I lived in Paris for a while many moons ago, bought an old 83 Abarth from an old painter; and hung with older artist for a couple of years, helping run an art community.

I still have friends there. I got a 1983 Abarth car for 300 euros from a street artist, and it was able to carry me in style to Sheffield, England later. Was just thinking about that car today. Cars are stories, as we each are.

I’ve had lots of favorite horses or carriages along the way—68 Saab, 69 Kharman Ghia, 64 Volvo, and a few other favorites. I made the mistake of praying for an Elvis car anointing, so that the chapters of my life have been marked and symbolized by cars. I’ve not been able to avoid it. They symbolize each season.

I do miss that Abarth, the old man who sold it to me, was a grandfather and great artist, and it was very fun to drive. We are still friends. Anyways, peppy, and funky this car, like that season of my life. My cars are strewn among the nations now, most donated to friends or charities. But i remember each.

Glad that i can remember the seasons of my life through odd, or peculiar unique one of a kind, vehicles from all over the world.

My first car was a 69 Camaro, white with blue leather interior. Maybe i started to sense the symbol of vehicles at that early stage. Either way have always liked the symbol of vehicles and how they relate to seasons and our unusual identities.

And some times, recently, often, I also miss living in Paris. I still love that city once you get beneath her veils, or surface, there is a unique en-toned and nuanced heart there, if you are willing to read between the lines.