter. Well maybe this won’t be our last car after all. There may be another or others lifting my spirits. Okay, I guess I get to live a little longer. Great. As long as we are in this together- it’s all good.
Paul TJ Tolejko
I left my home in the small Western New York city of Batavia in March 1977 vowing never to shovel snow again. Never say never. Settling for 38 years in what was for me the "promised land" of Santa Barbara, California. I married, helped raise a family, started a business, traveled and live a wonderful life. We spent the last 10 years of our west coast journey in the small, quiet, picturesque town of Ojai. My oldest friends call me TJ.
My wife Deborah and I moved to Colorado in 2015 to be near our daughter, her husband and 2 growing grand-boys. Add 2 bulldogs (French & English) to the mix and our hands and hearts are full. We all reside in Niwot, a small quaint town 15 minutes north of Boulder. The mighty Rocky Mountains are at our doorstep.
I am a man, son, brother, cousin, friend, husband, father, uncle, grand father, in-law and mostly retired Coloradan. You can read more about me on the About Page. If you are curious about my professional life you can visit my Career at Venture Horizon.
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