My father died one year ago on this day.
My sisters, my nephew, and I—we sat around him, holding onto each other and holding onto him. I know he knew we were there because he refused to die until his three girls and one grandson were present. We all told him our secret goodbyes alone, and the Hospice center sent in someone to pray.
Then peacefully, with all of us there, he took his last breath and left us. I miss him every day.
Herb Liming
1931-2021
Yeah. I’m reminded of the PBR-drinking American Spirit-smoking hipsters back at my old LA haunts when I say, “It’s a Buick Regal TourX; you probably haven’t seen one.”
But really, that’s the consensus. “What the hell is it?” “Is it a Volvo?” “Is it an Acura?”
Technically, it’s kind of an Opel, but that doesn’t help much. In full form, it’s a Buick Regal TourX AWD Essence. That’s a mouthful, and she’s kind of the forgotten Gen-Xer of the AWD Sport Wagon segment, so I’m calling her the Latchkey Kid. And I LOVE HER.
The Buick Regal TourX was the first wagon for Buick after retiring the iconic Roadmaster in 1996. Hopefully, you know how much I love Roadmasters at this point. I was skeptical but intrigued when I saw this new foray into wagon-ism at the Autoshow in 2018. I’ve always loved classic Buicks, but would I really find myself in a modern Buick? No, right?
I decided to sell the Raptor, closed my eyes, and pressed the buttons. It became a “now what” scenario really quickly, and I only knew a few things. I needed a payment that was way—like wayyyyy—less, I live in a four seasons state, and the snow here can get brutal; I don’t like sedans, I don’t like SUVs, and I don’t like typical.
Oh, and we have FIVE DOGS. It became clear that my future vehicle would probably be a sizeable wagon or hatchback. Also, I’m a tinkerer gearhead that can’t leave shit alone. I might as well own that fact. At this point in the discussion, in the craft, there is almost always an argument about Subaru, BMW, Audi, and Volvo. Hardly anyone mentions the humble 3-year run of the Buick Regal TourX.
I don’t know why. It’s incredibly well equipped—the Lexus vehicles I used to sell were equipped like this, and they were…ahem…pricier. My TourX has leather, adaptive cruise, lane keep, pano sunroof, etc. The little turbo 2.0L isn’t overwhelming, but it does its job, and the AWD is capable. She also swallows an impressive nearly 75 cubic feet of cargo space. That’s a lot of groceries. Or…dogs.
While I don’t foresee any LS swaps in the future with the Latchkey Kid, I have already accumulated a list that includes the Trifecta Tune, HR Springs, Rotiform LAS-R wheels, and window tint. It’s little stuff, but it makes her mine. She’s rare. She’s a conversation piece. She’s kind of weird, and I like weird.
Everyone liked the Raptor. There was not much “me” in that truck; it was neither contentious nor challenging. Everything was easy for CleverGirl. The Nova—that vehicle divided people. It created discussions and debates. I loved that; I used the Nova to meet people and network, and honestly, 80% of the roles and relationships I forged in Hollywood were because of that silly, divisive rust bucket. The TourX reminds me of her. People ask what it is and judge. They either like it immensely or roll their eyes.
What this car actually does is serves up the financial freedom to foster a child. Or travel. Or frees up the finances to pay down more debt. Or allows me to put money into the original Buick—Roadmistress. After all, she is a first cousin, and shouldn’t she help finance the resurrection of her elder?
In any case, she’s a vehicle (no pun intended) to new adventures.
Hurricane Ivan stripped my mother of her home, car, and job in one fell swoop. For someone already struggling with mental health, this experience broke her. Mom sheltered in her apartment, trapped by a huge old-growth Oak Tree that fell through her roof. It took two days for help to come.
Ivan ransacked Pensacola. Bridges were destroyed, roads were flooded, and homes and businesses stood gutted. People from outside of the Gulf Coast asked that same old question: “Why didn’t people evacuate?”
I can’t speak for everyone who stayed, but I can speak for my mother and those like her. She took care of an elderly patient on oxygen who was bedridden. Moving Margie, her patient, was impossible. At the same time, Mom’s car was less than road-trip worthy, and her bank account couldn’t withstand the gas and lodging it would have taken to leave. All the things added up to sheltering in place.
Other people stayed for similar reasons. Disabilities. Poverty. Lack of transportation. Stubbornness. A pack of farm animals that would have made it next to impossible to leave. People build significant lives in one place, and leaving in the chance that a hurricane hits their home seems like a gamble; sometimes, that doesn’t make sense. There’s also the economic side- entire cities don’t shut down because a storm may hit. Companies don’t shut down. Emergency operations still run, and the businesses that serve those operations are still available. Some may be surprised to hear that a gas station has to stay open to fuel vehicles, and the people behind the register there cannot evacuate. People HAVE to stay. The state cannot shut down.
In any case, many people remained, and the trauma that they endured was no joke.
I relay this story because Hurricane Ian just barreled through my serene second hometown, Englewood, FL. I have family and dear friends there who withstood similar trauma as my mother in Ivan. The town endured mass destruction—when I look at pictures and video, my heart sinks. I realize I haven’t posted quite yet, even though I have started this piece about a hundred times.
Southwest Florida is indescribably special. We grew up swimming in crystal clear Gulf water. We learned about manatees and alligators up close and personal. Cougars visited us from rescues at our school assemblies, and we took field trips to Thomas Edison and Henry Ford’s Winter Estates in Ft. Myers, which is now temporarily closed because of the hurricane. We didn’t have metal detectors at our school, and there wasn’t much to do other than go to the beach and hang out with our friends—at the beach.
Englewood was always and will always be the picture-perfect beach for me. It was the first beach I ever visited and remains the bar against which every beach is measured, and suffers. We ran to Englewood after moments for which I have no words, and it was our solace. We attended Sunrise Service on Englewood Beach Service to affirm our Faith.
I am in Cincinnati and watching as my friends and family rebuild. I hope they address their trauma with as much care and urgency as they are the treasures of our beautiful SW FL towns and beaches. Speaking from experience, they can break a person.
If you’d like to help give, please visit this link.
The collective consciousness of a disaster-stricken community is what pulls them back up, and I am not skeptical about the Gulf Coast. Instead of posting devastation pictures, which we have ALL seen, here are some beautiful images of resources, working together, and help.
Amy Liming 