RIDING SHOTGUN FROM HEAVEN

My drive in to work each morning is a pretty easy one.  Not even 3 minutes out of my suburban driveway and I’m on the interstate, rolling straight into downtown. No turns, no lights just a sling shot eastbound in the left lane and I’m there in 15 minutes, 10 if I push it.

Today though it was different. The last 5 of my 15 was spent behind a pearl white Camry. We exited together at MLK and I followed him all the way down the boulevard, past the turn off for the hospital and right on down past the cemetery. Was this guy on his way to drop off a kid on his way in to work? It was kind of early but not entirely impossible.  Maybe he was on his way to the airport for the United flight out to Denver.  Or Detroit.  It wasn't until we slowed in unison for the yellow aglow at bottom of the hill that I noticed it.

In Loving Memory of Chris
1968-2009

Stuck to the back of his rear window in slanted cursive letters.  An attempt at classy with its italicized font yet painfully innocuous.  Pardon my ignorance but just who was the brainiac who decided to mass market this phenomenon?  The epitaph in a car decal.   And just how does one go about purchasing one of these?  It's been a while since my last funeral but maybe it's like an add-on to the package; a gift-with-purchase perhaps?

...And when you upgrade from the oak veneer to the solid mahogany we include not one but two widow decals to commemorate your dearly departed...   

What would Chris have to say about this?  His brother, his partner, his cousin, his little league co-captain, his whatever was driving around Des Moines with him stuck to the back windshield; the 9 of 2009 starting to roll downward after two years baking in the glow of a Midwestern sun. 

The whole thing just creeped me out.  I mean seriously, what happens when it's time to trade in the Camry?  Do you get out there with an X-acto blade and scrape Chris off the back window?  Do you even remember that Chris is there riding four inches above the ice scraper stored on the back dash? 

I do understand that people handle grief in many different ways.  I get it, I respect it.  And if centering your your loved one's name and stats on your back window somehow helps you move through your grief then all the more power to you.  As for me, I really have no desire to be remembered in this fashion but if you must, then consider this post fair warning: 

I'm riding shotgun across the front windshield. 

In a classy arc.

And scrap the italics.  I'll take the Gothic letters, 60 font.

Stretched all the way across. 

Because...

well, that's just how I roll.

Penny for My Thoughts

"Come on, Mama...what are YOU gonna wish for?"

A wink and a smile crossed my face, "Nuh-uhh. If I tell you Buddy, it won't come true."

Truth be known, I was a little too self conscious to share my thoughts on this question. That, and a four year old has not the time nor the patience to put up with listening to them. This was us a month ago standing in the middle of The Mall of America, our backs turned to a coin filled fountain; breeding ground of wishes, dreams and surely pseudomonas . Joe had given everybody one penny. One chance at making a wildest dream come true. Pennies were cast in hopes of that one wish granted; one lobbed haphazardly, one dropped clumsily, one thrown at rocket speed and mine...mine...mine was burning a hole in the palm of my hand as I strategized.

I can't really blame CF for ruining the moment. No, not this time. I'll take full responsibility for this one. Me and my big fat Type A personality. My parents nicknamed me Patty Perfect as an adolescent. Perfect? Ha! Far from it but the name stuck anyway, like a sticky wad of bubblegum to the bottom of a brand new shoe. Alas, in most arenas I have found this nickname to be a true fit and this moment was no exception. Think hard Patty, this wish has got to be PERFECT.

My strategy for this wish went against every grammatical fiber of my being and as a cool sweat began to bead my furrowed brow, I closed my eyes in deep concentration, willing my wish to come true.

I wish for the excellent health of my family as we live a long and peaceful life in our white washed casa amidst the rolling hills of Spanish sunflowers in the province of Andalucia where our children will recieve news that a cure for cystic fibrosis has been found before the reporters show up at our doorstep to confirm the news that we have indeed won the national lottery.

The beauty of a wish is that there are no rules - something I clearly took advantage of in that run-on sentence of a hope. Lottery, sunflowers and white washed casa aside, there was no way I could leave out good health. But CF? Damn it! How do those two dreadful letters find their way into EVERYTHING?!

Is a penny enough to grant all that AND a cure? Probably not. Maybe next time I'll pack away the Type A, keep it simple and just wish for happiness.