The Keys to Success

We had a misunderstanding on Monday (my fault) but we ironed it out and today Marie sold the purple bomb, the 1998 Neon with leaky exhaust and creaky brakes and rickety engine for $950, which sounds awful except for the fact we paid only $500 for it originally, drove it for a year and half, never put a dime into it and nearly doubled our money at the end. Easily the best deal I have ever made on a car, or for that matter, most any financial transaction. After three years of payments I'm still upside down in the Vista Cruiser, for example. You live and learn. Or, more accurately in my case, live fast and learn slow. My friend Doug, who made a pile of money in the '70s, '80s and '90s giving people retirement planning and financial advice and co-authored the book The 7 Secrets of Financial Success : How to Apply Time-Tested Principles to Create, Manage, and Build Personal Wealth has often told me that cars are the biggest mistake people make financially: we tie up huge chunks of our monthly cash flow servicing a debt on a hunk of metal that depreciates the moment we drive it off the lot. Last winter he and I went to a Blazer game together and afterward we stopped at the Red Lion at Lloyd Center for a glass of wine and he told me a story. "I would meet with couples," he said, "Intelligent and successful people, and they would ask me, 'how can we plan for our retirement, how can we do a better job of managing our money' and I'd look out to their driveway and see they were probably leasing two cars, say a BMW and a Lexus, and these two status symbols, after gas, insurance, lease payments and maintenance, were tying up $2000 a month or more of their monthly income, money they had no hope of recovering." I'm paraphrasing here, probably badly after several months, but you get the idea: America's love affair with the automobile has gone a long way toward putting us in the mess we're in, both individually and as a society. We spend too much, and the one of the biggest single things we spend on is our cars.

This has turned into a 2-day rant, and I didn't mean it that way. I love the Vista Cruiser, and I've spent many happy hours behind the wheel, cruising to Selah or Crescent City or Angel's Rest. I love the eight-inch high Oregon Duck "O" decal on the trunk and its sleek white lines, the way it makes even an old geezer like me look cool. I'm grateful to the God who made me that I was blessed with a good job and could buy it, and that it has been dependable and reliable and not a bit of trouble. But I swear by all that is holy it will be the last "expensive" (and I fully realize expensive is a relative term) car that I buy, and the last large car payment I will ever have. As Marie and I struggle to reunite our family and work through our misunderstandings and fears, I am making a silent commitment to myself: I am going to make better choices, face reality, and unclog this incredible burden of bad debt and bad decisions. We have no cash flow and no future until I do. Money can't buy happiness, that's certain, but the lack of money and fear and anxiety and stress over money can make it almost impossible to even think of happiness: you wind up giving too much energy to worry, fear and uncertainty.

Don't misunderstand--I am not a materialistic person. I'm a big believer in simple joys and a modest life, and I have absolutely no desire to be rich. Honestly, none. In most ways I consider myself already to BE rich. I eat well, sleep peacefully and I am intimate with the sexiest woman on earth. How rich would anyone want to be? And I'm not obsessed with possessions: tonight I gave Marie the keys to the Vista Cruiser, and I rode the train home. She can have the car as long as she needs it, and we'll use the money we got from hers to get our new place.

There's a lot of talk in the news about bailouts and foreclosures and impending crises, and smarter men and women than me will sort all that out. The Senate reportedly took a large step in that direction today. Of course only history will show whether it was the correct one. But I'm a huge believer in individual responsibility and personal choice: I didn't get where I am by accident, and I won't get where I want to go without a plan. And you won't either.

Whatever happens, to the economy or the country or our jobs or our bank accounts, Marie and I have reflected long and hard. We have talked, and argued, and struggled forward and fell back and struggled forward, and we are sure of one thing:

We are better together than we are apart.

Trouble may come. Trials will come, and good luck and bad, toothaches, headaches, illnesses, windfalls, promotions and layoffs, triumphs and tragedies, but after all we have suffered and celebrated, we know in our deepest heart we belong together, and need each other, and life is richer and better and more hopeful when we have each other to hold and to talk to and depend on.

So we're taking the $950 and this week's pay checks and we're applying for an apartment near the central Max station in Beaverton, a ten-minute walk from Austin's school. We'll pack in our furniture and hang our pictures and make hot dogs and macaroni and cheese, light candles and open an eight dollar bottle of wine and call it a celebration, a new chapter in an unfolding story of faith, hope and possibility. That first bite of macaroni will be the most delicious bite of food I have ever tasted, because we have worked so hard and endured so much to make it possible.

After work tonight I drove across town and gave Marie the keys to the Vista Cruiser. We met at the tattoo parlor. Austin was getting a little nose stud for her birthday. Not something I would do, but it looked cute when it was done, and it was lovely to see the pride she felt and at her new-found expression of femininity and independence.

I had a little trouble finding the place. "It's near Tom's restaurant," Marie told me over the phone, "On Canyon Road." I parked at the restaurant and got out to look for it on foot, because I hate searching for someplace unfamiliar behind the wheel. It's too easy to lose track of the traffic around you. The cafe was empty now. They don't serve dinner there; it closes at two like a true cafe. The breakfasts aren't bad but the Big Bear Diner up the street is heavenly.

I walked several blocks in the wrong direction, past a nail salon. No, that wasn't it. A floor covering shop, a tv repair, no tattoo parlor. I went around the block and down again, circled back. Then I heard a voice, faint in the traffic on Canyon Road. "Dale!" Where was she? Up ahead I only saw a Mexican Restaurant and a battery and alternator store. I heard her again but I just wasn't sure where. Neither my eyes or my ears are as sharp as they used to be. I looked this way and that, still couldn't find her. Finally there was a young man up the street wearing a cap backwards, holding one of those signs on a long wood stake with a placard, the kind you always see for furniture liquidations and such. This one was for the pawn shop just off the main drag. He got my attention and pointed across the street, first with his free arm and then his sign and then with a nod of his head. A demonstrative guy, clearly well-suited for his job. There was Marie, up the block and across the street. The tattoo parlor was set back. I jogged across on a break in traffic and made my way to her. She was wearing snug blue jeans and sleeveless black v-neck blouse and her blond curls were flowing loose about her shoulders.

She never looked more lovely and more radiant. We looked into one another's eyes and we knew. We were doing the right thing. It was time, and we were giving everything we had to each other and sharing every decision. I stayed a while and saw the new adornment, and we talked about the possible new location and the small news of the day. I hugged the girls good-bye and walked over to the train.

When I got home there was a package at my door. I'd ordered a new phone from T-Immobile, the worst service company in the entire United States. The phone had arrived, just as promised, ensuring I would have to pay my $150 a month phone bill for another two years. They failed to ship me a new sim card, however, so I still can't use the phone or receive phone calls. I'll have to make another trip to the store, and no doubt they'll charge me $25 for a new sim card.

But not even T-Immobile could ruin a day a great as this one. I sent Marie a good night email, won $5 in the poker game and checked Rob Moseley's Duck blog for the latest updates. And tomorrow is Friday.