Fernando's Demise?

Early in my blogging days, I wrote about my love for my car. (I've excerpted part of that post below.) I'm quite concerned for his health. Yesterday, when I was in Winter Park and my son and I were heading out on some errands, he (Fernando, not my son) blew huge plumes of smoke when I started him up. We got out and looked to see if someone had played an unfunny joke, putting something in the muffler. We saw nothing, so I started him up again; the same thing happened. I called Onstar to see if they could run an immediate diagnostic on my car. I was placed on hold while the tests were performed. Diagnosis: all clear. We went on our way with other starts and stops, and everything seemed fine.

Today, as I started the car up to come back home, another smoke plume blossomed. I have to work tomorrow morning and have a doctor appointment in the afternoon, so I had to come back. After all, the diagnostic showed everything was fine. By the time I got back to Jacksonville, Fernando was low on oil and making an awful ticking sound. I think this is not good. I know someone who has a mobile repair business (he goes to the car, rather than having the car brought to him) so I will call him tomorrow morning and see if he can check things out. My car means so much to me. I don't usually develop feelings for inanimate objects, but we've been together since he had only sixty-three miles on him, an auto-baby. There's more to my love for him than that. Here's what I wrote about him several years ago, when I had just had shoulder surgery and couldn't drive for more than a month:

I’m in Love with my Car

Fernando waits patiently in my driveway, a most beautiful beast, Metallic Pewter body, Bose speakers ready to crank out my favorite XM stations. His buttery leather seats adjust to virtually any position to ensure my maximum comfort and even heat up for those rare chilly Florida mornings. He is beginning to show signs of age; this only makes me love him more, knowing that each tiny dent in his armor or bit of interior wear can be traced back to some happy adventure we shared. We have taken many long voyages, Fernando and I, and our history is long and complex.

Fernando has taken me to the great frozen north to visit family and friends on at least eight occasions, and has ventured off on many sides trips – Baltimore, Washington, Ocean City, to name but a few destinations – while on those longer trips. He has driven me hundreds of miles west across I-10 to visit my oldest son and granddaughter when they lived in Dallas, a stiflingly boring drive improved only by his comfortable accommodations. He has taken the insults of my granddaughter’s early attempts at ice cream eating and still proudly bears the backseat scars of Pink Bubble Gum Pop.

In my sons’ high school days, Fernando escorted us to band practices and competitions throughout the state over the course of many years. If we needed to pile in more kids or more stuff, it was never a problem. Fernando welcomed all. He has carried us through our more boring day-to-day errands too with style and grace, and taken me to work and first dates, parties and beach trips.

Fernando now sits lonely and bored, idle for a full month until I am sufficiently recovered from shoulder surgery to take him out. He watches other cars stop, sees me climb into them, and stands stoic and proud. I know he would rather be with me as I travel to my therapy sessions, but he understands that I must rely on others for now. He really isn’t just a means of transportation for me; he is my friend, and I love him.