This will sound way too "woo-woo," but I talk to my car. Often. She even has a name. Definitely a personality.

I used to call her Blink, short for black ink. The name came to me easily, like naming your dog. Somewhere down the road, I added an "S."

There are no bells and whistles to Blinks, which is one of the things I like most about her. She's a 2001 Toyota Camry Solara convertible with standard features.

Blinks is six-cylinders but scoots like an eight. There's a slope along her dashboard that runs similar to the curve in an appaloosa I used to have.

Together, Blinks and I have made some tracks — 85,761 to be exact. We've traveled through Louisiana, fierce gully-washers (car washes included) and an intersection when a courier, in a hurry, sailed through a red light. Blinks suffered some damage but nothing that the body shop couldn't patch. I slid by with one small bruise to the thigh.

I swore then that I'd never sell her. That she, along with the Creator, were looking out for me.

Blinks has performed beautifully for over twelve years. In return for keeping up with the routine maintenance — she's provided mile after mile of reliable transportation. Uninterrupted too. I've never had to call for roadside assistance and the only flat tire came from driving down our alley.

Which is why, when I got in my car the other morning and turned on the ignition, I was surprised. Nothing happened. It was the kind of silence that tells you straight on, dead battery.

Then, I remembered that I'd gone to my car looking for something the night before and had forgotten to turn off an interior light.

I went in the house and called AAA, who in turn called US Highway Rescue. In no time a nice man arrived carrying all sorts of equipment.

"First," Fred said, "I want to test your battery." One minute later he handed over a print out. "You know when you go to a heart doctor?" he asked. "This is just like a reading of your heart . . . you see these jagged lines?" he pointed.

The graphic looked exactly like a heart attack but something had surprised Fred. Most batteries lasted from two to three years he explained. Blinks' battery was four! Until then, it had never skipped a beat. No surprise to me, I thought.

Years to come

While Fred skillfully installed a new battery, we talked cars. My husband had suggested that it might be time for me to buy a new one. I hadn't seriously considered it but I had made note of other vehicles when driving long distances. Silly as it sounds, I found myself feeling a little guilty for looking.

Now, I was just curious. Why not ask this seemingly expert mechanic what he would buy?

"Honda Accord V-6, 2006," Fred answered immediately. "Or," he said, "any car that was made in 2006 or earlier."

He explained that the newer cars have a complicated electrical system. Meaning, computerized. If something failed, you had to take it to the dealership as opposed to a general mechanic. "The maintenance," Fred said, "costs a lot of money."

Fred confirmed that there was nothing about Blinks that a good mechanic couldn't repair.

It was a good thing to know, but the service at my dealership had been great over the years. Jose Teran, assistant service manager at Mike Calvert Toyota, had always been honest and forthright. Enough to say during the last oil change that while they had new cars he could recommend there wasn't a thing wrong with mine. Eggs-zactly, I thought. "You could probably drive this car for another two years or longer," he added. Longer, I hoped.

Just before Fred packed up, he handed me a final printout. This time, the line went horizontal.

I thanked him and turned to look at Blinks. There was that tear in her sand-colored top. I'll get that mended, I thought. The speakers were close to being shot but they sounded just fine when the radio was playing. There were those lines in the leather seats that now looked like cracks, but then so were some of the ones on me. As Fred pointed out, being an older make has its advantages.

At the end of the day — I appreciated two things a lot more. AAA and a little black pony called Blinks.

Blinks in Bourg, La.

Photo by Katie Oxford

Blinks in Bourg, La.