The Passenger Seat

The Passenger seat...looks quite harmless away from the rest of the car, doesn't it? But put it back in and it becomes a seat-belt restrained hell from which you can't escape. Especially when you're riding with the king of road rage.
I just returned from Nebraska. Fourteen and a half hours to get there and my stomach was in knots. Instead of our Yukon Denali, we elected to take our PT Cruiser. It's fine for around town, but I prefer to be in something more intimidating if I'm going to challenge big rigs and other SUVs. I've never liked small cars because when you're a big person, it looks more like your wearing it than riding in it. :)

While trying to enjoy the beautiful scenery...endless waves of corn fields, beautiful lakes and rivers, and a multitude of green trees, my serenity was ambushed by constant obscenities and exhibition of the "California howdy" to those my beloved felt infringed on his right to travel the roads unhampered. I really got tired of asking how fast he was going, if he knew the speed limit, and informing him that if we were close enough that I could make out the model name on the dashboard of the car in front of us, we might be following a tad too close. I also resented that since I have night blindness, he insisted on driving faster than I could NAGavate.

It took fifteen hours to get home because we came through St. Louis at 5:00 pm. Not a wise move if your planning to travel that way anytime soon. But, we arrived home safely, thank God, and believe me, I did many times. I took my pillow, but fear of dying in my sleep kept me from dozing off during the ride. I almost threw caution to the wind on the way back, but the blaring horn of the big rig when hubby tried to share lanes made me change my mind. I think next time, I'm going to insist that he wear his hearing aids. I don't think he got the full benefit of my wisdom. :)

Thanks to all of you for your sweet messages of condolences. The funeral was quite an experience if you're not Catholic. All I can say is they certainly get their exercise during their services. Sit, stand, kneel, stand, sit, kneel, sit kneel, stand...I was pooped afterwards. Kelly's father was buried with military honors and the honor guard, twenty-one gun salute and taps was quite a touching experience. Despite the white-knuckle ride, I was happy I could be there to support my husband and his family.

Boys, there's nothing like a funeral to make you question your own mortality. I realize there is much I need to do to get myself in order, so this week I'll be writing down my final wishes, listing all my bank passwords and login IDs, and yahoo group memberships for whoever might need them when my time comes. I pray it will be a long time from now, but I'm not leaving anything to chance. With my luck, I'll be displayed in a sweatsuit with Lay Lady Lay playing in the background. *lol* My best friend was cremated because she feared her husband would carry out on his threat to have her buried in a red belly-dancer outfit and make sure the service was open-casket. Not me...I'm not going to be a display item for the mortician's cosmetologist and hair dresser. No one has ever done my hair right as long as I've been alive, so I doubt highly anyone would go to great lengths to please me when I'm dead.

Ashes to Ashes has taken on a whole new meaning for me after seeing what the family had to go through. I'm going to make it as painless as possible for everyone involved. This way I don't have to have nightmares about someone seeing me naked. :)