Q: Why does Leslie name inanimate objects? or
Q: How does Leslie decide on a name for her inanimate objects? or
Q: Why is the van named Sister Mary Francis?
I know these questions are plaguing your mind. So, I will expound. This has been going on for a long time. The first inanimate object I recall naming was our old family truck. She was a fire engine red, faded to orange GMC Truck. We used her to pull a large family camper-trailer, usually packed to the gills with enough food, adult beverages, Twix bars and Capri-Suns for three months. Survival rations, you know.
She only broke down once in my presence. We were driving the hour from my home town to Salt Lake City (the Big City) when she sputtered to a stop on the side of the highway. We were going to my cousin’s 6th birthday party, and I was loathe to be late. We had to walk a bit down the road, hitch a ride from some guy, and I don’t remember what happened next. I think we just went to the party, because I do remember the party. But this was enough to stick in my mind forever more. My Dad is a handy fella. He fixed her up, and she kept "truckin'"
The next time we went camping, I was quite nervous about our truck’s dubious history. Squeezed onto the single bench seat squeezed between my Dad, my little sister, and my mom (not at all wearing seatbelts) we chugged up the big long hill toward our favorite family camping nook. The truck struggled with the incline and the weight it was pulling. My dad’s foot was clamped down on the gas pedal, flat as a pancake against the floor. We creeped along at a speed of 25 miles per hour at most (15 km/hr). I had a bad feeling this was going to be it. The engine would cut out, the breaks wouldn’t be strong enough to hold us and we would be dragged backwards and over a cliff by the trailer. It was a certainty.
“Surely, Shirley can make it!” I call out. “Come on, Shirley! You can do it!”
And, from henceforth the truck was known as Shirley.
You see, I don’t make up the names. They just come to me. It’s a process of communing with the spirit of the vehicle.
I have been honored to own/drive in several more cars with personality:
The Wahine Bug (73 VW Bug), Bandit (My 2000 Honda Civic), Grandpa (Ford 500), Farley (Andrew’s Honda Accord), Diego (Andrew’s Ford Escape), Annabelle (My Honda Accord), and now Sister Mary Francis (Our New Zealand Hippie Van).
I also name my landscape plants. Mildred (the Meyer Lemon Tree) Russell (the Eucalyptus), RV (the Camphor), Phillip Pfefernous (the California Pepper), Gulliver (the Bottle Brush tree), Sonora (the Pomegranate Bush)....
...this list goes on, but I will just leave it right here. Maybe it's because I wasn't allowed to have pets in my childhood. MOM!
When I told my mom the van’s name, she just laughed. “What? But…why?!” I don’t know, especially when we are talking about a used car with a long history. But this one gave me a few clues. First, when we bought her, there was a clear indicator included on the rear view mirror: a mini-rosary set with a very ribacious Jesus Christ nailed to a cross. “She must be Catholic,” I thought. I’m superstitious about peeling away and removing my transportation vessels’ historical elements (what if they are their talismans?), so we decided to leave the rosary right where it is.
My second clue is her mileage. She is over sixteen years old, and yet she only has (had) about 75,000 miles on her when we bought her. What has she been doing? Transporting little nuns about town for grocery shopping and prayer groups? It’s the only explanation.
[INSERT PHOTO CLOSEUP OF RIBACIOUS JESUS CHRIST]
As we drove Southward on the North Island I asked her “what is your name, van?”
“Sister Mary Francis.” She whispered.
“Sister Mary Francis?” I asked.
"Yes"
“I knew it!” And the name has stuck. I don’t know, it just feels right.
[INSERT PHOTOS OF SISTER MARY FRANCIS IN VARIOUS LOVELY SPOTS]