Time to wash the car.

It sounds simple enough. Unfurl the hose; get a bucket and a thick sponge – one that looks like real sponge. Fill the bucket half way and put in a squirt of Palmolive dish detergent and then spray the car with fresh water, making sure you close all the windows first. They roll up so that’s easy. Now, you’re ready to start by swirling the sponge and the foamy water from the roof on down to bumpers and the tires.

Stage two is when your work starts paying off.  Spraying off the grimy grit reveals the car’s unsoiled colors and the bright work of the chrome…and more frequently than not, spots you’ve missed with the sponge.

The end may be in sight but it’s not there yet.

This is no ordinary car, at least not in our family.

She’s affectionately known as the “Gray Lady,” with four on the column and nascent fins – they were just becoming the rage in the 60s – rising above the “boot” as my son Ted calls the trunk. The boot is cavernous, easily large enough to slide in a dinghy with room to spare for a 2-horse outboard. We’ve never used it for that. The “Gray Lady” is too classy for that.  Rather, and this surely isn’t classy, the boot has all that’s needed down to a couple of Turtle Wax to make her shine.

Open the hood and there’s lots of space, too, The Lady’s heart is and in-line six. The air filter sits over the carburetor with the linkage to the accelerator within easy reach for adjustment. The fan and generator belts are likewise easily accessible as is the oil dip stick. There are no circuit boards or computer chips.  It’s simple mechanical elegance.

The Gray Lady, a 220 Mercedes sedan, has been a member of the family since my grandmother bought her in 1964.  She [that’s my grandmother] was so fuzzy about the car that she never removed the protective plastic covering the snap open compartment on the driver’s door. It’s frayed but it’s a feature we still haven’t removed. She still has her baby diapers.

It’s not all original, however. My mother bought a Saint Christopher medallion that still is affixed to the dashboard wood paneling. My father, who inherited the car following my grandmother’s death, installed a Radio Shack cassette system and speakers. We haven’t tried using it for years.

The Gray Lady has out lasted such accessories.

There was a time when my father would drive the Lady south to Connecticut. The Gray Lady’s days as a snow bird are over. She spends the winters in a garage in upstate NY. Preparations for the winter nap include checking the antifreeze, filling the tank with ethanol-free gas, which is sold locally for farm equipment, spreading moth balls under the hood to deter chipmunks and mice from making it their winter retreat and shoving a wad of steel wool in the exhaust for the same reason. The battery is disconnected, but left in place.

By the time spring weather returns, the tires could use some air. Grease points need a squirt to limber up the joints and the battery needs a long and healthy charge. Amazingly, so far, she continues to start up. She’ll cough a bit and then settle down at which point we park her in the sun, let her idle and open the windows to air out the smell of moth balls.

The next step, as you may have guessed, is to wash her.

So far that hasn’t happened this year. My kids have been driving the Gray Lady and on Friday my daughter, Diana, dropped her off at the “spa” as she has named the village garage. Dale treats her (that’s the Gray Lady, not Diana) with affection. He’ll be giving her an inspection and changing the oil, which we do every two to three years whether needed or not.

As for the wash, my son Ted and I will be up there this weekend. It’s time the lady gets some TLC.