Tales of the Magic Van
Okay, I promised the tale, and now I’m making good. Time to talk about the Magic Van.
Now, when I say “magic” what I mean is, “still running.” See, I am currently driving a van that, by the next election, will be old enough to vote. It’s blue. It once had a scramble with something orange that left tiny specs of orangeness on the driver’s side that don’t come off in a wash. We still haven’t figured that mystery out. It has, as of this writing, 222,000 miles on it, and it’s still running. If that isn’t your definition of magic, then… well, you have a more stringent definition of magic than me, I guess. The fan doesn’t work and you have to open the slidey door from the inside, but STILL, people. 222,000 miles. The very fact that I don’t have to tie a string to the bumper and drag it around town like a kid with an old wagon makes it qualify, in my estimation, as a magic van.
And there’s one other little thing about the van that makes me think it’s magic. I like to call her Dashboard Mary.
Lemme ‘splain.
My in-laws got this van at about the same time they converted to Catholicism. Now, anyone who’s ever met anyone who’s converted to anything later in life knows that there’s no more passionate parishioner than the adult convert. My in-laws are not just Catholic, they’re REALLY Catholic. They go to Mass once a week, every week, unless circumstances are dire. Like one-of-them-trapped-under-a-heavy-object dire. They confess. They study. They decorate their house with saints and Jesus and, of course, Mary. Now, I’m not knocking them. Anyone who’s read my books know I dig Catholics. Can’t be one because of some minor theological conflicts, but damn, I love me my Catholics. Anyone who drinks wine at church is on my good side.
So, it should come as no surprise that when they gave us the van (see? aren’t they sweet) it came with a Dashboard Mary.
Dashboard Mary is this little pewter statuette of The Virgin with little pewter rays of angelicness coming from her little pewter head. Her hands are clasped in prayer (obviously, she knew that eventually I’d be driving the van) and through many quick stops and don’t-make-me-pull-this-car-overs she has managed to cling to her spot due to the magic of modern magnetics.
It is my belief, that Mary is holding that car together. Because not only is it 222,000 miles, but whenever I bring it to a mechanic – which is always a nail-biter, like bringing Great Grandma to the doctor for a hangnail, first it’s a hangnail, then it’s pneumonia, then it’s we-are-gathered-here-in-memory-of-a-great-woman – they can never find anything wrong with it. Brakes are great, engine’s great, there are minor things that need working on, but as far as the major systems go, that baby’s humming. And at 222,000 miles, there’s just no reason for that except the magic that is Mary. And even though I’m not Catholic, I ain’t moving her.
And when the magic van eventually does finally go toward the white light, I’m taking her with me. I may not be Catholic, but I’m not stupid, either.
P.S. I’m guest-blogging over at Romance Reader at Heart today. Come on by and say hi!
I wouldn’t touch the statue of Mary either.
Lol, from your description I have a Magic Mustang. In three years it will also be able to vote. I once ran over a concrete parking stump. This car is like two inches from the ground. I thought I’d have to shoot it like old yeller. Thankfully, it’s still in working order. Hmm, I don’t have Mary on my dashboard, but I have a pair Cherries hanging from the rear view mirror. Could be where the mystical powers stem from.
LOL, old yeller.
I’m telling you, I was really afraid of posting this, because I was sure that the Magic Van would break down as soon as I did. So far, so good, though!
What would us writers be without our superstitions?
I’m a total believer in Mary and Marian devotions. I’ll be leaving my own van home for the treck to Cinci at the end of the month, but I’ll be in DH’s Saturn. I have a good superstition about Saturns too.
You know, as an Episcopal I get to have my minor theological differences and keep my Mary too. It is fabulous. I’ve got rose scented prayer candles with the Mary image on them that I use for what I deem mega-prayers. I call these sorts of candle my staff, and tell people I have my staff working on their problems as we speak. My church in Texas had a nice Mary nook but no such luck here. Oh well, at least I’ve got my staff. But here’s why I became a big ol’ fan of Mary. I went to the grotto in Portland, OR and set out a candle asking for devine intervention in the romance department. I had a hat trick of ex-fiancees and no happily ever after. 3 weeks later Sweet Babou and I meet at a party. He asked me to marry him on the first date. We’ve been in wedded bliss (although you do want to kill him when he puts dark socks in a load of whites and wonders where all the gray socks are coming from) ever since. So I’ve got her statue in my office. It was the least I could do.
I’m telling y’all, get a pewter Dashboard Mary. You’ll never have to do anything but change the oil again…
Lani – I love your van! Growing up we had an old Jeep my grandparents gave us. It was white, or at least that is what my grandparents told us. The passenger back door was tied shut with an old ski-rope and no was allowed to lean against it for fear it would fall off. We loved that jeep. It was actually a sad day when my parents traded it in for a shiney new white suburban. However, the shiney new whit suburban soon got old. It was the car my sister learned to drive on, and interesting enough, she owned that car for many, many more years. She cried when her husband made her get a new car when their first child was born many moons later.
My very first car was red suburban. It was great. The world saw me coming. Or heard me since I had problems keeping mufflers on that car. I loved watching it age. the red dulling. The doors getting rusty. The power windows breaking. I put almost 200,000 miles on that baby. Also, the last 6 months I owened it the starter was shot. You had to climb under it and smack the starter with a hammer, then race to the driver’s seat and quickly turn the key. Should have seem me doing that in a cocktail dress at the country club. I cried when my husband bought me a brand new minivan without telling me. He thought I was nuts. What wife doesn’t like a new car? Me.
I want to ride in the Dashboard Mary! Please! Take me for a ride!