SKINNY ATLAS

As I drove up through upstate New York last weekend, I felt very concerned about the car I was driving.  It belonged to an old man, a snow bird, and he had packed the car so full that I could not see out the back window.  My rear view mirror was completely useless.  And the front seat passenger side was completely full from floor to roof, making it extremely tight to settle into.  I had to squeeze my backpack onto the console, and it rubbed up against me as I drove.

My cell phone rang.  "This is Bill."

"Hello Bill, this is Maggie up here in Skaneateles.  You asked me to find out about cabs going to the Syracuse airport."

"Yes ma'am, that's right."

"I've decided that when you deliver my Dad's car, I will give you a ride myself.  But you're gonna have to pay me."

"No problem."

"No, I am serious.  Your company raped me on the price to move Dad's car, and so this is payback."

"No problem.  I should be there in an hour."  I hung up and smiled as I peered at my Mapquest directions.  I was going to a town in New York called Skaneateles, but to me it sounded like Skinny Atlas.  I had nothing but trouble driving it up from Naples, Florida.  The car was overloaded and completely unsafe.  And Maggie had been calling me once an hour every hour since I started this trip.

Just over an hour later, I pulled into her driveway.  Maggie was standing in the driveway doing stretching exercises, and she marched straight over to the car with her hand out.  "Where's my money?" she demanded.

"How much did you want?" I asked.

"Fifty dollars.  And I will not haggle or bargain with you."

I shook my head.  "No need."  I pulled out my wallet and gave her the cash.  "Ready to go?" I asked, wondering how we could both possibly fit into this car.

"Come on into the house and have a cup of joe."

"No thanks, I just want to get to the airport."

She stopped and gave me a dead-eyed glare.  "We are not going anywhere until you come into the house and drink coffee and have some decent conversation."

I reluctantly followed her inside of her filthy house.  The first thing I noticed were the dolls, because there must have been hundreds of them, all lined up along the walls and on shelves.  The smallest were the size of a Barbie doll, but there were some three feet tall.  It was really strange to me, and reminded me of a movie about killer dolls that come to life and attack people.  She hurried into the kitchen and came back with two mugs of steaming hot coffee.  I didn't want any, but thought I could just blow on it and pretend to sip it.

She turned on the TV and Gilligan's Island was on.  "Oh this is good.  Do you ever watch this show?  It's about seven stranded castaways who went on a three hour tour.  And now they are stranded on this island.  It's very dramatic and thought provoking."

I smiled.  "So, what time do you think we'll leave for the airport?"

"You just slow down, hot rod.  Keep your pants on, there's no big rush.  Besides, I have to wake up my partner, well, my boyfriend, before we go."

"Why is that?"

"Because my partner, I mean my boyfriend, needs to ride along and give us directions to the airport."

I pulled a folded sheet of paper out of my pocket.  "Already got directions right here, printed them up off a computer."

"No, no, he has to come.  Those directions might get me to the airport, but then how am I supposed to get back home?"

I shrugged.  "Well, I guess I would just follow the directions in reverse."

She busted out laughing.  "And just how am I supposed to do that?  Read the directions upside down, from right to left."  I didn't understand what she meant, and so I simply remained mum.  She chattered fast non-stop for thirty minutes, then looked at her watch.  "Guess its time to go wake up my partner, I'm sorry, I mean my boyfriend."

Off she went down the hallway, and then I heard a voice mumble incoherently.  Suddenly, a booming male voice shouted,  "Bitch, why are you waking me up!"

"Because you told me to!  Because I need your help getting this idiot driver to the airport!"

"Oh you dirty whore!  I am trying to sleep, you know I love my sleepy time.  You have to ruin it like you ruin everything!"

"That's not fair, you rotten bastard!"

"You scum-sucking tramp!"

"You lousy son of a bitch!  Get your lazy ass out of bed and help me like you promised."

"Oh I will get out of bed, just long enough to break your nose and split your lip."

Maggie came back into the den where I was sitting, and she was all smiles.  "He'll be here in a minute.  Um, if you could, please don't mention anything about minority people to him.  He really hates them a lot.  If he owned a gun, I hate to think what he'd do."

Her boyfriend came trudging down the hall from the bedroom.  He was shirtless, and had his hands down the front of his sweat pants scratching his privates.  "Are we gonna take your Dad's car?"

I spoke up.  "I don't think there is room for all of us in that until it's unpacked."

He spun around and pointed his finger at my face.  "Did I ask you?  Was I even talking to you?"  I shook my head No.  He looked at Maggie. "Get me a cup of that awful coffee you make, you toxic Tinkerbell."

"Oh, shut the hell up," she said as she went to get his coffee.  He looked very slovenly, and I didn't even know his name.  She walked back with another mug of coffee, and said  "Here you go, Maurice."

