Dude, Where's My Car?

This is not the post that I planned for today.  I   was going to update about the landscaping, but instead, I have bad news.  My beloved senior-citizen-of-the-road Camry was stolen today at approximately 11:30 a.m. from the Mall 205 Home Depot parking lot.  That's right.  The 25-year-old car that I cram Christmas trees into was the object of someone's desire.  No, seriously. 

I'm so glad that I photographed the last great Christmas tree experiment.

I have had one car stolen previously, and we found that eight hours later, a block and a half from the house.  I hold out no hope that the same thing will happen.  I fear that this will end far more like when my sister-in-law V's Jetta was taken and was later found stripped of all parts, abandoned in a dry riverbed.  (Side note:  The insurance company all but accused her of stealing her own car when she filed the claim.  Then, when she set them straight on that one, they turned their focus on Mr. flyskim because she mentioned that he had driven it once or twice.  True story.)

I loved that car.  My dad gave it to me after my little Sentra died in 2004, and now it's gone.  The police say that people target these older cars because they're easier to steal than newer ones. That may be, but I'm still baffled as to what kind of value there is in a 25-year-old car.  The only thing new on it were the tires, which Mr. flyskim had just had replaced this morning.

Well, to the scum who made off with my little car, I hope you die.  Slowly.  And painfully.  I wish I could be all zen about it, but now that we have the police report done and the insurance claim filed, the numbness has worn off, and I feel helpless and angry. 

So, goodbye little car.  You were a good car.  We'll miss you very much.