We got her when the second baby came. We were grateful for more space and more freedom and we didn’t mind the signs of wear. She is good to me. “She” because we are carried in her scarred womb and she puts up with the scuffs, the heavy feet, the graceless lumbers to the backseat. She idles while we gird ourselves to wake sleeping children. She sweetly dings her interruptions – gas please! don’t forget to buckle up! She is patient. She is constant. She is steadfast and long suffering. And she is clearly an ideal canvas on which to project my maternal agnst. But truly, I love her. I am…
A fundamentalist turned freedom chaser with an obnoxiously stubborn faith.