He took it from her and took a long drink from it.  "So are we gonna leave now, or are we gonna stand around with our dicks in our hands all day?"

She put her hands on her hips defiantly.  "It may surprise you to learn that I don't have a dick!"

"Shut your freakin' pie hole, would you?"  He walked out the front door, and we followed.  We all piled into her car, and he told her that she would be driving.  "Don't kill us all like usual."

She held up a fist and shook it at him.  "I have never killed you, not once."

"You kill me a little bit every damn day.  Now drive."

"I will Maurice, but I'm gonna give you the silent treatment."

We all rolled along in the car for ten minutes in silence, and then she pondered, "I wonder if it's gonna rain today?"

Maurice shook his head and sighed.  "So much for the silent treatment.  Take the next exit."

"I was just asking if it would rain," she protested.

"Next exit!"

"What?"

He screamed at her.  "The exit you just passed!  The exit you just passed, you stupid slut!"

Maggie looked sad.  "Now that hurt.  That was unnecessary."

"Well I say that you are unnecessary.  How do you like that?"

"I don't like it.  But we'll talk about that later."  She turned and looked at me.  "Maurice is a bit of a night owl, you know."

Maurice grunted.  "Shut up, will you please just shut up."

They continued to shout at each other until we arrived at the Syracuse airport.  I was eager to get out of the car, and Maurice called to me as I climbed out.

"Hey!" he called.  "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?" I asked.

"A little something for the driver?"

"I already paid her at the house."

"No, I'm talking about a tip for services rendered."

"No, I don't think so."

Maurice fumed.  "Mister, you've got no class."

I walked away, but could hear Maurice and Maggie continue to scream at each other until I entered the airport building.

DAY OF THE MOTHER

For over a decade, Mother's Day has been a tough day for me to get through.  Since my Mom and brother were killed by a drunk driver, it affected me deeply and I think of her a lot.  Mom and I had argued a lot, and when she died we hadn't patched things up.  It felt like we had unfinished business.  I'm a big believer now in telling the people you love just how much they mean to you.

On Mother's Day, I found myself in Austin, TX.  I was going to stay overnight and deliver my car the next morning.  So I went to get provisions at the local grocery store, food for dinner and breakfast the next day.

As I walked up and down the aisles of the grocery store, I had the eerie sense that I was being watched.  But I tend to be a bit on the paranoid side, so I ignored the feeling.  A few minutes later, I looked down the aisle and saw a woman staring right at me.  I made a U-turn and went two aisles down.  As I looked at the shelves, I saw her once again watching me intently.  This time, I grabbed my cart and walked to the other side of the store, as far as I could go.  I stood there for a few minutes, just wasting time.  And then I felt a tap on my shoulder and nearly jumped out of my skin.

"Excuse me," said a frail female voice.

I turned to see the woman who had been following me.  She had a very tragic look on her face.  "Yes ma'am, how can I help you?"

"I'm afraid this is going to sound very strange."

I meet strange people on a daily basis as I drive.  I classify them as "Bill's people", the odd folks who like to pop up and creep me out at the most inconvenient times.  I could barely wait to hear what was coming.  "Go ahead and give me a try."

"Mother's day is very hard for me."

And with those words, I was suddenly feeling a change in my thinking.  I felt empathy for this woman, whatever she had to say.  "I can relate to that."

"Five years ago, my son and I had a terrible argument one Saturday night.  Things were said, mean and nasty things.  He was furious when he stormed out of the house."  She began to sniffle.  "My son was killed that night when a dumptruck's brakes failed to function.  He died, being mad at his mother.  Do you know how horrible that is?"

"I think so."

She shook her head.  "No, you can never know.  Where are my manners, my name is Beverly."

She held out her hand, and I took it and gave it a light shake.  "Bill Thomas."

"Bill, the reason I was staring at you is... well, you bear a striking resemblance to my son Don."

I felt a chill go up my spine.  "Really?"

"Yes.  I know that I have no right to ask you, but...  The thing of it is, I never got to say goodbye to my son.  Is there any way you might consider just saying goodbye mother?"

I got a knot in the pit of my stomach.  "Uh, no.  I don't believe I could do that."

Beverly nodded.  "I understand.  It was presumptious of me to ask you that.  God bless and have a nice day."  She turned and walked off, pushing her cart loaded down with items.

I wandered around the store for a while, lost in thought.  A million memories of my own Mom, and thoughts of Beverly who had the same lack of closure with her own son.  

One half hour later, I pushed my cart to one of the cashier stations.  And who should be right in front of me but Beverly.  She smiled at me and said  "Hello, Bill."

I nodded and smiled back at her, starting to open my mouth but not knowing what to say.  She grabbed her cart full of groceries in plastic bags and started for the door.  Suddenly I blurted out  "Goodbye Mom."  She turned at me and smiled sweetly, and then she hurried out as if washed away by waves of emotion.

