Learning to live with his first love

Musings on our 22nd wedding anniversary

She was his first love.

What’s more, she was approved by his grandmother and grandfather.

In fact, they had given her to him.

She had gone on to be loved and adored by his family and friends.

Then again, she was thousands of miles away, and he was with me, all alone, far away from all that.

Such were the thoughts running through my head in November 1997 on the train ride en route to Tokyo from a village in Nagano, where Jeremy and I had spent a rather, how shall I say, amorous weekend.

He had taken out a stack of photographs and was showing me picture after picture of his large, orange car. In between business trips to Tokyo (during the first of which we had met), he had gotten it freshly painted in its original “Saffron.”

I think there’s a reason that Jeremy chose to show me the photos as the weekend was coming to a close, shortly before he would fly home to New York, and I would return to my apartment in Tokyo.

He likely sensed that cars were not my thing, and an old car, even a Cadillac, would not impress. I was proud of my car-less lifestyle. I loved living in a city where I could walk, cycle, and take public transportation wherever I wanted to go. 

And, yet, I had fallen hard for him and so, with all the might I could muster, told him that Saffron suited her beautifully, while I silently prayed that I would eclipse her. 

Okay, enough with the silly pronouns. I’m not in favor of gendering automobiles any more than you are. Using women clad in slinky dresses in sexy poses to sell cars was and remains one ploy of manufactures to get people (read: men) to buy cars, a tactic that Jeremy and I are attempting to mock in the above photograph. 

Taken just a few weeks ago, that picture should tell you, loud and clear, that I never replaced the “Caddy,” but rather, have learned to live with it. Given that today, August 1, Jeremy and I are celebrating 22 years of a strong, supportive, and loving marriage, I think that’s something worth pondering. 

Indeed, Jeremy’s history with this “saffron beauty,” predates me by nearly a decade, a long time as far as relationships are concerned. He was presented with this car by his maternal grandparents. I never met his Grandpa Mark, but I had the pleasure of knowing “Meme,” who moved in with his parents shortly after I moved to New York in June 1998, with the intention of going to graduate school, and more importantly, marrying Jeremy.

A musician with a flare for the dramatic, Meme greeted me the first time I entered my soon-to-be in-law’s home singing about how a girl is always scheming for her Prince Charming. I fell in love with her instantly and have wonderful memories of her dancing at our wedding (and walking down the aisle to that very song she first serenaded me with), taking her to a Chinese opera, and chopping string beans despite trigger finger, the result of years of playing violin.

We never drove with her anywhere in the Caddy, but I think Jeremy envisions his six-year-old self sitting between his grandparents every time he turns on the engine. 

Like me, Meme refrained from driving it. Like me, she was short, significantly shorter than me by the time I met her in her nineties, and I have to wonder if perhaps the reason she didn’t drive is because she couldn’t see over the steering wheel. That was my experience the one time I drove the Cadillac, shortly before Jeremy and I were married. 

Those were the years when I argued, often and passionately, that it was time to part with the Cadillac. Enough of this clunker, I’d plead. Sayonara, gas guzzler! My mom, of blessed memory, was my ally here, laying on all the guilt about having an older, unsafe car after we finally began having children.

“How can you drive without airbags?” she’d lament, teasing us that if we didn’t dispose of it, she’d take a sledgehammer to it. 

But Jeremy, never one to take the bait, answered calmly that the process of manufacturing a new car would result in even greater environmental waste and that the sheer mass of steel served as ample protection. 

Left unspoken was that he’d never give it up, because, like the silver candlesticks that have been handed down to me by my maternal grandmother, the Caddy has sentimental value that makes parting with it a non-starter. 

And, unlike my candlesticks that are in desperate need of a polish, Jeremy takes impeccable care of his car. He has now had the engine entirely rebuilt, replaced all the interior seating, and is fastidious about using a cover whenever parking it outdoors overnight. 

It is also a conversation piece; whenever I happen to ride with him, he is stopped by random people on the street, wanting to know the car’s age, the model, and, frequently, if he will sell it to them. Recently he was asked whether his car can be used in a film. Frankly, I’m shocked that people have always had nice things to say; never once has someone told Jeremy that it’s time to get his car off the road.

According to Bill Gates, the greenhouse gases emitted from passenger cars represent 16 percent of the 51 billion tons a year that we must reduce to 0 in order to prevent a climate catastrophe. While the billionaire emphasizes in his recent book that retiring gas-powered vehicles is just one part of the puzzle, purchasing an electric vehicle (EV) that is powered by clean electricity is part of the solution. Jeremy and I are considering this. After all, for my technophile hubby, who follows Elon Musk, I imagine that driving something like a Tesla (without the self-driving feature) would bring him significant joy.

But retiring the Caddy? 

This is something that, unfortunately, is going to have to be mandated from our government, either from an outright ban on gas-powered vehicles or on a ban of fossil fuels like oil. 

Yes, it would be lovely if we could all do the right thing as far as caring for our planet is concerned. We should all walk more, use solar panels (and air conditioning less), recycle, reuse and compost. Gates (and I’m aware of the irony of quoting him in this article honoring strong marriages) also advocates for us to engage more as citizens, making calls, writing letters, and attending town halls. 

It will take a community and some positive peer pressure to encourage some of us slower-to-adopt individuals to make changes. 

For now, Jeremy and I are concentrating our efforts on doing other things to make our home, built in 1970, more energy efficient. Bidding the Caddy farewell is inevitable, but it’ll be a decision that Jeremy will have to come to on his own. For me, giving him space to make that decision contributes to peace in the home, something that I hope will bolster our marriage  for another 22 years and beyond.