Which Shall Not Be Named

I haven't posted in some time. Not since February, and you can read why by looking at that last post. Since then, we've been to a lot of places: All over Oregon, Seattle, the Bay area, back to Reno, Denver, West Des Moines, Cheyenne, Ithaca, outside Cleveland, and now near Charleston, West Virginia. So maybe there is a lot to cover in that time frame.

Maybe there is, but I don't want to cover it. I'm thinking about something in the future, not so much about the past.

Next week, Alrica and I leave the country. We move on to an international lifestyle, and who knows when we will come back. Okay, that's only partially, true. We know we will be back in the states in summer 2025—we have two weddings to attend—but really it is more like we will be visiting the USA, not living here.

In some ways I am excited to start this adventure, traveling abroad and this time without kids. It will be a different experience. But in some ways I am nervous about it too. I know we did this before, but somehow it doesn't feel the same.

But there is one object which exemplifies my nervous energy at the prospects before me. It's The Car Which Shall Not Be Named.

Don't you dare name this car!

 

For those who don't know, The Car Which Shall Not Be Named is the Hyundai that Alrica and I still own, which has taken us all around this country (and into Canada.) But also the name of The Car Which Shall Not Be Named is not The Car Which Shall Not Be Named. Because The Car Which Shall Not Be Named has no name. You see, it shall not be named.

Let me explain more fully. Personally, I am a big fan of naming cars.

• The first car that was truly mine was named Little Red Car. Yes, it was a little, red car. And yes, that wasn't my most creative name. But that was its name. It just felt like its name.
• The first car that Alrica and I bought together, while we still lived in New Jersey, was Primal.
• In West Des Moines, we got a second car which did have a name, but I can't write it here, not because it must be censored or bowdlerized, but because it can't be spelled. The name was two percussive beats. What do I mean by that? Take your hand and tap a table or wall nearby twice. That was the name of the car. I recognize that name comes across as a bit crazy. But right after I got the car, I was going somewhere with Carver in the backseat. And I asked him what we should name the car, and he slapped his hand against the door twice. So that was the car's name. Sure, Alrica pointed out that Carver wasn't even one-year-old yet, and maybe he wasn't qualified to name the car. But no, it was a great name. Again, it just felt right, it was the name of that car.
• Eventually, when we lived in Pennsylvania, our two percussive beats had to be replaced. Alrica had been driving Primal, but when we got a new car, that became hers and I started driving Primal again. This time Syarra named the new car, and yes, she was old enough to give it a verbal name which can be spelled: The Magical Car.
• We sold both Primal and The Magical Car when we left to travel the world for two years. But when we returned to the USA we bought a used car. It's very first trip was a long one. It traveled from Boynton Beach, Florida (where we had been staying with my parents) to Lancaster, Pennsylvania (to visit friends from our life before travel) and then to West Des Moines, Iowa (to visit some of my family), and then to Harper, Texas (to visit some of Alrica's family), and finally to Reno, Nevada (where we would make our new home). So we looked up the longitude and latitude of each of those locations. We took the arithmetic mean (yes, the average, but I'm a mathematician, so get used to me being mathy or mathic) of the longitudes and the arithmetic mean of the latitudes. We then looked up that location on a map. It was in the Ozark National Forest. And so the car was named Ozark.

For awhile we only had the one car, but that became impractical. So eventually we got another car for Alrica's use. And of course, I wanted to name it. But Alrica isn't totally on board with naming cars. And she insisted that for a car to be named it had to earn its name. The problem is that no one (except maybe Alrica, and maybe even including Alrica) knows the parameters involved in "earning" a name.

We had a string of unfortunate cars there. The first car for Alrica in Reno didn't last terribly long. The kids and I called it "Her Car" or Herc for short. But of course, only when not discussing it with Alrica. The second car for Alrica in Reno didn't really last much longer. The kids and I called that one "Your Car" or York for short. Again, not when talking with Alrica. But the third car lasted! It is the very Hyundai that was and is the whole point of this post.

Even now, though we have sold Ozark and only have the one car for more than a year, we still are living by Alrica's rule that the car doesn't get a name unless it earns a name and only Alrica can determine when such a name has been earned. No worries, because the kids and I have always called it The Car Which Shall Not Be Named.

Alrica will then scold us, saying we shouldn't call it that, because that is not the car's name. And we all agree wholeheartedly, the car has no name and realistically never will. That's why we call it The Car Which Shall Not Be Named. It's not a name, it's a condition. It's a state of being.

And this past 13 months, it has been a state of being. It has been the only consistent "place" we have. Jumping around the country and house sitting is exciting. But there is a security in knowing that if anything goes wrong, a home owner cancels or the internet goes out or a meteor destroys the house—one of those is more far-fetched than the others, I will leave it to you to decide which is which—we can always hop into The Car Which Shall Not Be Named and get to a hotel, public library, or fallout shelter. (Yes, I suppose a car could also be destroyed in a meteor strike, but really what's the likelihood of that?)

In a way, The Car Which Shall Not Be Named is a safety net or a security blanket, even though it is a car and not a net and not a blanket. (Though it has a heater if we're cold, so, you know, it shares some qualities with a blanket. It does not, however, easily spread over a bed. Or so I would assume. I haven't tried.)

Before we fly out next week, we are going to sell The Car Which Shall Not Be Named. And honestly, that is the psychological barrier I can't seem to overcome. Yes, a day of flying is going to suck, but it's just a day. Selling the car, wow, that's the end of an era. That's the last string that ties us to a previous lifestyle, even though it is a car and not a string. Metaphorically cut that string and we're free-falling. Each time I think of it, my heart rate increases just a little bit. Am I scared? Not exactly. Maybe I'm anxious, here not meaning eager but instead having a smidgen of anxiety.

I guess this blog post, the first after such a long dry spell, is a salute to a fine vehicle that has driven us through storms, over mountains, on snow covered highways, and the occasional nice stretch of dry road under sunny skies. So goodbye four-wheeled friend.

I guess you'll never earn a name now. But you know what? Maybe that's the way it should be. Then you can always remain, at least in my mind, The Car Which Shall Not Be Named.