The Wikiness

I bought the Honda Element new in 2006, and because I wanted one with a manual transmission, I had to go to Indiana for it. But it was totally worth the trip. Its stout little body was versatile, with a removable back row of seats. It was perfect for my steam extraction carpet machinery. Like the French 2CV “Deux cheveaux” of Citroën, the Element’s 4 cylinders powered its front wheels. Shifting gears right under my feet was a pleasant, tactile experience I couldn’t get in an automatic.

And like that workhorse of the French countryside, the back of an Element could be turned instantly into a cargo van, and you could hose out the excrement from its uncarpeted floor after transporting goats, if you had to. 

It was not a “cool-looking” vehicle (my hot-rodding friend Rich Kamka called it “a file cabinet on wheels”), but I fell in love with its reliable service and functional simplicity. When I bought her I was a divorced dad, no longer a dog owner, but the Element, or “Ellie,” as I affectionately called her, came to fill a companion role for me. She loyally started up on the coldest days, had sure traction on ice, and though she never got more than 25 miles a gallon on the highway, her sizeable tank and solid feel made up for it. Her engine was peppy enough to accelerate onto interstate ramps, and along with my music-loving friends, she took me several times back and forth from Chicago to New Orleans with never a hitch in her shift.

She was also the sturdy little conveyance that took my youngest daughter Faith and me on a college reconnaissance tour through the springtime Appalachians.

Based on my previous experience with Fords, I expected a new every 50,000 miles. Amazingly, Ellie required but one clutch rebuild, and that at nearly 120,000 miles. As long as I gave her the basics–oil changes, brakes, tires– she served me like the loving spouse I wished I’d had. 

In 2020 I was remarried to a loving spouse. I’d had Ellie 14 years and she was running as well as ever. And one day in early November I woke out of a dream with a premonition: “Give Ellie to your daughter Faith. She needs it.”

I told my wife about my dream intuition, and she agreed. We would gift Faith the Element and go shopping for a CR-V for ourselves. I was heartened at this, for I’d wanted to get my wife sitting higher off the ground (her visibility in the sedan was never good).

So I texted my youngest daughter, age 27, who at the time only intermittently communicated with me: “Would you like to own Ellie? She’s yours if you want her–and she runs great!” 

She replied promptly and accepted delivery the next week with my compliments and best hopes. It wasn’t until a few weeks later that I saw the effects of my gift.

I discovered with delight that Ellie had been an empowering catalyst for Faith’s breaking a relationship with a toxic live-in partner. With her job entirely onlne, Faith could work from anywhere, and so she hit the road to sunnier spots in the Element. It was her escape vehicle, putting literal distance between herself and a bad influence. 

It was the winter of 2020. The world was weary with COVID. And but for her little dog, Faith was all alone. Yet the two were now riding in Ellie, an independent woman and her canine companion in a society that privileges automotive mobility. She drove, I’m filled with gratitude to relate, to freedom and greater mental health than she had known.

Thank you, dream premonition!