I wouldn't mind having one of the old shoebox volvos. I don't know the particular model, but they are older. Came in both a four door and a wagon, both had the same front ends and doors, but the wagon was, well, a wagon. Really boxy and square. A foster parent had one. I fell in love with it. Even though I am short, that car had so much leg room and head room. It was comfortable to ride in. He had a wagon model. Diesel. That car was unstoppable in the snow and ice around Steven's Pass and Icicle Creek in Washington state. I don't remember if it had four wheel drive or what, but even when the snow plows got bogged down and the big 4x4 trucks had problems, that car would sloooooooooowly but steadily make it through whatever ice and snow there was. That car never let us down. Never failed to start, never got stuck, never bogged down, never broke down, never failed. He drove all over the Pacific NW dealing with various boys, courts, family issues with the boys, custody hearings, all the typical foster stuff. When I was with him, the car had about half a million miles on it.

I know this sounds weird, but that was a really unstable and bad time in my life. Life was chaotic and dangerous. And bad. And there was something comforting and assuring about that car and how reliable it was. At that point in my life when so many people and things had let me down, that particular car and that particular foster parent was solid as a rock. I even told him how I felt on one long trip in to the big city for court, that being able to depend on something made a world of difference for me.

I wouldn't mind owning a Volvo just like that one. Maroon and white. I don't know the model number, but seeing all that ice and snow and those volvos brought back memories.