It just occurred to me, it was one year ago Friday that I said goodbye to the Cursed Corolla. Not only was it a four-door automatic and not a Honda, it cost me way more in repairs than I paid for the damned car in the just-over-a-year that I had it. You can therefore understand it was not with unalloyed dismay that I learned it had been stolen from the parking lot of my apartment building.

By the time it was stolen I really hated that car, nearly as much as I love its replacement. However, it managed to more or less behave itself while driving the Cabot Trail in the summer of 2005, so maybe that's how I should remember it.

In fact, here we are on top of Smoky Mountain, courtesy of libraryman:



Wherever you, are, CC (probably in pieces all over the Maritimes), be well. And please don't come back.