I just got the oil changed in my Jeep. It's good for another 3,000 miles at which time the odometer will indicate that Jeep and I have travelled 212,000 miles together. Boris, the mechanic at the bottom of the hill on which I live, believes the Jeep is good for another 200,000 or so miles.
"They don't make engines like this anymore," Boris says though not in those exact words.
Don't get me wrong. I love cars. I can name a few hundred of them I would like to own.
Here's what I like more than the cars of my dreams -- zero monthly payments, annual Department of Motor Vehicle fees of less than sixty dollars, inexpensive automobile insurance, and never having to worry about scratches and dings.
When I really yearn to drive something with, say, a CD player or electronic windows or even automatic transmission I rent a car or borrow a friend's. The urge passes quickly.
One of these mornings I'll probably open my garage door to find a pile of rust where the Jeep used to be. Maybe my clip on dark glasses will be on top of the pile. That would be nice. Good clip ons are hard to find.
Until that happens, I really am driving the car of my dreams.