I am worn out from four years of turmoil, enduring a raucous, never-ending, out of tune version of OrangeAide.

I am four years older and shun terms like golden years, senior, grey panther, wise, experienced…I prefer to be labeled vintage.

Just as I described Biden yesterday, I am standing by what is old is new again.

During the pandemonium I have attempted to recreate myself for quarantine amusement purposes.

I have brushed off vintage hobbies and interests and made them relevant.

David and I took a trip last week to Atascadero as he reclaimed his love of vintage cars and without me knowing he resurrected a rare, vintage Jaguar XJC.

It was necessary to schedule a wellness call before the actual delivery to establish that the vitals were sound.

This is all meaningless to me.

My knowledge of cars is comparable to my husband’s insight into American football.

I am all about car color and topless forms of transportation. Period. End of in-depth discussion,

This baby is a beauty.

I guarantee I will have to do hair and make up every time I slide behind the classic mahogany Nardi steering wheel which David unearthed in some faraway land which is imperative to the vintage coupe.

The handcrafted upholstery is what turned me on and it is a replica of the original color with all the custom pleating.

I should be jealous, but if this vintage gal turns on my husband than I am supportive of the relationship.