We said, "good-bye" to an old friend on February 25th this year. 27 years ago, Rick picked me up for our first date. I expected him to drive up in his old powder blue pick up but instead here he came in a huge red Malibu station wagon; first date and already a family man! I was more than a little disappointed. I judged a man by his steed. Well, we married in spite of my disappointment.

We started our married life in Santa Fe. I remember trying to talk Rick into selling the Malibu. We really didn't need 2 vehicles and I thought we could use the money; I had yet to grow fond of the big red albatross. My sister, Oma, came to visit us. After a day in the mountains, driving home from the ski basin on one of those nights you could have touched the stars, Oma lay on her back on top of the car as we carefully drove down the mountain. Crazy we were.

I'll never forget driving home from Santa Fe to move to Tioga, Texas. We were both sicker than dogs and would take turns riding in the back of the Malibu. I thought that trip would never end.

We had baby Lane, stuffed our possessions into the back of the Malibu and moved to Greenwood to build that log home we had dreamed about in our dating days.

Back then we made our living from making "folk art." Remember the folk art days? We made stools, benches, pegboards, tables, checkerboards, you name it. Our studio was the great out doors. Dave came along and we would paint all day long with Dave in his playpen or infant seat observing. Lane, with a bell around his neck so we could locate him, would travel afar, exploring with his constant companion, Eartheu. Rick, the master packer, would load up our folk art wares and off we would travel, in the Malibu, all over the state of Texas trying to make a buck. Talk about living from hand to mouth....

I continued to try to unload the Malibu. I finally had Rick talked into finding a newer station wagon. We cleaned and cleaned the Malibu inside and out. We were going down to see Fen at Ewing Buick and trade 'er in. But, alas, it was not to be. Instead we kept the Malibu and brought home a pickup truck that proved to be a financial disaster. For starters, the air conditioner went out on the way home.

We continued to drive the car that wouldn't die and I, sort of, started to get attached to her. Many a kid learned to drive in the Malibu. Rick did a stint with the post office and delivered mail out of her for a few years. On a trip to San Antonio, we carefully watched the odometer as we approached 240,000 miles, the distance to the moon and back. We pulled off onto a service road and took some pictures. When we got home we had a moon party and lay out at night time, watching the moon and eating moon pies.

I've got a few pictures of the boys and their friends and our beloved Moose packed out for a day at the creek driving Jed and Granny Clampitt style.

Finally, she kind of retired under the Bois d'arc tree until Dave showed an interest in reviving her. Dave and friends made a few revisions here and there and would take her for a clandestine spin on the back roads doing who knows what. They painted a confederate flag on the top, Dave's portrait on the side, gutted her, took off this or that, revved her up and did some dreaming. If only they had some money!

Well, now, maybe, finally. My idea was to bury her out in the pasture like the Cadillacs at the Cadillac ranch West of Amarillo. You know, friends could sing around the camp fire strumming a guitar with the Malibu looming in the background. You could paint some graffiti on her. It was 3 to 1 not in my favor. The only fitting end was to drive her off. Dave got her going and put in plenty of transmission fluid. It took him pushing from the driver's seat and Rick pushing from the rear. Don't worry; I have it on tape. You could still hear her grumbling 2 miles away. Dave drove her on the back roads to the old car cemetery in Alvord. We sold her! $125. Dave Ramsey would say, "Well done."

She served us well and without complaint. When nothing else would start up, you could count on the Malibu!