Still Pondering Mother and Driving

As Fio was speeding down I-35 at her usual eighty miles as hour, she suddenly wondered what Mother's life would have been like if she had ever learned how to drive. Would she have taken advantage of her mobility to make friends outside of PTA, the neighborhood, and the family church? Would she have been the one who picked up the cleaning and did the supplementary shopping instead of Dad? Would she have spelled Dad at the wheel when we drove up to Ohio and Pennsylvania to visit relatives?

One thing for sure, she wouldn't have had to use the bus to get downtown anymore.

Anger and Violence

About the guns--Fio has read that psychologists say anger, not mental health problems, is what triggers violence, and she can believe that from her own experience.

When Fiorella was in junior high, she walked to school because, as you will remember, her mother didn't drive. Most of the time it was no problem because the school was only about five blocks away, the weather was mild, and there were a few other kids walking too. But one horribly stormy day, as cars full of warm, dry schoolkids driven by their mothers splashed by her, Fio was the only one walking. By the time she got to school, she was so furious that she would have taken out the populace if there'd been an assault rifle available. When her social studies teacher tried to find out what was going on, Fio said she was angry that FlyTaff, a government installation on her way to school, was crowding the sidewalk with its parking. But actually, she now realizes. was angry at her mother.

Pulling Herself Together

Slowly but surely, Fiorella is repairing herself. She's come to terms with her friend's death, recovered from the gunk, and gotten her computer set back on its axis. In addition, her car now releases the ignition key on command, and she has the address and phone number of a cell phone repair shop in a shopping center in Round Rock. And while she's in the vicinity, she'll beard Eye Mart Express with the information that those last glasses whe got from them were bogus--the lenses were weaker than her previous glasses, and Fio doesn't think the ophthamologist was to blame.
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Yes, of course Trump is getting more awful by the moment. His dementia is on a rollercoaster ride, and the GOP is hanging on for dear life, trying to get everything it can out of him before he crashes.
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Fiorella loves cold weather, especially when she's sitting on the couch in front of a roaring fire.
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Busting down the Interstate at 80 mph relaxes Fio. Her eyes, ears, hands, and feet take over and drive automatically as her brain wanders into channels more interesting.
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Fiorella's telenovela had its last hurrah last night. Daniela and Gabriel are married, Eugenio and Blanca have come to a new understanding of their relationship, Julieta and Robert/Juan Pablo, who now have two children, will be moving out of the extended-family home to their own casa, Marisol and Xavi are heading toward some kind of accomodation, Audifaz's book is selling, Linda and Bruno are back together, and Hugo's cookie business is taking off so he and his wife are escaping from his mothe at last. And your Fiorella thinks she's picked up a little more Spanish. Gone are the days when she couldn't sort the characters' names out from the dialogue.

Older

Fiorella is officially an old lady, but that's better than being a dead old lady. To prove her maturity, she wears the universal pendant of old age, a personal alarm button.  (Truth to tell, the major reason is that she might take a fall or encounter a rattler or  copperhead the hard way while she is exploring the wildwoods.)
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There should probably be an upper age limit for drivers, but then how could older people get around to buy clothes and groceries, visit with friends, and attend doctor appointments?
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This topic is depressing. Fio needs her hair done, some botox, a photofacial, and a pedicure to cheer her up.

FYI

No, Fio doesn't play music when she's driving.  It interferes with the scintillating dialogues she's composing in her head.

Odds and Ends

Fio's credit card and Husband's driving glasses are off somewhere together having a good time.  We can't find either of them.
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If Starbucks gets any healthier, I'm not meeting anyone there any more.
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The more wealth a person has, the more people he has to hire to take care of it.
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The hands, the feet, the eyes, the ears--driving is like playing the piano.
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The older women used to be the ones in dresses while the younger generation wore pants. Now it's reversed:  the older women are in pants and the young'ns are wearing dresses.

Elderly Driving

Fiorella read in the news about a ninety-three-year-old driver who lost control of his car and careened around a grocery story parking lot, killing an eighty-five-year-old packing away his groceries in his car trunk.  And she remembers how the lovely daughter of one of her church's pastors was killed by an elderly woman ignoring a stop sign and T-boning her car.  And she thinks about Sue Halter, ninety years old, who backed into her in the Walgreen's parking lot, despite Fio honking the hell out of her horn--and who then denied responsibility.

It's hard to give up your car keys.  Fiorella and Husband, Brother and his wife, the grandchildren--we all joined forces to get Father off the road.  Dad had macular degeneration and could barely make out traffic signals, but he insisted he was a safe driver because he drove v-e-r-y slowly and never made a left turn--executing a series of right turns instead. He'd had one wreck already, pulling out of a restaurant onto the street, but he insisted "that Baylor boy" was driving too fast.  More likely, Dad,had mis-estimated the speed of the oncoming traffic when he crept out onto the road.

Fiorella has been driving since she was sixteen and it won't be easy for her to turn over the keys.  But it will be necessary.  If she doesn't realize she is posing a danger to others, she hopes her children will be kind enough to take over and save her from killing someone.

Confession

I'`ll tell you a secret.  Your Fiorella's been driving ever since she was a teenager, but she's not very good at it. In fact, even her best friends refuse to ride with her.  Part of the problem is that she has no depth perception, which means she regularly bounces over curbs and traffic islands.  The other part of the problem is that the rhythm of the road generates all sorts of clever ideas in her--like this blog, which she worked out in her mind while driving, then pulled over into a handy parking lot to jot down.

