She doesn’t look as new as she did in June 1994 when I drove her off the lot at Fox in Oak Ridge, Tennessee. She wasn’t a virgin then, she already had some miles on her about 12,000.

However, with her procurement, the stage was set for our consulting business, and for 27-years and 271,639 miles, she never failed. She still hasn’t failed me. Like a fine wine, she sits at Farmstrong, ready and waiting for her next contribution.

I’ve always said I would restore her to her original prime condition, but I don’t think she cares really. Like an old warhorse, she and I both know it would only be cosmetic. No, like me, she has earned every scrape, scar, and ding and wears them proudly. Her bumper dropped off years ago, and she proudly wears tennis balls in its place.

I remind her that men dig chicks with scars, and chicks swoon over men with them. She still purrs on start even though sometimes she needs a charge to do so. Her early days of my pipe-smoking is still faintly detectable, and a cigar whiff now and then can be found with a sensitive schnozzle.

We did splurge with a new Sony stereo and a plugged-in XM-sat radio. She never protested; seemingly, it stood the stead to encourage her to stay true to me. She likes jazz, the 70s, and Radio Classics.

My hip remembers her well, and it still talks to me as she is a 5-in-the-floor. Never one to hog the gas, she averaged 25-26 consistently.

The old faded American flag decal from the day after 911 clings to her tailgate. There is an Air-Vac sticker and a POW-MIA decal. For those of you who know my early history, I remain faithful to the importance of continuing to look for and find our POWs-MIAs. I always shall. There is one on my wrist we never found. “We recover assets and remove liabilities,” they told me. The roof carry-alls that was Kay’s idea, and they leaked. We both told her they would.

It was a replay today, a reminiscence I allow myself from “The Wonder Years,” found on Hulu, thankfully. The episode is titled “The Family Car,” where Kevin Arnold’s Dad has difficulty giving up his 1969 Ford Galaxy Station Wagon, which prompted this story. Ironically, the show played initially in November 1989, and fittingly for my memory, I thought. Mr. Arnold’s treasure got towed to the junkyard, and he became a “King for the Day” in the neighborhood, showing off his new car.

“Marilyn” will continue to live a good retirement, and now and then, she and I stroll the farm laying out a salt block or two. She seems content in her retirement, and I am soon to join her.

Thank you, “Marilyn,” just as my dear friend Marilyn from my Murray State days is a cherished friend, so are you. And by the way, “Goodnight Miss Calabash” where ever you are.