On being a one car family

We are a family of four with one car. Before I go further, I want to be clear: this is not a thing. This is not a slow cooking movement. This is not the capsule wardrobe gimmick. You will likely not find a One Car Family Ideas board on Pinterest.

This is also not a ponzi scheme or some other elitist scam for the 1%. This is written with full awareness that to own even ONE car is a privilege not enjoyed by a great majority of the world's population, nevermind an ability to fuel one's car on a regular basis plus the Nationwide Auto Transportation fees, etc.

This is, however, something of a lifestyle choice in an overprivileged overconsumptive sovereign nation and one I would choose over and over again. Do you like how I just cleared my throat for three straight paragraphs?

I've been asked by several people about being a one-car family, which appears to be something of a distinction in the carpool lanes in which I idle. I've thought quite a bit about this and what this says about me: that people would assume this would pose difficulty for us. Fair enough, I say. Because both adults in our family work outside the home in a geography where public transportation is not accessible/reliable for our purposes. Because we send our kids to a school that is not serviced by big yellow schoolbuses. Because we live in an age where 3-car garages are becoming standard in newly constructed homes.

So, I'll claim it as a thing--our thing. We are a one-car family. We have only ever been a one-car family. I brought no car to the relationship. My hubby inherited a green Honda CRV from his parents when we married, but she has since died (RIP Green Bus) and now we drive what I am told is the official car of the New England lesbian: a Subaru Outback. And we love her.

I'll also fully disclose that my hubby and I also own a mo-ped which he is crazy kind enough to drive much of the year to work and back.

There are many obvious perks to being a one-car fam. We pay less in auto insurance than if we owned, operated more vehicles. We only ever have to gas up one vehicle (the mo-ped uses less than $3/week in gas). When we lived in the city, I took the train everywhere, even when I had a double stroller for which I apologize to all who had to make room for me and my Hummer on the T. Now that we don't live near public trans, we work hard to economize our trips instead of just going out whenever we feel like it.

There are some less obvious perks, though, and these are the ones I value most. After speaking with another family who enjoys being a one-car fam, we agreed that there is a heightened communication system that is necessary with owning one car. Simply put: you have to share more. You have to share where you're going, what time you'll be home. I'm sure folks with multiple vehicles do this, but, in the case when my hubby drives the mo-ped to work, I have to stay mindful of the weather patterns. If it sleets, rains, or heaven forbid snows, I know we'll be packing up the kids in their jammies and schlepping downtown in the car to pick up Daddy. I love this about being a one-car family. We spend a lot of time catching up in the car. We work together as a family to keep it clean, inside and out.

Because of Loverpants' and my disparate schedules, we don't often share meals. Instead, we share the wide open road, sharing pieces of our day as we both gaze in the same direction, with our little backseat drivers chiming in and driving us absolutely nuts. And I would not have it any other way.

Seven feet of invisible snow in New England

The snow was so high and stiffly packed that winter; it was impossible to trudge home from the train without collecting snowflake souvenirs in my boots every night. It was my first full year of living in Boston and the winter was kicking my tail. The sun was still setting at some obscenely early hour, and I was a desk jockey pulling long hours for little pay, so I basically never saw the sun or my boyfriend or my friends. Color me depressed. I remember looking up and seeing a sign posted on a telephone pole that someone had Sharpied in black:

I'LL PAY YOU $10 TO DIG OUT MY CAR

I remember thinking how much would be reasonable to charge for someone to dig me out of my McJob life, to be perfectly dramatic.

*** My Boston comrades are still digging out of seven feet of snow. As is their trolley/subway system. New Englanders are bandying about phrases like "ice dam" which should only ever refer to a slip-n'-slide for penguins in the Arctic Circle. Their cabin fevers are spiking to epic highs. I mean--have you SEEN it up there? The whole situation is terribly unfair.

