After posting the Lombard Street pic last Wednesday, I started to think about how the years have just zoomed by. About a dozen primo memories came crowding to mind.
Like the time I went to the DMV with College Girl~then 15~so she could take the test to acquire her permit. She passed with flying colors, and I tossed her the keys to my Blazer.
"What do you want me to do with these?" she queried.
"Drive us home."
"In the car?"
"That's what I was thinking, sweetie."
I should note that rush hour had just started, and the kid~seriously~looked like she was about to pee her pants at the prospect of negotiating traffic that time of day. But we made it home~safely, I might add. That was the one and only time I felt like I was driving with my Mom instead of my Kid behind the wheel.
It wasn't long, though, before she was zooming hither and yon in my old bucket of bolts, and Moker and I were staying up late, hoping she'd make it home in one piece.
Then there are the tales of trying to teach my girls how to drive a stick. Why is it that getting started is so difficult with a manual transmission, but they really know how to get that engine racing in the upper gears?
As we've negotiated the Highway of Life, we've run into a couple of speed bumps along the way; most of it, though, has been a pretty smooth ride.