Morgan :
Cleaning my grandma’s car is always a mix of responsibility and nostalgia. I usually start by clearing out the inside—gathering old receipts, tissues, and whatever candy wrappers have slipped between the seats. She doesn’t drive much anymore, but the car still collects little bits of life. I make sure to remove her walking cane and reusable grocery bags first, setting them gently aside so I don’t misplace anything important. It always reminds me of our Sunday drives to the bakery when I was younger.
Once the inside is decluttered, I vacuum the seats and floor mats thoroughly. Her car smells faintly of lavender and old mints, a comforting scent I try to preserve. I wipe down the dashboard, steering wheel, and windows, being extra gentle with the delicate buttons and knobs—some of which she still insists are too complicated. I usually put on her favorite oldies playlist while I work, and she’ll sometimes watch from the porch, smiling, occasionally reminding me not to forget the cupholders.
The final part is washing the exterior. I use the hose and a soft sponge, being careful around the older paint and chrome trim. I always make sure to get the wheels extra clean because she loves how they sparkle afterward. Once the car is rinsed and dried, it looks almost new again, and she usually rewards me with a warm hug and a slice of lemon cake. More than just a chore, cleaning my grandma’s car feels like a small act of love and care—a way of saying thanks for all the rides and memories she gave me growing up.
2025-07-13 04:20:19