Ode to Sven

Sven (our Swedish car) was our first major purchase after marriage, and he has been through many events with us. Here is my tribute to Sven as we parted ways on Monday after 5 years of faithful companionship.

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Sven, you are the one who took me to and from American Fork in the I-15 traffic each day when I taught 6th grade. It was then that I discovered that if the headlights and turn signals went off after hitting a bump, all I had to do was jiggle your keys in the ignition, and your lights would begin working again. Silly Sven.

You were my trusty companion to and from Salt Lake. On one such outing (Tabernacle Choir Concert?), we had just finished eating at PF Chang's (mmm, simply delicious), and Ryan backed into a giant pickup. He sustained no damage, but your rear passenger tail-light forever more needed to be thumped from time to time in order to work again. I shall miss hearing, "Do you know your brake light is out?"

From the beginning of your life with us, you showed us what my teacher-friends in American Fork called your "personality." When it was cold and we needed heat, you emitted a pleasant maple syrup smell (we termed it "waffles"). Your dash rattles and squeaks, and last week I collected 3 more pieces of plastic from your floor for which no home can be found. Your electronics took some getting used to: the automatic lock on the driver's door never worked, the trunk release didn't pop the trunk, and the rear passenger window worked on the way down but not on the way back up.

Sven, you carried us from Utah to Wisconsin for graduate school. That first year we lived in the bitter north, I worked 3 jobs, so you had the privilege and honor to serve as my dressing room as well as my cafeteria (some days for all 3 meals!). The following year, you celebrated with me when I landed a full-time teaching position 50 minutes one-way from our apartment. And, ever the trooper, you took me both ways through 100 inches of snow that winter.

My favorite, also known as my least favorite, endearing quality of you was your creaking and rattling dashboard. We spent many vacations tucking folded pieces of paper into the space between the dash and the windshield trying to muffle and/or eliminate your mouse-y squeak. It's a wonder we weren't the cause of an accident!

You got to ride on a trailer to your new home in Illinois last summer, as we welcomed Yoda (our To-Yoda 4Runner) to the family. Here you've been spoiled rotten in an attached garage. I figure you've earned it.

We continued our relationship by driving to Seminary at 5:15 each morning. But when Collin was born, we found that his car seat was easier to lift from Yoda, and Ryan adopted you as his commuter. I fear you had become so attached to me that you never really were able to adjust to your new, male driver.

And tragically last Thanksgiving you, the trusty Sven, were brutally wounded in your hindquarter panels while returning from St. Louis. Fortunately the wound wasn't fatal, and you returned to Peoria "totalled." With little visual damage, and some begging on my part, I rescued from the junk yard for a mere $750. Of course, since then your trunk has needed much force in order to latch it securely.

And so ensued the search for a commuter car for Ryan.

Memorial Day we were in St. Louis, this time parked in front of my parents' house, and the neighbor backed into your front driver's side turn signal housing. Using the scattered pieces and tenderness, you were pieced back together like a jigsaw puzzle. The epoxy held for several more months.

But all good things must come to an end. Last Thursday, the search ended when Ryan found your replacement.

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So welcome to the family Renn (short for rennwagen which means race car in German). We look forward to many years and many stories. We hope that you can fill the void that Sven has left.

Our good friends from Madison came to visit this weekend and after seeing all of Sven's endearing qualities, snatched him up. We wish him and them well in the coming years. We'll miss you and your quirks, Sven. May you enjoy many years (and many long winters) with the Rose's.