Memoirs of a Suburban

I remember the day we adopted her, she never had a name, just a distinct burgundy color with white swirling decals we'd know anywhere. She drove inumerable miles down freeways, to swim meets, soccer games and over rough terrain to horse lessons, up the canyon or out to the hot pots. Her brakes were always soft...just like her heart. She was filled with hay, moldy swim bags, stinky scouts, sour milk, costco runs...the list goes on. She was at the center of our lives but was never in the spotlight. She bore the scars of children ("AMY KLEINMAN") and teenagers alike. When she'd break down she would settle for a duct tape fix, even when she deserved more. She never stopped giving...until one day, her heart just stopped. She went down in a blaze of glory and I think she deserved her moment in the sun.

the front grille (flipped side ways)