Carwash

George sold his Jeep this week, the ultimate island ride, but not before the girls had one last go around with her.

How can a car (a mere material possession) become so synonymous with a person? This Jeep was George in an odd way, what he rode in daily or for fun since I met him way back when. As old couples begin to look like each other and complete each others sentences, to the girls and I, George and his Jeep had this going on. It was all him.

The girls knew the unique hum of the engine to an eerie perfection as he would turn our corner, arriving home. The sound of the door cuing Nyah to assume her usual position, hiding under a sheet or something and Elsa to run to the door shrieking. Same thing. Everyday.

It's a shame I had to crop the bottom half of all these pictures out. Nothing more adorable than to see these bare little ba'nas hard at work. The concentration and true sense of purpose and determination the girls showed while washing their Dad's beloved Jeep was priceless, their love for him shining through in their labors. I am sure to the girls, Dad will always drive a red Jeep (but Nyah could only dream it was a rental car).

Elsa was obviously just happy to have her clothes off, finally.