I’m not referring to the Taylor Swift album though I definitely could talk about that.

It’s the age of my grandmother’s Oldsmobile.

I’m not calling my grandmother’s car old. That’s the brand of car. She refuses to drive anything else. You may not believe me, but she says if the car dies before her, she’ll stop driving.

My grandfather used to call it “the tank” for the durability of it. Nothing could take that car down.

I remember on days my grandparents would take my sister and I on day trips. The velvet seats were so soft and fun to brush my fingers against, not a sign of age like some people may think. Cranking down the windows took some effort for my young noodle arms, but it was cool.

I still think that even if it is a little impractical.

It’s older than me—no scratch that, it’s older than my oldest sister.

But I love it. It represents so much of my grandmother. The vehicle may look small and weak, but it is so much more. Durable. Persistent. Formidable. Strong. Everlasting.

She is everlasting.