My dear old car, was born Dec 1989 to German parents in California. She left her family but still kept her German heritage close to her heart for the rest of her life. She found a life in Logan Utah where she lived for quite some time. In 1990 she was living In Medford Oregon with a family that did not see her many talents. She looked for a way out of that situation but the way did not appear until 2002.
In 2002 a tragic accident happened where a Dodge truck was burnt alive in a pear farm. The cause is still unknown but some believe that spontaneous combustion was the cause of death. The family that lost this truck was so stricken by grief that she( Foxy) was given to the family as away to console them in their time of loss.
The Folsom home was a good home that lovingly took care of her.2002-2003 she left home for a foreign exchange to Sweden. During this Betty the Volvo from Sweden stayed with us, her sweet spirit was a welcome guest in the home but Foxy was still sorely missed. 2003 Foxy returned home but continued her wanderings around America.
She when to Seattle, Portland, Logan and Rexburg ID. During this time she began to feel her years, braking both axes and springing an embarrassing leak in her fuel line. But at the end her pump would be the thing that did her in. On the crossing from Rexburg to Portland the gas pumps broke and she could no longer get her self started. So on July 27 2009 she died a peaceful death on the quite streets of Portland. She will be sorely missed by many. She is survived by her owner, Jessica.
Instead of flowers, there is charity that will be accepting donations in her name, The "Jessica Needs a New Car" Foundation. Contact Jessica for more information about giving to this excellent cause. If you have any fond memories or stories about Foxy leave in the comments below.
This tattoo was found on her after her owner was gone for a year. We think was a show of rebelling,and an inward longing for affection.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
A Year Ago
I was miserable,
Let me explain.
A year ago I was laying on a bed of sorts, a long platform, somewhat padded, that I shared with 6 other girls. I was just laying there on a Sunday afternoon, missing out on all the fun( sunsets, hiking, lounging, making fiends with a gay etc...) and silently cursing the name of Sara( love you Sara). My knee hurt, hurt being short for humbling, unforgivable, writhing( ok, it's not a "R" but neither is writing and the 3 "R's" people got away with it, so why can't I), torment. I was miserable. But as luck would have it all I needed was sleep and dear friends to help me though it. The days got better. The pain subsided and and the scab healed over. Now all there is left is a scar. A big, red bumpy scar that my sister tells me to cover up. But I don't, I'm kinda proud of that scar on my knee. It's a reminder that a year ago I was miserable, but only for a day.
A year ago my heart was torn.
Fiends that I loved left me. No longer would we be roommates, or neighbors, but only long distant pen pals. But new friends came and the tear in my hear scabbed over and fell off( kinda a icky image, sorry) But there it is, the scar. That one isn't as noticeable and no-one asks to hear that story. But it's there and I'm still proud of it. I didn't get dragged under a scooter to get it, it was much more gentle than that. Each day I let others hold my heart a little bit more till they held it together, and I was glad to let it happen. Then one by one they left, and my heart couldn't keep itself together by its self, and it fell apart. I'm all put back together now and happy. But I still think sometimes when my heart was not my own and how good it felt to let it go.
Scars are just memories. At times they are fresh, and like memories they fade till you don't think about them anymore. No longer are they associated with pain, we forget that, all we have are the "remember the whens'", and " long agos'".
A Year Ago.
at 9:49 PM