My friends have all gotten married, had children, bought houses. People see them differently than they used to, when they were just broke kids living in shitty apartments. I don't. I see the same people I've always known. I'll have to ask them if they feel they've changed. Do you think you've changed?

There was a story in Seven Days last week, another story about airport noise, that caught my eye. Normally I would say that I have heard more than enough on the topic, but the picture drew me in. It's a plane on the runway with a fenced backyard in the foreground, shot through the windows of a back porch. Having seen the airport from just about every angle, I wondered "Hmm, where is that?"

It's one of the few remaining homes on the street, the Garvey's house at 44 Dumont Ave. 

In 1986 my parents bought 57 Dumont Ave from Mr. Garvey, one and the same, who had recently retired and planned to move down the street to take care of his aging mother. He had raised five boys in that (3 bedroom, 1 bath) house. That was 1986. 

Mr. Garvey spent decades (I don’t actually know if he was the original owner) at 57 Dumont and an ongoing 33 years at 44 Dumont. When I was growing up, the Garvey's were a quiet, retired couple who took frequent walks by our house. I delivered The Other Paper to their house (via the mail slot in the garage door) for years. We kids used to walk beside their wooden fence, between their house and the once-yellow triplex next door, to get to the end of Airport Drive that is now a hodge-podge of parking lots. We used to hang out by the airport fence, doing nothing in particular. 

I look at Google maps to refresh my memory. When I was growing up, an aerial view of the neighborhood would’ve shown a lot more houses and a much smaller airport devoid of a parking garage. The more recent rounds of demolition have been more rapid, but houses started disappearing early in my lifetime if not before. Both sides of every street, including Airport Drive, were once lined with houses. The Garvey's have been there through all of it. I guess it's not that unusual; I guess I'm fascinated that anyone still lives there at all.

I get it, I've been to other airports; none of them are surrounded by houses. It was loud living there. The windows rattled, you couldn't hear the TV or engage in conversation. Often we had to take a pause as four or so F-16s took off. I'm not so much wistful over the loss of my house or the neighborhood, but I do feel something strange if I drive through. In my mind the place doesn’t exist anymore. It's not the buildings or the lawns; it's the times I miss.

I sold my car on Wednesday. I put it on Craigslist on Sunday, received lots of interest, and sold it to the second person who came by to take a look. It was a 2006 Subaru Legacy with a manual 5-speed and about 125,000 miles. 

It had been in three (albeit minor) accidents. One when I backed into an old, chrome-bumpered truck in a downtown parking lot, leaving a distinctive (glass half full) dent in the plastic rear bumper. One when a kid pulled out in front of me while coming over the hill in front of Full Moon Farm on Gilman Road. It is very difficult to stop driving downhill on a dry, dusty dirt road. I T-boned this guy. I think it was a Corolla. It did a lot of damage to his passenger door, wheel-well, and front wheel/suspension. It left some green paint on my front bumper and bent up my license plate. I got his insurance info, along with an eyewitness account from Dave Zuckerman (farmer, silo-dweller, lieutenant governor), but I didn't even bother to get it looked at. The third time, this one wasn't great, I went off the road this past winter driving up a very icy hill, (the big hill, you know the one) on Silver Street heading north into Hinesburg. One thing about all wheel drive, fishtailing is possible. The back end got away from me and I slid into the roadside ditch, stopping with the help of a culvert to my front left tire. No damage done to me or my mom, but we had to get towed out and the drive out on the doughnut. Not ideal. 

But really it was in good shape. I had all the service records. It was inspected and prepped for sale. Some rust at the bottom of the doors, and some more underneath, but that's Vermont. So what if it wasn't washed for five years. The buyer should get several if not five good years out of it.

I made sure to take notice as it left the driveway for the last time. The other times I have sold cars my feeling was mostly 'good riddance'.  It's different this time. I don't have a new car to be excited about. The excitement of the new doesn't blind me to the loss of the old. 

