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I've had 4 cars that I called my own. The first was a 1967 Mustang. What a sweet car! So fast. I used to take it out onto highway 1--the Pacific coast Highway and drive and drive. Sometimes I'd drive all night. Not really going anywhere, just for the pleasure of being free.

When I left for Germany, I put it in the garage to await my return. A few months later my parents sent me a picture of sister standing in front of it. The car was totaled. I cried.

My second car was another mustang that they bought to replace the first. It was a lemon. I drove it to Idaho, where my next assignment was, and it died as soon as I got there. It spent the winter under a pile of snow while I walked and hitchhiked everywhere. Yes, I had to walk 13 miles in the snow to get to work.

When I got out of the Air Force, I pushed the car onto the lawn and fixed it the best I could. I drove it back to California, where it died on the Pacific Coast Highway. I unpacked it and left it where it stood, and never looked back.

I used public transportation for the next 4 years. I didn't really mind--it was relaxing and I could read the paper on the way to work. I got a lot of exercise waking up late and running like hell to catch the bus.

My third car was a Honda 1500 Hatchback. It was a good car, but took a beating during the latter days of my drinking career. It managed to survive, and took me through early sobriety and nursing school.

I bought my current car in 1989, a few months after I became a nurse. It was a 1988 Honda Accord. I still drive it. 170707 miles, as of this morning. I was supposed to have a Porsche by now, but........