Please excuse me as I get a bit mushy and a tad philosophical. Two years ago, this coming June, I married the love of my life. We wed in a beautiful garden at her godparent’s home. We worked for weeks getting every detail of the garden just right. Every weed pulled and every blossom planted in just the right spot.

While digging a flower bed I unearthed a treasure. The Matchbox Porsche Turbo originally cast in 1978. It was a relic from the godparent’s children that have long since grown and moved away. I showed it to my to-be-wife’s godmother and she graciously told me to keep it.

When I got home that night, just two days before the ceremony, I dug through my loose die casts knowing I had a relativity unscathed version of the same car.


I cleaned the years of dirt and neglect off of the long forgotten Matchbox car and set it with it’s shiny cousin.

The big day came and our ceremony went off without a hitch. Later, at the reception I showed my bride the two cars I had in my pocket during the ceremony. For me the old relic long forgotten, damaged and flawed, and missing parts is how I felt after my first marriage ended so disastrously. Now thanks to her I feel like that nicely painted, crisp, new looking Porsche Turbo; ready for a lifetime of playful imagination and fully appreciative that I’m no longer that old discarded relic buried and forgotten.


Just a little story to show that sometimes these little cars are not just about what’s going to appreciate in value, sometimes the cars have meaning much bigger than their diminutive stature.