I’m not sure why my son Kadon got his first car soon after he got his driver’s license…but he did. It was an almost 20-year-old, hand-me-down, 2002 Supercharge Pontiac Bonneville from his cousin Jessica. She got it from her brother Brad and his mom Michelle bought it from some mechanic for $3000 (a good deal I guess). It was named Jemall–it means “handsome” in Arabic (in case you were wondering, which I’m pretty sure you weren’t).
But anyway, to operate Jemall, you needed a screwdriver to stop the windshield cleaning system from spraying and wiping your windows if you dared to brush the button. When it rained, water puddled on the floor of the backseat. Pins held up the headliner. Ice and fog regularly formed on the inside of the windows. You had to manually lock all the doors because the automatic locks clicked, but nothing happened. And only the driver’s window went up and down. Whew, I think that’s it. Continue reading
In my lifetime I have owned quite a few cars: mostly older models and a couple of really nice vehicles.
My mom got her first driver’s license when she was 55 years old. My dad had passed away and she often found herself stranded with errands to do and places to go. She bought her first new car in 1984. It was a celery green Chevy Celebrity. She literally was the little old lady who drove to the grocery store and to church on Sunday. 
Traveling abroad was never on my bucket list. There are so many places in the U.S. that I have not seen.  
Some of my favorite trip memories all begin with the car ride there. When I was little, we didn’t have car seats or required seat belts or anything like that.  
It was the spring of 1996. Tom and I took a creativity class together based on Julia Cameron’s book, “The Artist’s Way”. Not only did we develop a writing habit, but we also made our first dream boards, learned a basic sun salutation practice, and played around with dying fabric.
One of my favorite trips with my husband Michael was our trip to Galax, Virginia for his brother Rodger’s funeral. I had heard so many stories about Galax, Virginia, Michael and Rodger’s dad Price Goodson and about the land they call Goodson’s Mountain. I always thought it was an exaggeration, but it turned out to be as true as the stories.
Every summer, our whole family gets together for two weeks at the family cottage in Door County. When Michael, Matt, and I lived in Colorado, this trip home was a hike.
It was the end of our Norway excursion. The one place my sister-in-law wanted to see was 
