Should auld Plymouth automobiles be forgot and never brought to mind? In the nostalgic moments of a New Year's Eve I recall with exaggerated fondness the '61 Sport Fury of my college years. In a bitter winter in the early Seventies I learned that eating the citrus fruits floating in a rum punch was a bad idea. We won't dwell on that now, but my son hosted a fairly impromptu party for college friends at the condo.

In between the whirr of making margaritas in my blender and shuffling cards, I caught the sound of "Volare"! This was not Jerry Vale or Petula Clark singing the Italian ballad. It was not Sergio Franchi singing the jingle for the Plymouth Volare of the mid-Seventies. This was the Gipsy Kings on an iPod.

For auto lang syne, my dear,
for old Plymouth lang syne,
we'll take a cup o’ kindness yet, and a quart of oil
for auto lang syne.
To fly, Oh!, Oh!,
To sing, Oh!, Oh!, Oh!, Oh!
In the blue of your blue eyes
Happy to be there.

© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder

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