When I was a young girl still, I imagined myself buying my first Jaguar at age 50. That seemed to me then to be the ultimate car. No Porsche or Ferrari for me – although I must honestly admit that I once tore down Old Schiphol Road in a Porsche – and spectacular, yes, but not particularly elegant, I thought.
In my youth, I had no doubt that later, when I grew up, I would be wealthy. Lack of money? I would never know that. That seemed almost a given. Anyway, the big money has yet to present itself. So far, it seems to be rolling mostly in the other direction. Soit.
I am of a generation that consciously experienced the first car-free Sunday. We walked a bit that day, because driving a car was out of the question. But did I stop to think about how expensive gasoline really was or about the immense industry behind it? No, I was just a little too young for that. But that aside.
What I do wonder these days is why I never hear anyone talk about the polluting batteries that power electric cars. What happens to those toxins after their lifetime? Why does it remain so quiet about this?
No electric car for me for now. I will wait quietly until we find a solution. Until that heavily polluting battery acid finally turns into water, I’m going to keep watching….