North of Boston right now. (@ruslodi) pic.twitter.com/tp5zaBYGun

— Breaking News Feed (@PzFeed) February 15, 2015

*** We agree, you and I, don't we? That the Nor-easters that keep dumping more snow on an already bewildered geography really smack of injustice and horror? We see the pictures of (or we experience firsthand) the shoveling and the roof-clearing and the endless headaches of commuting and we all are very much of one accord: That's painful stuff. Nobody deserves that. I'm really sorry.

I'm guessing that neighborliness increases in these times, too. There's a sort of camaraderie to picking up the shovels and knowing we're all in this Us v. Winter thing together.

But we all know that eventually winter ends. The snow melts. The swan boats emerge in the Public Gardens once more. The solution to the winter problem is the reliability of the earth orbiting as it should around the sun.

*** I have to remind myself that the private pains people carry are very much like the seven feet of snow, only invisible. I have friends dealing with diabetes, cancer, the grief of losing a parent. I have students who are hungry, lonely, hyper-anxious. My husband treats clients whose secrets could ruin lives--are ruining lives. They are buried under heavy blankets of snow. The meteorologists can't forecast what's ahead. They are not sure when this winter will end.

***

I've lived through my share of winters, literal and figurative, and the invisible winters are always harder to weather.  Friends, if you need someone to help you dig out, I hope someone you trust can be there. If you call me, I'll probably send you links to cat videos on Youtube, but at least you'll know you are loved and you can keep the $10.

10 years an #Adventist

This week I celebrate ten years as a baptized member of the Adventist church. I do mean celebrate, I don't just mean mark, commemorate, acknowledge. I take joy in the fact that I joined this church ten years ago. I have never been more sure of anything else in my life. It's true: I was only sure about marriage and motherhood on the other side of it. When I walked down the aisle in the other direction with my new man; when I held that baby in my arms--that's when I knew. This is where I am supposed to be. But when it was time to stand up and do the hard work that being a church member (not just a visitor) requires, I was certain. I was walking in confidence and walking in the steadfast Spirit toward this step.

I made the decision to start the process toward baptism when I was 23 years-old. I didn't really have a steady job, I wasn't engaged, I didn't have any family in the church. I had a promise from a friend that this would be a better life for me: a closer, more sober walk. It's what I needed and I'm so glad I made the decision to get baptized.

This is not to say that it was an easy decision or that the last ten years have been a cakewalk. I have encountered some of the best people in this church: humble givers, servant leaders, courageous thinkers, brave workers. I have also encountered some of the worst of people in the church: conniving, proud, slanderous, gossiping, unfaithful people--and all of those people live in me. I am all of those people. I have been baptized to live an abundant life in Christ and yet I am not always quick to abandon the ugly and selfish that abounds in my own heart.

I now work for the church. I send my children to church schools. My husband counsels people through the church. Sometimes we feel like we live on a compound but I would not change a single detail because we are assured that this is where we are meant to be for such a time as this.

Will we be here in another 10 years? I can't be sure. I do have some hopes for the next 10 years that are pinned to my heart like a kite--ready to catch air but not quite ready to fly alone.

For now, here is a wish list for my church (which includes me).

[tweet bird="yes"]10 Wishes for the Seventh-day Adventist Church [/tweet]

1. That we would spend more time relishing Scripture than we spend debating our interpretations of it. 2. That we would no longer limit our perception of hospitality as simply "being greeted." Was the church clean? Was there toilet paper in the bathroom? Were the pews comfortable? Was a good word offered? All those can be marks of hospitality. 3. That we would raise our children to be Christ's hands and feet. 4. That we would realize that desegregating our church starts with us and that dismantling segregation starts with relationships. 5. That we would not quote Ellen G. White using esoteric abbreviations that no one else understands. 6. That we would realize that all those self-righteous bumper stickers about the sabbath aren't converting anyone; they just make us look like self-righteous bumper sticker evangelists. 7. That we would be on the front lines of radical service everywhere. 8. That we would not align ourselves with conservative, liberal terms but with Christ Crucified. 9. That we would compensate people fairly, particularly women in ministry. 10. That we would continue to call the sabbath a delight. A delight.