The cashier rang up my ten items, and then announced I would owe him one hundred fifty one dollars.  I asked him to repeat, as I was certain I misunderstood.  He repeated it for me, and I felt full of confusion.  "It's the combined price for you and your mother's groceries.  She said her son Bill was paying."

"She said--  what?"  My mind was reeling.  "She's not my mother."

The cashier smirked.  "I heard you say 'Goodbye mother'."

"But that was... no, I mean it--"

"Someone has to pay for this."

And so I did.  I ran out to the parking lot to see if I could find her, but she was long gone.  I had been conned.  But at the same time, I had experience a weird and unexpected form of closure regarding my own mom.  On Mother's Day.

TORNADO HOPSCOTCH

As I drove across the Florida panhandle today, I was assaulted by pouring rain and furious thunder.  And of course, the lightning that goes with it.  I had been warned by the weatherman to expect tornadoes in the area, just like the ones that had done so much damage in Mississippi just days before.  I could feel the wind pushing and shoving at the van I was driving, and it was much more than worrisome.  I was getting very scared, very fast.

I said a prayer without closing my eyes, and just then my cell phone rang.  It was my boss Riff, and his typical nasty mood was far from an answer to my prayers.  "What are you doing, loser?"

"Driving this van to Mississippi for you."

"Whoa now, you're not doing it for me.  Don't go acting like you're doing me some big favor.  No sir, you are moving that van for our client."

"OK, whatever you say."

"Hey now, cream puff!  I don't think I like the tone of your voice."

"Riff, I am in terrible weather, and I need to keep both hands on the wheel.  Talk to you later."  And then I hung up before he had a chance to say another word.  Moments later, the phone rang again, and I answered,  "Look Riff, you--"

"Nope, not Riff," the voice interrupted me.  It was the voice of Pastor Rex, my old friend and spiritual adviser.  "Just me, your old buddy Rex."

"Pastor and Pirate."

He chuckled.  "At your service.  Just had a gut feeling that I should call you."

"Your timing is great.  I am driving in some pretty nasty weather, and playing hopscotch with tornadoes."

"Are you in the panhandle?"

"Yes sir, and to be honest I'm feeling nervous."

"No need," he said to me.  "God is your co-pilot.  He is watching over you, shrouding you in the hedge of protection.  He will get you safely to your destination."

I smiled, feeling a sense of calm.  "Thanks.  You're right."

"I know I'm right.  By the way, I really liked your blog about going to see GOD'S NOT DEAD."

"I loved that movie."

"And I loved the experience you had with the man outside the theater after the movie." 

"God does work in mysterious ways."

"He does indeed."  We spoke for a few minutes, then I excused myself so I could keep both hands on the wheel. 

I was getting low on gas, and I needed to use the restroom.  I got off at the next exit with a truck stop, and pulled up to the pumps.  When I stepped out of the van, a gust of wind hit me that felt like it would knock me over.  I slid my credit card into the slot in the pump, then removed the handle. 

I heard a girl's voice as I pumped the gas.  "Excuse me, sir?"

I turned to her slowly, not knowing what to expect.  "How can I help you?" I asked, anticipating the worst.

She was an older woman dressed as a young girl.  Her blonde hair was in pigtails, and her little girl's dress was worn and tattered.  "Have you seen my dog?" she asked me.

"No, sorry."

"His name is Toto, and we need to get home to Kansas.  I've lost my way, I'm looking for the yellow brick road."

She was clearly one of what I call Bill's people.  The odd folks around the USA who always seem to find me and engage me with their zaniness.  "Sorry, I can't help you."

"Sure you can, if you only believe it.  If you have the brains, the heart, the courage, why then anything is possible."

I nodded.  "I guess you have a point."

"Of course I do, don't be ridiculous."  A strong gust of wind picked up trash and paper and spun them around in a small funnel.  The girl looked terrified and screamed.  Then she ran away yelling, "Uncle Henry, Auntie Em, it's a twister, it's a twister!"

You may call this extremely bizarre behavior.  But for me, another blog just wrote itself.

THE SHERMANATOR

I have grown to love some cars very much.  The Cadillac, for example.  It is so comfortable and so state of the art that it nearly drives itself.  Not many people I drive for have them, but I'm always glad when they do.  Soft seats, great stereo, and you don't feel a single bump in the road.  My favorite customer who drives one is sweet old Mrs. Sherman.

Every December I drive her car from Maryland down to Florida.  And then in May I drive it back up to Maryland, just like clockwork.  This year, she called me the first week of April and said she needed it to go up early.  I told her to call my boss Riff to make the formal arrangements and payment.  The day before I was set to pick up at her lovely home in southwest Florida, she called me.  "Hello?  Hello?"

"Hi, Mrs. Sherman."

"Who is this calling?"

