Getting There is Half the Torture

Mom was great to go places with; she always had some interesting destination in mind, and she always entertained you on the way there. However, it was an absolute requirement that you drove. This is not to say that she was not a fine driver--to the contrary, she was an excellent driver. She was cautious, alert, and knew where she was going. There were only a few things that were dangerous about being with her in a car when she was driving.

One was road rage. Not hers, of course, but other drivers who objected to the fact that mom NEVER went above 35. Ever. Not on the 70mph highway. Never. Period. When she had her 14 car pile-up, she had been doing 13 miles per hour. I have my theories about why the pile-up occurred, even if the police said it was an act of God.

Another was boredom. You could not actually die of it from the speeds she drove at because a) she always had the most wonderful stories to tell you as you went along and, b) since she had to use both hands at all times on her steering wheel, and because she always had scalding hot coffee with her which she placed on the dashboard in an open mug. Not one of her cars had cupholders. On the plus side, you acquired some novel second degree burns that made you stop worrying about whether the stains would ever come out.

Most of us learned to cope by offering to drive, and she was always willing to let you do that in her car or yours, unless you didn't happen to have a driving license, in which case, God help you.