I love my car

It must be said -- I love my car. I named him Merriweather Brandybuck, because its license plate ends in MWB.

It's a "dad" car -- a stately maroon sedan, 1988 Acura Legend. It is one of the oldest cars I have ever owned, and without a doubt the best.

It's the second model Acura ever made. Built in Japan -- "which makes a difference" said the Acura guys -- it is finely designed with gracious touches. A cigarette lighter in the back, as well as in the front. Small lit mirrors on the back of each visor, before this was common. Compartments everywhere, in the days before cup-holders. Leather seats. Motorized seat adjusters. A trunk-release button in the driver's door. A silent ride with no bumps. Lots of power, even in fifth gear. I don't turn into a parking space; like an ocean liner, I steer.

Every time I get in my car, I feel rich.

It's like riding Paleface, that Appaloosa stallion that used to live across the road from me. He was longer-bodied than average, and so smooth you couldn't even feel his trot. I used to slide onto his back at night, and be carried off like smoke.