Personal Snippets

The dentist told Fio she has small teeth, which is lucky because then they fit inside what his assistant told her is a very small mouth.  (Strange--Fio's always been told she has a big mouth. Guess appearances can be deceiving.)
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Fio got distracted yesterday and ended up driving the wrong way into a one-way street, then into another one to set everything to rights.  Thank you to all the drivers who honked warnings and even stopped dead in their tracks as she came at them.  What distracted her?  She was thinking up new threads for her current oeuvre.  Now you know why you should never ride with Fio.
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Fudge mallows and Spanish peanuts--they're a cure-all--good for the brain and for the body. Fio's energy revived, and she slept well too.
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Most writers' romances reflect a more sanguine view of life than Fiorella's do.  That's why hers are called dark.  She's realistic.

The Times, They Are A-changin'

Fiorella just realized that the world is getting smaller in small ways too.  She may not be traipsing around Europe like Daughter, but she does do a fair amount of driving, a lot more than her mother ever did.  In fact, her mother didn't even now how to drive, while Fio thinks nothing of toodling forty miles up the freeway to meet a friend for lunch.

Darkness at Noon

The morning started out bright, then darkened suddenly as a rainstorm pummeled Fiorella's windshield while she was on her way to Austin.  Experienced in bad-weather driving, Fio took her foot off the pedal and kept the car aimed straight ahead until she caught sight of a broken white line, then rode the side of it carefully for the next five miles.

The other cars had slowed down too, but not as much as Fio. What was her problem, and why was everything so dark?

Oops.  She still had her sunglasses on.  

Transportation

Mother didn't drive so Fiorella walked three blocks to and from kindergarten, first grade and second grade. Then, when the family moved to Texas, she walked ten blocks home from third through sixth, thankfully getting a ride from neighbors in the morning.

In junior high, Fio was entirely on her own to and fro, but North Junior was just six blocks away. Needless to say, she developed good walking muscles, which served her well when she rode her gearless bike back and forth to Catechism classes every Saturday. High school, on the other hand, was downtown, so Dad dropped her off on his way to work. But after school, she walked several blocks to a bus stop and rode the city bus home.

Walking to school was okay in Ohio because all the other kids walked and she was not alone. But in Waco, all the mothers drove their kids to school, even from two blocks away so those elementary school treks home in the afternoon were lonely, and, Fio now realizes, dangerous. And sending a thirteen-year-old girl out alone on a two-mile bike ride was was tempting fate.

Fiorella may have developed good calf muscles and a lot of self-reliance, but she also developed a firm determination to learn how to drive, for the sake of her future children.

Beware the Fiorella Car

Fiorella has never been very good behind the wheel, as evidenced by her driving record--several minor accidents and loads of warning tickets.

It all started when she took Driver's Ed the summer she turned sixteen. Fio expected to be, as usual, at the head of the class, and she did turn in an excellent paper score. But Fio was not a natural driver. She had trouble at first even steering the vehicle straight, much less starting it, stopping it, and turning corners without swinging all the way across the road.

Mr. Tyler, tennis coach during the long terms, Driver's Ed teacher in the summer, decided the class needed experience driving at night so he loaded up the car with the special brake on the right and the students all took turns. Fio was in the driver's seat when the Highway Patrol pulled us over. Hands on holster, the officer approached the car full of goggling teenagers.

Pulling out his ticket book, he told Fio it was against the law to drive in heavy traffic with brights on.

Mr. Tyler hastily took over and explained this was a Driver's Ed class, at which the officer drew back in horror and said, "You mean you let them out on the highway?"

Good Cop relented and just issued Fio a warning, but she went home that evening and announced to her parents that she'd been arrested. Once Mother had the full story, she laughed like a hyena and spread it all over town.

And Fio has been living up to her advance billing ever since.

Don't Honk at Me!

Fiorella is NOT happy with the other drivers on the road. They are so rude.

Thursday evening, while Fio was driving to the library, she had a brilliant idea. Now, Fio often gets brilliant ideas while driving and immediately looks for stop lights or stop signs at which to write them down. And sometimes the idea is not only brilliant but fairly extensive so Fio has to pause a second or two extra . . . or three or four . . . and people have the nerve to HONK at her!

Fio thinks drivers should be more respectful of an artist at work. In fact, she's thinking of sticking a sign on her back window that says BRILLIANT IDEA BEING HATCHED; DON'T HONK!

And that pertains to when she accidentally wobbles out of her traffic lane too.

Zombie Driver

After I started my car last night, it took over and drove me halfway to Austin before I got control of the wheel and backtracked toward my original destination. Yes, my little MX-5 has a mind of its own.

Usually it does a very good job. I can travel all thirty-five miles to Austin without even being aware of it until suddenly I'm there. My baby car stays on course, keeps in its lane, dodges semis, and adjusts itself to the traffic speed, all without me being conscious of it.

When you think about it, driving is a very complicated business. Unlock and open the door, ease into the seat, shut and lock the door, check the seat and the mirrors, fasten the seat belt, insert the key into the ignition, step lightly on the accelerator, turn the key and hope the engine catches, then release the brake. Next comes pressing the the button to open the garage door, putting the car in Reverse, backing out slowly (veering slightly to left to avoid knocking the side mirror off again). Once out of the garage, close the door, cut back sharply to the right, pause to move gearshift to Drive, then cut to the left and turn in order to head down the driveway face first. Along the way, adjust the air conditioning and recheck the mirrors.

Sometimes I mentally click off all the steps--1,2,3 . . . .

It's very complicated maneuvering that is second nature to any experienced driver, but nothing compared to highway driving, which is nothing compared to city driving. The signs, the traffic lights, the ebb and flow of the vehicles around us--we rarely register them consciously, because our cars automatically know what to do.

Which leaves us free to dial up the world on our cell phones.