WHIZZ, POP, BANG......

Happy 6th of July everyone. Hope you all had a happy and safe 4th.
We're all fine, well I am anyway. Wei Wong and Carl are at it about the Nathan's hog dog contest. Carl is gloating that Joey Chestnut from San Jose, California beat out the reigning champion Kobayashi. The twins are quiet, which isn't unusual for Lucy, its Lindsey that has me worried......sumthing is up......
Still haven't heard from Faith and it has occurred to me that she might just stay put on the mountain. Dr. Moron said that we'd begin to disappear as individuals, but I'm not so sure she is the one that should go. Well, here's the story I promised......hope you get something out of it.


ALONG FOR THE RIDE

It was my baby sister who pointed out the obvious to me about some photographs we were discussing by phone one afternoon.

Have you ever noticed that just about every picture we have of Grandma Sallie, she
is standing beside a car?

She was talking about our maternal grandmother, a tall heavy woman with dark hair, dark lipstick and even darker rimmed glasses. She was someone we had confided memories about on other occasions.

Hoping to stir a pleasant thought while studying my set of photo prints, the shaded areas of Grandma's cheeks remind me of the oil stains left from all her cars over the years. I could only say.

Yeah, I'm trying to remember just how many she had.

Grandma was always driving somewhere and in order to have any time with her, one had to go along for the ride. She planned her days around car trips, trips to the Jitney Jungle or to the post office for more post cards to keep everyone she considered important up to date on the latest.

Well let's see, I can remember Pasadena and her last one Delta Dawn.

Sister was referring to the names Grandma gave her cars as she talked to them like they were her children. Explaining to them that she just had to get somewhere and that they just had to start up and not give her any trouble. She would coax them into small parking spaces giving them reassurance that they could make it. When honked at by other drivers, who were impatient with her lack of speed or annoyed that she didn't use proper arm turn signals, she'd tell her beloved cars not to pay any attention to those 'ole fools'.

Listening to her car talk was the extent of her conversation. Whenever children attempted to engage her in small talk while she drove, they were shushed so that the car could make it through some busy intersection or that it didn't miss it's turn.

You're probably too young to remember Ole Maude

I don't tell her that several of us kids were with Grandma the day that one died. Gasping its last breath somewhere near the courthouse in Jackson, she refused to leave it. In her solitary grief, she climbed into the wrecker's cab and drove away leaving us to find our way back to
239 Rose Street.

No, but I do remember how she'd pile all of us in and haul us all over the place.

Her laughter tells me she has found joy in her memory. I stare closer at the photo in hand and in my mind's eye I'm standing over an oil stain. It's the only thing I can relate to after
Grandma has driven away.