My mother is elderly. She still has all of her marbles- but uses a walker to get around and hasn't driven an automobile in over a decade. Therefore- me being the dutiful and loving offspring -and the only one of my parent's progeny to live in town- I have the distinct privilege of being Mom's chauffeur and errand runner on a very regular basis. Now mind you- I'm not complaining. The job has it's perks- namely being that she buys lunch and a few drinks every now and again, and I get to spend some quality time hearing stories (although I've heard them all a thousand times) about the family and listen to her carry on about the latest news from the neighbors who live directly across from her. ( The neighbors don't miss a thing that happens in the 'hood....)
For the last 8 years or so I have been the proud, and occasionally frustrated, owner of several beater Ford Escorts. None of these cars were really comfortable for Mom and none of them had working air conditioning. So when the last Ford made it clear that it was reaching the end of its life this past August, I finally broke down and signed my life away for the next 5 years in order to purchase a used but much newer mode of transport- which happened to be a Chrysler PT Cruiser. I called Mom to inform her that she would be soon travelling in better style while the dealer was prepping the car and the first question out of her mouth was, "Does it have air conditioning?" Upon seeing the car when I brought it home she pronounced it suitable and comfy- and it was much easier car to stow her walker which she calls her "Cadillac".
So this last weekend- it was decided that I would pick her up to go grocery shopping. I was supposed to pick her up at noon. I rolled over in bed, looked at the clock, and realized that I was in deep doo. It was 3:30. Panic, throw clothes on, grab phone and call Mom. Mild obscenity but ok- get over to the house and and get her in the car, load Cadillac in the back, and head out to store- but first go downtown to drop off tax paperwork to accountant.
As we are driving down a major heavily traveled road, and I am still on something like auto-pilot, due to the fact I haven't had any kind of caffeine for over 12 hours, she starts this burp- gag thing that tells me that things aren't going to be real good in a few minutes. I look over at her and she is pulling her upper plate out of her mouth.
"Are you ok?" I ask.
"Burp, gag. Um huh." She says. She starts rummaging around for her purse to put the teeth in.
"There are some napkins in the glove box," I say, as I reach over her purse, and the stick shift and realize that this isn't going to work unless I want to become a permanent part of some vehicle in front of me. I straighten up and try concentrating on driving the car.
"What did you eat today?"
"Brup, burp burp, gag cough, egg salad."
"Do I need to pull over?"
"Nah, I don't think so. Gag, burp."
I decide that we need to pull over now. Now however isn't going to work because there isn't any place to pull over to.
"Burp, brup, gag choke, burp."
Visions of .... covering my dashboard, windshield, and my mother are not helping me concentrate on driving. I see a driveway on the right and pull in. Now I need to find a discrete place to let my mother lean out of the door to do what is becoming brilliantly apparent in its inevitability. I find a spot next to a delivery truck that shields her from the view of passing traffic, slap the transmission into neutral, pull the parking brake and am out of the car and at her door in less time than it takes to say General Motors. I open the door, unzip her coat, pull off her scarf (it was about 20 degrees above zero that fine afternoon) and wait.
"Burp, Gag.....BUICK. BUICK, BUUUUUUICK, GAG BUUUUUUUICK. COUGH, BUICK........" deep breath and , "BUP, Buick."
Luckily God has endowed me with a strong stomach. I look- (it was hard not to)- and find that the splatter isn't as bad as I thought and amazingly none of it hit me but some did hit the door. The next bit of amazing miracle is that none of it seemed to land on Mom either. I dig in the glove box and grab the last napkin in my stash so she can wipe her face, and later get the door wiped down so that we can get the ***** out of the parking lot- which I realize belongs to a local meat processor.
"You ok?"
"I think so." she says.
"You want to go home?"
"No. Lets get this stuff done today."
Great. This is Karma getting me back for all the times I ever got car sick as a kid.
We get the taxes dropped off and she decides that maybe she needs a sprite to settle her stomach so we head back toward home and the local neighborhood bar where I figure once she has her sprite I can grab some hot water and really wipe the door down so that this .... doesn't freeze and do other horrible things to the interior. At the bar, she's apologizing to me- I'm telling her it's no big deal- after all I used to get car sick as a kid. She then tells me the story I've heard for the 1001'th time about my up-chucking all over Dad. "You know," she said, "I told him you got carsick, and he told me that it was all in my head. I thought when you barfed all over him, good, serves him right."
I decided that instead of Karma getting me for being late and my youthful proclivity to car sickness- it was my Dad haunting the both of us from the other side- just like he swore he would do before he passed on. We finished our drinks and she decided she had had enough excitement for one day and I took her home. I went home and spent the next several hours wondering - am I going to have a member of the family who will be there when I need to Buick when I am her age? I finally drank a couple of brandy and cokes which managed to put the thought out of my head long enough to fall asleep.
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