Oh, Tuna Boat, Where Art Thou?

My first car was a 1963 Ford Falcon. I was seventeen years old and my father had offered to buy me a new car if I'd stop my falderole with Bob Hansen. He also offered to send me to Europe and numerous other ridiculousness in exchange for Hansen's head on a silver platter. I wasn't having any of it because I was in love. Looking back, I'm just really thankful he didn't offer to buy me a Brown Swiss cow because that might have changed history. I'm just saying.

Anyway, I had a friend that was selling his tan 1963 Ford Falcon, much like the one in this picture, for $125. That was one months rent back in the day but I really wanted the Falcon, so I bought it. My parents were not thrilled but I couldn't have been happier. I had paid for it with my own money and there was something exciting about that. Oh sure, the drivers window fell down if you closed the door too hard and the passenger seat fell into the backseat if you leaned too hard on it. There was also a choke that you had to pull out into just the right spot or the car would die. None of that mattered to me. I loved that funky little car. Truthfully, I wish I still had it.

When we first met, Bob was driving a 1968 Mustang, pretty close to the one above. It was our first makeout car. We were both much smaller then, so it worked. 

Right before we got married in 1976, Bob decided he needed a truck so he bought a brand-spanking new bright yellow Datsun pickup similar to the one above. It cost $3,000 which was crazy money for us. Our Datsun took us up the coast for our honeymoon and a few years later to the drive-in theater with a baby sleeping between us in a carrier. Car seats? What were those? I drove our little truck up and down the Central Coast with our first son while Bob worked at the phone company. It's also the truck I  gave more hitchhikers than I can remember rides in. Looking back, I can't believe how many times I brought people home so they could shower and we could feed them a meal. How did I not end up on some true crime magazine? 

After the Datsun, a string of bad decision cars happened. Bob, like so many guys I know, (Charlie Casas) loved swapping out cars constantly. We had some big giant bomb of a Chrysler we called The Tuna Boat, then there was the little woodie Pinto station wagon. 

Finally, we bought a brand-new minivan for our growing family of three boys. I really felt we could be happy hanging onto our Aerostar for decades. But nooooooo!

One Saturday, my husband and my minivan disappeared only to have something very similar to the picture above roll into our driveway. I mean, of course. Made perfect sense to swap our almost new minivan for this thing that had no heat, no air, was really loud when you rode in it and gassed you out of the front seat. I was completely outnumbered however. Our family of now five children loved the VW. They still talk about it to this day and our oldest son recently bought one. The legacy of crazy continues.

After a second VW Bus joined the family, my dad had had enough, so he bought a brand new Renault for us for our anniversary. He let it be known that he was not going to have his daughter and grandchildren driving around in some old beater and the Renault was going to ensure we were safe. The first time Bob and I took the Renault on a fancy couples weekend getaway with another couple, it stranded us and our friends in the middle of nowhere. More than thirty years later and we still haven't lived it down with Jim and Dawn. This also gave Bob the gumption for his next bad car decision. Oh no, yes he did. 

That man o'mine took our year old Renault one morning, while I was still asleep, and swapped it for a Scooby Doo twelve passenger van that looked like this one in the picture, minus the fancy stripe. Yeah, ours looked like a prison van. I was often asked if I worked for a daycare or a church. Fun times. So, thought I, we obviously need more people in this family with all these empty seats and thus began our sixth adoption plus six years as foster parents. I showed him! 

In all fairness to my wonderful husband, this van made our move to Oklahoma so much easier. How would we have ever moved Zoey our piggy or Max and Angie our goats plus six kids half way across the country without our Scooby Doo van? Even my dad, bless his heart, got involved and built a swine suite in the very back that Zoey shared with her goat brother and sister on the trip. You haven't fully experienced life until you've driven fourteen hundred miles in a Scooby Doo van with six kids, a pig and two goats. Oh yeah, I forgot about the dog, two cats and one bird. 

Eventually, kids grew up and started to leave the nest so a couple of minivans were bought. Then sold.

A beautiful blue Suburban was purchased for me as a gift from my husband. I loved that car. Then, it was totaled by two teenagers that shall remain nameless. (Andrew and Belen) A brown suburban replaced Blue Bette. No children were allowed to drive the new guy.

Finally, we were down to one kid and back into a minivan or two. Then, we were down to just the two of us and one truck for the last two years. When my car crapped out and with no kids to run around, I felt like I really didn't need a car anyway. Bob, on the other hand, drives an insane amount of miles for work, so we poured our money into his work truck. Until today.

Today we decided to car shop for me. This is something I hadn't done since I was seventeen, shop for a car that was just for me. On the way to the dealership, the Batmobile passed by. No, really! Look!! I wondered aloud if this was some kind of omen. Bob, being the great husband he is, asked if I wanted him to speed up or slow down to get better pictures. Isn't life amazing when you're both nuts in the relationship? Anyway, I got this picture as Batman sped by. I'm sure he was on his way to do some type of hero stuff. I did get a little excited when he followed us all the way to the dealership. I mean, what if the Batmobile was a trade-in? You know what I would have been driving home.

Thanks for the new ride, Mr. Hansen. I will be hiding the keys from you. Not that I don't trust you.