Some stories cover so many years of history, it's hard to know where to begin.

We will start here:

My faithful little mountain goat, Suzie Cube.

Suzie actually got her name from a Dear Diarist years ago, "Quilty Hen". I put it out to the DD community back then and she came up with it.

This car so perfectly suits me. It's quirky and unusual. I never lose her in a parking lot. In my whole county, I have only ever seen one other, a white one. I saw it one day in a parking lot and went over to talk to the person sitting in it and we both agreed it was the best car ever.

I've had Suzie for fifteen years.

She still looks almost brand new.

Now granted, in these pictures, she had just been to the car wash and is looking about as spiffy as possible for her age.

Because of where I live, out in the boonies so to speak, my car is an absolute necessity. And because of my life circumstances, I have been SO grateful for a reliable, comfortable, and useful vehicle. Also, because of some freak of personality, I have a tendency to get quite emotionally attached to cars. I can tell you now, it's not a good quality to nurture.

About six weeks ago, I noticed a little weird .... hesitation... while driving. It was very subtle. But I know my vehicle, and I knew that wasn't right. One day it was fine, and the next time I would drive it, I noticed it.

Eventually I made an appointment at the Nissan dealership which unfortunately for me, is 85 miles away. This has always been a problem for me with Suzie. Anything more than oil changes had to be taken care of up there.

So off we went one fine day last week.

After a two-hour inspection, the verdict came. Suzie's transmission was failing.

It wasn't a TOTAL shock, it's a known issue with this chassis and that kind of transmission was a new thing fifteen years ago. And it is a testament to her and perhaps to my gentle driving habits, that we had gotten this far together.

The cost to fix it? Over six thousand dollars. THAT was a bit of a shock.

I could not justify spending that much on a fifteen-year-old car. I asked them if I would make it home okay and they said yes, but it was just going to get worse and worse as time went on.

They were very apologetic. I told them this was the best car I had ever driven... EVER. The technician said, everyone that brings their Cube in for service tells them same thing. So, it's not just me. 😘

I paid the bill for giving me the bad news and drove all the long way back knowing what had to be done. Tears were shed. If there ever was a car that was 'made for me', she was it. In every way.... except perhaps for immortality.

I determined that if I had to get a new car, it would be purchased from a dealership as close to me as possible. And that turns out to be only one place in the nearest town. This also happens to be the dealership where I would take Suzie for all her oil changes and little things like a new gas cap, and a rear washer hose that needed a new fitting. They helped me take good care of her all these years. She had history there.

I told the saleswoman my tale of woe. We set to, figuring out what to do.

There were more tears. I'm not going to lie. The poor salespeople had to endure it. Which they did with a fair amount of compassion no matter what you might have heard about them.

But in the end, after many small miracles, and one or two significant ones, this is the vehicle that now sits in Suzie's old spot on the homestead:

A Honda CR-V.

Now, for the last 13 years, when I looked out my window, I saw the oft photographed Cube with snow piled on top of her or rain falling, or in the shade. Always the same blue profile in all the seasons that have come and gone. But for the last few days, when I look out from my seat at my desk, I would see this:

My poor brain would trip and fall EVERY time.

"What is that? Do I have a visitor? Wait, what? Where's Suzie?"

And occasionally, "WTH? WHERE'S MY CAR?"

Needless to say, this got kind of old.

I realized that it was going to take a while to bond with this vehicle.

I also knew one step toward that goal would be to name it. As one does.

The day I bought it, the saleswoman asked me what I was going to name it, and I told her I wasn't at all sure yet, but as we eyed it outside while I was waiting to sign paperwork, I told her I was pretty sure it would be a masculine name. It was just a feeling.

So, night before last I said a little prayer to ask for Divine guidance in naming this car, because I just wasn't FEELING much joy in this transition. Who IS this car, and do I even really like it?

The next morning, I sat down at my desk to write in my journal, and there, out the window was this stranger looking back at me. My poor brain reminded me... oh... that's the new car. It's not Suzie, it's that new car that we don't know very well. The new one. New.... Newton.

Good God.... [literally].... and there it came, clear as day.

Sir Isaac Newton.

And just to round out the memorable occasion, an hour or so later I received a phone call having to do with the details of the purchase that put my mind at ease over one loose end in the financing. And for the first time since the whole emotionally charged situation began, I felt good.

And now I begin a new chapter in my life in the boonies. I have memories to build with my new ride, Sir Isaac. May his saga be blessed.

(Do we trust him? Do we KNOW him? Is he reliable?)

I guess we're gonna find out.