It’s strange how something as simple as a car in a post can stop you in your tracks which is what happened yesterday when I had the post for #WordlessWednesday made. When I sat down at the computer all I knew was I needed to get a post up and leaving Town I wanted it to be something would reflect our trip.
I didn’t expect the photo that was created for me. I was scrolling, to see what couldn’t wait until I got back half-focused, while thinking about everything else I needed to get done, and then suddenly there it is. That exact shape. That same kind of paint. That unmistakable feel of a memory you didn’t go looking for.
I kept going back to it, that car from the Wordless Wednesday post. Not because it was flashy or special in a modern sense, but because it felt like it had already been part of my story long before I ever noticed it here. That was the exact model of car my dad had when I was a baby.
Not “a similar car” Not “a kind of like it car.” The same kind, of car down to the feeling it brought back when I pictured the car and old driveway moments of playing beside it as a child. From a life that was happening in the background while I was too small to remember it clearly.
What makes it even more interesting is that it wasn’t something planned or requested. It just showed up in this post, chosen without any idea of the connection it would spark. And yet there it was, like a quiet reminder that sometimes memories don’t wait for permission to come back.
There’s something grounding about that kind of moment. It doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t try to be profound. It just sits there, familiar in a way you can’t quite explain, asking you to pause for a second and remember that life has been moving in layers all along.
And maybe that’s what made me smile about it the most. Not just the memory itself, but the way something so ordinary ended up holding something so personal without even trying. Drawing me into the Road Trip to see my son and to watch for old cars like that on the side of the Road.
Thank you,
Glenda, Charlie and David Cates
