"But That Car Belonged to my Dad!"

Today, in my role as a geriatric case manager, I met with the adult children of a gentleman who will be moving to assisted living because his Alzheimer's disease has progressed to the point where his wife can no longer care for him.

As we discussed this gentleman's possessions and what the family wanted done with them, I brought up the 1982 Audi that is sitting abandoned at a home in a rural area of Arizona where our client lived until two years ago.  When I visited this largely empty home, I saw the car covered with dust.   Children had written "wash me" on the rear window.  The driver's door was ajar and the car smelled both musty and dusty.  Back at the office, I checked the Kelley Blue Book value and found that at most, this car was worth about $1200.

But when I mentioned the car to the family today, they told me an amazing thing.  They estimated the car may be worth up to $100,000 because it was purchased new, in Germany, and is a model that was never made in the United States.  Our client's son said his dad had always wanted him to have that car.  

So I said, "why don't you sell it, if it's worth that much money".  His response, "but that car belonged to my dad."  Obviously, he felt he would be violating a special bond between father and son if he sold the car.  Perhaps the car reminds this son of the happiness his dad felt at having this new car; of rides they took together and times they shared.

In my own life, I had a similar situation. In 1966, my dad had purchased a 1964  bronze Cadillac Sedan DeVille for my mother from a wealthy friend who was going to trade it in.  My mother was so proud of that car.  She would drive to our house to pick up my three young sons, and they would bound into that car, eager to sit on the wide leather seats, push the automatic window and seat controls and ride like young princes in the back.   Even if they weren't going to be riding in the car that day, the second they saw the car turn the corner onto our block, they whooped it up, because their Grandma was coming to visit.

Well, my mother passed away in 1975.  The car couldn't fit into our garage because of its length and massive fins.  So it was safely stored until one of my boys went off to college and needed a car.  I gave it to him and he loved it, but reality soon outstripped his love affair when he found it was expensive to drive and when it broke, replacement parts were not available. 

So he drove it back to Denver and we took it to our family farm in Greeley, Colorado, where we lovingly put it up on blocks and covered it with a $300 car cover, locks included.

Fast forward- it 's several years later.  The farm is being sold and we need to move the car out of the barn.  When we took off the cover and opened the door, mice scurried to and fro.  They had eaten the seats, the wiring and had nested everywhere.  The car we had so lovingly preserved (we thought) was virtually worthless.  A wealthy car collector from Aspen bought it for $300 and had it towed away.  I'm quite sure he restored it.

Sometimes the things we save because they remind us of special times can become a burden. Better the memories than the thing itself.  Next time you have to make a choice about whether to keep, sell or give away a "thing", write down your thoughts about it or take a picture of it and send it on to its next life.  Nothing lasts forever except the memories  and stories we can pass down to the next generation.

Those Old Shirts

Today, I noticed three older adults, all of whom were wearing very worn shirts.  The shirts grabbed my attention because in each case, they were obviously from some athletic event that the person had previously participated in.

The first shirt was worn by a lovely lady, in very great shape, who was visiting the dog park.  Her shirt was from a 1992 Marathon in Tucson.  

The second was worn by an older gentleman, who walked in a bent position. His t-shirt commemorated a race up Mt. Tamalpais.  For those of you who don't know, "Mt. Tam", as it is fondly called by locals in the San Francisco Bay area, is a beautiful peak, north of the Golden Gate Bridge, that rises some 2300 feet.  It is a favorite for hikers, bikers and joggers and a very challenging adventure for anybody who tackles it.  I once rode it myself!

The third shirt was a cycling shirt worn by a grey-bearded gentleman who was struggling up a steep hill in Tucson on his bicycle.  It was from the University of Colorado cycling team in Boulder, CO.

Why do we save and wear these old shirts and discard garments that are much newer?  I believe the reason is that these shirts remind us that we were once younger and stronger and could do more than we can today.   But they also are a way of identifying with feats that we are very proud of having accomplished.  

It's not only us "older folks" who cherish these shirts.  One of my sons is a bicycle racer when he's not being a very busy lawyer or a loving father.   He's been racing for twenty-seven years.   On the days he's around the house, he is likely to appear in a torn and tattered shirt from one of his earliest bike races.  The sleeves are usually cut off; the material is worn thin by hundreds of washings, but he certainly loves those shirts.  He still races today, but I don't see him wear his "newer" collection of shirts-perhaps they'll make an appearance in another twenty years.

So, even if we ride up the hill more slowly, walk instead of run. hang out in the pool on a "noodle" instead of "doing laps", we are still doing something we love.  And those old clothes do come in handy for these activities, except maybe for that bikini some of us girls wore when we were a size 5 or 7!

Living Each Day to the Fullest

In the last few days, I have lost two women friends, both of whom I will miss very much, even though I have known both people well for less than one year.  What they both had in common was that they lived life to the fullest, making each day count in their own way.  

My first friend was 92 years old.  She was not somebody whose name you would recognize, nor will there be hundreds of people at her memorial service.  Her concerns and interests were mostly family, good friends and her faith.  She also loved the Broncos.  

She inspired me because she carried on with a strength and spirit and spunk that belied her physical ailments and age.   She lived in an assisted living community and each evening, she would choose the outfit she planned to wear the next day.  She dressed in vivid colors, with pins and scarves to accent whatever she wore.  She also had a matching handbag for each outfit.  Her hair had grown thin, but she even had a sense of humor about that, calling her wig "my hat", and always wearing it until bedtime.

Shortly after she moved to the assisted living community, she got on the elevator one morning, resplendent as usual, and another resident looked at her and said "Humph, another outfit." To which my friend replied "why thank you very much."  The resident looked at her coldly and said "that was not a compliment, it was an observation!"  

My friend recounted this story with great good humor.  She was a lady who accepted what life gave her; put on her "hat" each day and marched out to greet the world, dressed to the hilt.  But even more importantly, she always listened to what others had to say and remembered to ask how they were doing.  Wherever she went, people were glad to see her because she always had a cheerful smile and a kind word.

My other friend was only fifty-five years old.  Many of you knew her or know of her, Leslie Fishbein, the energetic, bubbly intelligent lady who, along with her husband, owned Kacey Fine Furniture company in Denver.  She was a highly accomplished, successful businesswoman.  

She had recently joined a book group I have belonged to since 1967.  She was a breath of fresh air in our group, a lively contributor who clearly cared about her reading and loved to discuss books with us.  One night, after a meeting at our home, all the guests but Leslie had gone home. She spent an hour with me and my significant other, talking about books, about family and sketching my livingroom so I could visit her store and know what kind of furniture to look for. 

These two ladies, one who had lived a private life and the other, a very public life, both were inspirational.  They made every day count, by approaching life with a positive upbeat attitude and by taking the time to care about other people.