The car Vern currently drives, the one he has been driving for twenty years, is Vern’s Volvo.
In order to arrive at this conclusion, one must first decide on what exactly we mean by the phrase “Vern’s Volvo”. I believe we mean the idea of a car—that Vern’s Volvo is a concept, not a set of wheels and tires and mediocre Ford Motor Company craftsmanship. Those things are just a physical placeholder, the current manifestation of Vern’s Volvo, if you will.
This may seem a little too new-agey for some, but thankfully proof positive for the identity of Vern’s automobile does not necessitate the acceptance of any car-as-a-concept theory. As soon as one gives some thought to the question, it becomes clear that it is impossible either for the pile of parts Grace has so carefully accumulated over the years to be Vern’s Volvo or for the car to have ceased existing entirely, which conveniently makes the vehicle Vern now calls his own Vern’s Volvo by default.
The logic is as follows:
1) The car Vern started with was, indisputably, Vern’s Volvo.
2) In order for the car Grace now owns to be Vern’s Volvo, there has to have been a definite moment in time when Vern’s car stopped being Vern’s Volvo and Grace’s parts started being Vern’s Volvo.
Statement #2 cannot be true. When would such a shift have occurred? Was it when Vern first had a part replaced? Impossible! All Grace had then was one isolated piece, and at the same time Vern still has all but one piece of the original Vern’s Volvo—ergo, the car he drives away from the shop that day is still Vern’s Volvo. This remains true in each subsequent case; every time, Grace replaces just one part of Vern’s Volvo, and every time he rolls out of the shop in, you guessed it, Vern’s Volvo. If she hadn’t kept all the previous pieces, there wouldn’t even be a question of whether or not the car Vern drives is Vern’s Volvo. It’s just the fact that she happens to have collected all the former pieces of his car in one place that can throw the mind trained to recognize that particular grouping of pieces as Vern’s Volvo.
This is where it gets new-agey again. From the logical progression outlined above, one must infer that there is something about Vern’s Volvo quite apart from its individual pieces that is what makes it, in fact, Vern’s Volvo. That is to say, the thing is more than a sum of its parts. It’s meaning, emotion, history—the idea of a car (which, incidentally, is the main reason why one can’t say that Vern’s Volvo ever ceased to exist).
I’m too tired to bother with a well-thought out ending right now, so you’re probably best off satisfying yourself with the idea of an ending, and getting yourself a sandwich.
