|In all her glory. Observe the glint of sun on the passenger front window. Pretty.|
|A little part of our history attached.|
|Marks from our old sailboat dinghy being dragged across the roof. Totally Jay's fault on that one.|
|Coffee stains. On the ceiling.|
|My life from the console. I'm surprised neither of my kids have scammed that cash.|
But it is one of the safest-feeling cars I've ever driven--excellent in snow and ice. And I actually embrace its less-than-desirability. It's kind of my way of thumbing my nose at the auto industry and the people who fall prey to them, as they hold the notion that the car you drive speaks worlds about the person you are. So not the case. After all, once you leave the confines of your car, you being you is what matters. I feel like I'm sounding all preachy-like today. But seriously, do people look at me while I'm driving and say, "Oh, look at that poor woman driving that god-awful car. How does she survive?" Hopefully they do not, but if they do, that's OK. It's kind of like adopting the homeliest dog or cat at the shelter. Beauty isn't everything! There are benefits to owning such a heap, as well. Nobody wants to steal it or even break into it. Taxes and insurance are next to nothing. And, to quote Jane's Addiction, "It's mine. All mine." Well, and Jay's, too, but he pretty much refuses to drive it.