My Katy

Can you truly love a car?  "Ridiculous," you say.  "Sinful, even."  A car, after all, is a soulless collection of metal and glass, plastic and wire.  Gasoline and oil are it's life's-blood...and it's heart is a man-made engine.  There is no miracle here.  Ah...but you don't know my Katy.

She's the car I've wanted since the 2nd grade.  It was 1964...and my Dad...who would do just about anything to please his little girl...took me to the showroom to look at the brand-new Mustang.  He realized that his 8-year-old would not be wise to the fact that we were visiting an out-of-town dealership...and not the local Ford store owner, who was a friend of his.  He knew my obsession would fade away.  And it did.  But not completely.

My first car was a Mustang...a 1979 rust-colored, four-cylinder hatch-back.  I bought it used and paid for it in cash.  I regret that I don't have a picture.  (Who doesn't take a picture of their first car!?  Me, apparently.)  I drove that car until 1991...when it's mounting repair bills forced me to admit it was time for a change.  I needed a "practical car." 

As I spoke to our local Ford dealer about yet another problem with my ride...he said, "We have a car here that you'd just love."  I asked what it was.  And he told me.  "I can't afford it," I said.  "You can come down and look at it," he said.  So after work, as I pulled into the dealership...THIS is what I saw.  Which...as everyone knows...is a Mustang's best side.  I stepped out of my old car...and never drove it again.  So much for a "practical car."

This coming Christmas Eve, we will be together 20 years.  Aside from the usual maintenance issues and a transmission meltdown a couple of years ago...she's never given me a minute's trouble.  She was on my first date with The Mailman...and went along on our honeymoon.  She was a part of my Dad's funeral procession and our post-wedding parade.  She's been to Key West...the Santa Monica Pier...and Cadillac Mountain, Maine.  She's skirted the southern shore of Lake Superior and traveled the length of Route 66 and back again. 

She is a part of me.

Until last week, I hadn't driven her at all this year...a worn-out alternator keeping her sidelined.  TM (my hero, who can do just about anything) repaired her for me...and last Thursday, we hit the open road.  Just she and I...together again.  It was a beautiful day...the wind whipping my hair...her big V-8 purring along in overdrive.  A group of highway workers paused to stare as we passed.  That's my girl.  That's my Katy.