Driving Miss Daisy?

I got the phone call early, or late by my mother's standards, Wednesday night. Apparently, her Mobile Meals partner had ditched her and Mom was in need of a replacement.

Seeing as how I generally work at the drugstore in the evenings, my wife volunteered me for the position. She said it would give me something productive to do. I already had something to do. And productive is a relative term.

So I found myself driving Mom around in what is to be my son's car, should he survive to be 16.

"You're speeding," my mother said, for the third time.

"I haven't left the driveway, Mom," I said.

I made a beeline for the school that serves as headquarters for Mobile Meals. We got the car loaded up. We got our directions and headed out.

I knew we were in trouble when she started flapping her arms, telling me turn right. She had told me to "head to Lexington Street." That WAS where I was going. She never said which part. Lexington is a long one.

Whew... First house, check. As I backed out, she informed me we would be heading right. I began turning the wheels and backing out, angling the car to the right.

"No," she yelled. "The other way! The other way!"

I felt the need to inform her that we were both facing the same direction.

"That was your right, too, you know, Mom," I said carefully. I started to think I might know why her usual partner had failed to come through for her today.

Another house later, I received the "you're speeding" comment for, perhaps, the sixth time. Strange the way her comment caused me to swerve somewhat erratically.

"My usual partner and I don't drive anything like this," she complained.

"Think it was a badger," I said. "Crazy badgers! Did you see it? No? Really? Must have been a badger in the road... Or a real ugly dog. Maybe. Kinda."

She gave me 'the look.' You know that look that mothers give you when they think you're up to no good. I suspect she didn't believe me.

We were about five houses into our little sojourn when I realized one bag of food wasn't tied. I tried not to notice the peanut butter crackers as I picked up the bag to tie it.

"Get out of that bag!" she said, sneaking up behind me. "If you're THAT hungry, at least wait until the next house. He's blind and probably won't notice."

I glanced back at her over that comment. Did I detect sarcasm? Possibly. Was I being tested? Most certainly.

The climax of our delivery experience came toward the end when she told me to "turn right up here. Head toward Eastchester." I started the turn at a subdued pace.

"Oh... Shoot," she exclaimed. "We're going in the wrong direction. Turn around."

My right turn turned into a rather large counter clockwise circle in the middle of a four-way stop. I had just reached the end of my circle and was about to head back in the opposite direction.

"Oh. That WAS the right direction after all," she said.

I continued on my circle, finally heading the car in the right direction.

As we approached our final destination, I had my epiphany.

"Ya know, Mom," I said, "maybe you should lighten up... You can't afford to lose another driving partner."

Psst... I See Groundhogs

I should probably warn you that this may sound a little bizarre, but I seem to have developed a new gift kind of late in life. Come close so you can hear my dramatic whisper, "I see groundhogs."

I had a conversation recently with my brother-in-law about this strange phenomenon. It seems like no matter where I go, I see groundhogs somewhere close to the roadside rooting around, or just simply sitting and eating. I've seen close to 10 just in the last four weeks. That's nine more than I've seen my entire life up until 44 years of age. Oddly enough, though, I only see them when I'm driving.

So anyway, there we were chugging down the road chatting about my newfound talent. When I first told him that I see groundhogs, he said nothing at first. I glanced to make sure he hadn't jumped out of a moving vehicle.

"Where do you see groundhogs," he asked carefully, emphasizing the 'where.' He watched me like one watches a dangerous person.

I see them all over the place. I told him. Well, not all over the place, literally. They are always by the side of the road, obviously, as I'm driving to and fro from work, running errands or going places.

"You mean dead ones," he asked. "As in... Roadkill."
"No," I said. "Thes ones I see all are very much alive."
"What do they look like?"
"I know what a groundhog looks like," I nearly yelled. "I've seen 'Groundhog Day! They look like Punxatawny Phil!"

Coincidentally, there just happened to be a groundhog by the side of the road at that very moment.

"Look," I nearly yelled, pointing wildly at the side of the road. "There's one now!"

He didn't look in the direction I pointed until we were nearly past it.

"Dude," he said flatly. "That was totally a stump."
"No," I yelled. "No, it wasn't! Stumps don't have fur! Stumps don't eat! Stumps don't move!"

My new plan of attack is to slow down and try to get a picture of the next one with my cell phone. That way, I'll have irrefutable evidence to back up my claim of seeing small, furry woodland quadrupeds rooting around and eating by the road sides.

I made the mistake of telling his sister, alias my wife, and my son about my newfound talent for spotting groundhogs.

To date, my wife has yet to comment on the situation. And my son? Well, this is all he had to say on the matter.

"How convenient, Dad. You seem to be developing a neurological disorder. And Papaw (my father) just happens to be a neurologist. I think we can fix this."

Nothing Good Comes From the Side of the Road

My wife has mandated a new driving rule: there is to be absolutely no talk of any road side spectacles. Period. This seems to be a direct response to my habit of noticing animals, either dead or alive, on the sides of the road. A peculiar byproduct of that habit is my seeming inability to not mention what I've seen in exquisite detail to everyone who may have missed it. Either my wife is jealous that she didn't get to see it or she simply wishes to not see or know about it.

And I have seen it all, too. I've seen live coyote, deer, rabbits, hawks, opossum, skunks, raccoon, snakes, squirrel and various dogs and cats. And, sadly enough, I've seen all the above and more squished flat upon the many highways and byways of North Carolina. Even worse are the pieces and parts that remain behind in various states of decomposition. Frightening are those insane people who look hard enough to try to identify the animal from remains at the side of the road.

"Wow, honey! Judging from that back leg and tail, I would guess that that was a raccoon and it was hit by a cement truck driving south, just on top of the yellow line, at nearly 55 miles per hour! Notice how the intesti--OOWW!!"
"Nothing good comes from the side of the road," my wife would respond after a serious left jab to my right shoulder. "If you'd watch the road instead, your family wouldn't be so afraid to ride with you in the car."

Long car rides are really rough on my right shoulder. Regardless, a moratorium has been placed on any audio commentary from the vehicle operator concerning any spectacles from the side of the road. The only exception being signs pointing out food, restrooms or shopping areas. I've been informed that there will be consequences if this rule is broken. I fully intend to break that rule just to test those consequences, but I haven't yet worked up the nerve.