I bought that car in April of 2008. I was commuting to Montpelier and my Audi wasn't up for it. I wanted a simple, reliable everyday car with all wheel drive and decent gas mileage. And I wanted a manual transmission. That last part made my search much more difficult. Boring mid-size sedans can be hard to find in a manual. Almost impossible in 2019. 

I had to drive to Massachusetts to buy a two year old car with about 25,000 miles. I didn't get to drive it home that day, but I remember coming out to the parking lot at National Life to watch it roll in. It wasn't new, but it was the first thing I bought that made me feel like, I don't want to say it made me feel like an adult because that wasn't it, but it made me feel like I could afford something nice. Something that wasn't constantly breaking down. Something I had to take a loan out to buy. For me, it was much more of an 'I made it' moment than anything before and probably since.

My mom asked me if I even knew what I would buy if I were replacing my car. I've many times talked about how I'd looked at this car or that car online. Upon seeing a wide variety of cars, (I'm using 'cars' here as a catch-all) very often I say things like "I like it, but I wouldn't buy one," sometimes followed by "unless I had two or three cars". The best example of this is a Jeep Wrangler. So she had assumed I wouldn't know what I wanted. A very safe bet in this hypothetical situation.

But I do know. I would go to Shearer Volkswagen and buy the Great Falls Green Metallic GTI SE. They have that. On the lot. That's the one with black leather and a panoramic sunroof, (I don't really care about the leather, in fact I would almost prefer the Clark plaid cloth from the S model, but the sunroof is a must.) And a 6-speed manual. And a 228-horsepower turbo-4. And good gas mileage along with hatchback practicality. I admit that I would have to see the color in person; screens can be deceiving. 

I almost want to go take a look. But I dream.

I have a few ideas for societal improvement, allow me to share.

Everyone should work in a restaurant. You've heard this one before, but often it is "everyone should wait tables". I include the kitchen staff because they are putting in work, sweating profusely, without the tips.

Everyone should go without a car for a while. Because my POS Audi regularly acted like Mona-Lisa Saperstein from Parks and Rec, (“Money Pleeeease!!”) I had to park it for a year or more in college. I got a job I could walk to, and lived all seasons on foot.  Actually I don't recommend it. Too much walking in the rain and brutal cold. I realize that I am not alone, or even in the minority in this, but in my case, it added to my bitterness. All it did was teach me that riding the bus takes an hour longer, and although thousands of cars may pass you in the pouring rain, none will be stopping.  

And my main point, everyone should live alone. Not forever, but long enough to learn that if anything needs to get done, it's on you. Knowing that no one else is going to take care of your shit is a very valuable lesson. Want to eat? Make something. Out of clean silverware? Wash some. Need to connect that new TV to the wifi? Do it. 

I'm not saying that we all need to know how to do everything, but we should be aware of what is, and needs to be done. Think of the episode of The Office where Dwight resigns. Only after he's gone does Michael realize how many unseen tasks he had taken on. Dwight is of course a major league suck up, but for the purposes of this post, he is also as self sufficient as anyone. Self sufficiency should lead to an appreciation for all that is done for you. In short, be more like Dwight.

I get out of the shower and lay on my bed. I look at the pictures on the wall. One of Nick and I in the apple tree, him smiling and looking at the camera, me with half-eaten apple in hand, oblivious to the camera. The other of Nick and I wearing aviation headsets in the back seat of a plane, him in the background smiling and looking at the camera, me in the foreground sticking my tongue out. My eyes well up a bit and I think, What the fuck happened?

A little reality in an Instagram world

I always try to appreciate the truth, especially when it might be easier not to tell. I know that despite your social media posts, all is not champagne and white sand beaches. I love to see people of all walks share their difficult moments in heartfelt honesty. If I may offer some advice, try to be honest with the people around you. A little reality in an Instagram world.

I am literally jealous of homeless people. And of course I'm being short sighted. I realize that I have many positive things in my life that a homeless person likely does not. And I realize that their lives are difficult. But for years, when I see the homeless, I think I'd like to trade places. More interestingly, would a homeless person want to trade places with me?