Those people who know me know that my car is special.

It was my grandfather's car, a note I made mention of when I began writing my column, "Matthew Weaver In His Natural Habitat," more than a year ago.

When he was no longer able to drive, it went to me, with the understanding I would use it to get around at work and at play. And when he and my grandmother died, it was a link to them, a way to say while they might be gone, they certainly are not forgotten.

However, when I first got my hands on my car, a very significant something was missing.

You see, throughout my childhood, grandpa Harry had had an old-fashioned Ah-Ooo-Gah horn installed. So when grandpa and grandma arrived at church or for dinner on a Sunday afternoon, they arrived.

When I got the car, the horn wasn't attached. Even though I drove it, even though it got me from Point A to Point B, even though it elected to run properly a majority of the time, it wasn't complete.

My parents were savvy enough to know my heart was slightly broken, so during one trip to Spokane, Dad made a point of reattaching that horn.

And, oh man, have I used it in the years since.

From the moment I shocked a former editor by honking good-bye as I drove out of the Columbia Basin Herald parking lot - seriously, it was beautiful, her jaw dropped down to here - I've had my finger down on the horn and barely let up.

I've aaoogahed mayors, pretty girls on the street, friends, passing acquaintances, utter strangers and inanimate objects alike.

You know those signs people hold up when they're politically charged? HONK IF YOU LOVE MARMOSETS? HONK IF YOU HATE MARMOSETS? You'd be surprised how willing you are to give everybody a chance if it means you get to blare an aaoogah horn all over the place.

It's even better when it's dark and quiet, and the ensuing "AAAAAAOOOOOGAH" echoes into the night.

It's heralded my arrival to conferences, banquets, meetings and ribbon-cutting ceremonies, and it's let everybody know when I leave.

And I'm sure it will be the last sound I make as I drive out of Moses Lake after four and a half years later this month.

I've accepted a new position that takes me home to Spokane. It offers new opportunity and the chance to be closer to my family. At this point in my life, it feels like the right move to make.

I don't want to start naming names, because space is tight and we'd be here until next week, but I do want to thank former Herald editor Mary Powell for hiring me, former editor Erin (Stuber) Lodi for keeping me and current Herald editor Bill Stevenson, for wishing I'd stay.

I shall remember past and present members of the Columbia Basin community fondly, especially those people who've embraced me so as we've led our daily lives. Thank you for your friendship, thank you for your affection and thank you for your trust in me as I've shared your stories.

Farewell, Columbia Basin. One day I hope we shall both be able to say we remember each other when …

Aaoogah, and Godspeed.

Matthew Weaver is the senior staff writer for the Columbia Basin Herald. His last working day is July 23. If you wish to keep in touch, his e-mail is WeaverRMatthew@gmail.com.

EDITOR'S NOTE - We will all miss Matthew terribly. He was the utmost professional and capable of raising the spirits of anyone he met. The newsroom will miss our little ray of sunshine. We are proud of him and wish him the best in his next chapter of "Matthew Weaver In His Natural Habitat."