Not that we have ever been flashy car enthusiasts, but our retirement car, a used VW Sportswagen, is not currently equipped as we had originally envisioned. We wanted something that got good gas mileage and was comfy for long distances with lots of space to haul things.
Hauling thing seems to be something we do a lot. In recent years we have hauled mulch for my husband Bob’s community garden site, a thrift store china service for twelve to our cottage in Ontario Canada, and once a used stove my sister bought. but what we haul these days is different.
This year we carry our grandchildren’s sets of used golf clubs to the driving range and carted a second-hand toy kitchen, the birthday present 4-year-old Adam requested, to his home. We pop in a booster seat and drive an hour to New Kent to meet our daughter-in-law halfway from Stafford where our son Josh’s family lives. We retrieve our 6-year-old granddaughter Emma, who has frequent overnights with us in Norfolk. On Monday afternoons we carry James’s cello and Veronica’s violin to their music lessons.
After we moved to Norfolk last November to be near our grandchildren, our car interior seemed to be moving backwards in time. We have a car seat and the aforementioned booster in the back as we did in the 1980s when “the boys” (now 39, 40, and 41) were young. Again, I find random tee shirts and sippy cups there. My husband Bob keeps a trash bag on the floor to cover the driver’s seat when Adam is aboard. The latter kicks the seat back regardless of how much he is reminded, and Bob gets cranky about the scuff marks. James loves to throw things in the waterproof trash suspended from the passenger’s seat back into the back.
I love the backseat chatter. James seems to have the answer to everything and Veronica, the oldest at nearly 11, is generally quiet, but occasionally looks up from the paperback novel she is reading and says, “He doesn’t know. He is just making that up.”
“Put down my window,” 4-year-old Adam commands.
“No, Adam, there is air conditioning, and it won’t work with the window open,” 8-year-old James patiently explains.
The driving routes I have memorized are different from what I expected too. I don’t know the way downtown or to the mall, but I can drive easily to each of the children’s schools, to music teacher Mrs. Morton’s house, to the Stafford Walmart and neighborhood swimming pool and playground, to the Virginia Zoo, and the Virginia Beach Aquarium, and to Target where there is a large toy selection.
In the waning sunlight of midafternoon, retirees our age, looking tanned and fit, whip past us in new convertibles on their way to Virginia Beach. We go there too, but with coolers and sandy beach toys tossed in the way-back.
They are living their retirement dream and we are living ours.
Nana and Nono's Great Adventure 