A couple of weeks ago, the Accord nameplate fell off the back of my 1998 Honda. The next day, a small spider built her web over the driver’s window. I’d been thinking about a new car. Was someone trying to tell me something?

My conscience told me to get a hybrid. But I was disappointed by the limited cargo space in small hybrids like the Honda Civic Hybrid and Toyota Prius c. The bigger hybrids—too big. For reasons mentioned in a previous post (http://lindalange.authorsxpress.com/2013/04/09/the-talk/), I wanted a smaller car than the one I had.

Pam suggested a Packer car, like this one seen at Lambeau Field.

Reviews on automotive websites only made my decision more difficult. I e-mailed my Incomplete Passes pals about my quandary. “For me, buying a car is totally dependent upon the color choices,” Del replied. “What are you going to name her?” Pam queried. Obviously I’d been taking the wrong approach.

This exchange made me ponder the attachment between Boomers and their automobiles. I’ve never felt angst replacing a refrigerator, TV, or washing machine like I have this week with my car. Of course this bond is ingrained in us—it’s in our music. 409, Hot Rod Lincoln, Mustang Sally, and of course Little Old Lady from Pasadena. Go granny, go granny, go granny, go.

I finally settled on a gas-powered 2013 Honda Civic. It seemed more like a “normal car” than the hybrids, and it had a decent-sized trunk. I bought it from Bill, the salesman my family has dealt with for thirty years. I realized that this might be the last new car I ever buy and/or the last from Bill, who’s probably in his sixties like me.

Since this might be my last new car, I treated myself to some upgrades. Going up to the EX model gave me a moonroof and automatic climate control. I added the day/night mirror with built-in compass. And an XM radio, so I can listen to NFL news and ‘60s music whenever I like.

So many new things to learn!

On pickup day, I flipped through the manual. Normal car or not, my Civic has so many things that weren’t around fifteen years ago. Programmable door and window functions. Backup camera. Hands-free Bluetooth phone.

Bill showed me the “panic button” on my new key. He pressed it and an alarm sounded. “What’s that for?” I asked. “In case I get carjacked?” Bill agreed, but pointed out it will also come in handy if I forget where I parked my car. Not a bad accessory for an older driver!

Bill went out to switch my license plates to the Civic and didn’t return for a while. It turned out a couple of screws were being stubborn. “I had to get the young guy,” he explained.

Then Bill offered to help me set up my phone. We clicked the Bluetooth app on my Android and pressed the phone button in the car, asking it to search for my unit. “Greg’s iPhone,” the screen read. Who the hell is Greg? Bill went to get the young guy again.

Go granny go!

When I got home, I transferred my belongings to the Civic. My maps were too long for the pocket on the door—the one I’ve always called “the map pocket.” Oh, no–should I have purchased the GPS accessory? I mentioned the problem to my friend Joyce. “You don’t need maps or a built-in GPS,” she said. “Just use the GPS feature on your smartphone!”