"It's me, Bill Thomas, your favorite driver."

"Oh Bill," she said, sounding relieved.  "I am so glad you called, I was just about to call you."

"How can I help you?"

"Well, I had an idea.  My son is driving me to the airport in Sarasota tomorrow to fly back to my Maryland home, and I wondered if you might meet us there.  Then you could take my car and get on the road, while we get on a plane and fly, fly away."

This would work out especially well for me.  I would not have to drive nearly as far south, and I could turn in my rental car at the Sarasota airport and just wait for them to arrive.  "Absolutely, no problem."

"Is it a problem?"

"No ma'am, I will be happy to accommodate you."

"That's what I love about you, Bill.  You always think of me."

"See you in the morning."

"OK, I will see you in the morning.  Can you be there by 11am?"

"I sure will."

"Yes, I know you will."

The next day, I got up extra early and I arrived in Sarasota at 9:30am.  As I pulled into the entrance to the airport, my cell phone rang.  "This is Bill."

"Bill?  Is this Bill?"

"Yes, hello Mrs. Sherman."

"Bill, I just had an idea.  What if you meet my son and I at the airport today and then you can take off from there.  Would that work out for you?"

I smiled.  "I am pulling into the Sarasota airport right now."

"Oh Bill, you are a mind reader.  You continue to surprise and fascinate me."

"I will be waiting for you here at 11am when you arrive."

"OK, but we won't be arriving there until 11am."

"That's not a problem, I'll wait."  I hung up.

About fifteen minutes before she was set to arrive, I grabbed a wheelchair and went out to the curb.  While she can get around fine with a cane, I knew that she used a wheelchair at the airport to get on and off the plane.  It's a long way from the ticket counter to the gate for an elderly lady.

Just a few minutes after 11am, I saw her Cadillac pull up to the curb.  I opened her door and she said,  "Oh Bill, you are wonderful.  How did you know that I'd need a wheelchair?"

"I picked you up here once before, and they rolled you out in a wheelchair."

"Yes, but that must have been five years ago.  How could you possibly know I would need one again this trip?"

I shrugged.  "Lucky guess."

Her son got out and introduced himself.  He got two small carry on bags out of the back seat, but Mrs. Sherman began to fret over wanting to take more luggage with her.  Her son reminded her that I was going to deliver it with the car, so they didn't have to worry with much themselves while traveling.  "But, but..." she sputtered.  "But when Bill takes off, I don't know when I'll ever see him or my car again."

"I'll be there in three days, first thing in the morning."

"Bill, I brought you something.  I know how you love my baking, so I made you a batch of cookies."  She pulled out a huge freezer bag stuffed with cookies.  "They are black licorice cookies, with gumdrops and jawbreakers baked right into them.  Yummy."

"Thanks so much."

"You are most welcome.  Now, when will you be delivering the car to me?"  Her son rolled his eyes, lovingly.

"Three days from now, first thing in the morning."

"Oh good, I will make my world famous black licorice waffles for you."

I got into the car and started driving north.  I noticed that the odometer only had 200 more miles on it since I had dropped it off in Florida back in December.  Don't ask me how I remember, I just do.  My cell phone rang, and it was Mrs. Sherman.

"Hello, Bill?"

"Yes ma'am."

"It's Mrs. Sherman.  I just wanted to let you know that I am at the airport now, and you can come and pick up my car whenever you're ready."

"Well, I am driving your car north on Interstate 75 right now."

"Oh my, aren't you clever.  Thank you, Bill."

She is quite a lady.  97 years old and still going strong.  She keeps on rolling and never stops, just like the Eveready bunny.  Or the Terminator.  She's the Shermanator, and I admire her a lot.  I snuggled back into the comfy seats, and turned on the Sirius radio.  Have I mentioned how much I enjoy driving a Cadillac?

GOD IS ALIVE AND WELL

Just last weekend, I was on my way to visit my good friend Lisa in North Carolina.  I call her Lisa the Lioness because she is so fiercely protective of me at all times.  I love her to death, and she treats me like a brother.  Or as a lioness, one of her cubs.

When I got to her house, she came out the front door and greeted me with a hug.  "Bill, you got here early."
 
"A little bit.  Is that a problem?"

She smiled and gave me a light punch on the shoulder.  "Of course not, I'm so happy to see you.  And I have a really big favor to ask you."

"What?"

"My husband Ernie is out of town on a job, and I just wondered if you'd take me to a movie."

"Would I?  Absolutely!  You know how much I love movies, need you even ask?"

"Well, there's a catch. It's only playing in one theater that's 60 miles from here.  I can't drive, so..."

"Consider it done.  What's the movie?"

"GOD'S NOT DEAD."

"Never heard of it."

"What?  You've never heard of it?  Mr. Movie, the man who sees everything, and you've never even heard of it."

"OK, guilty.  Sue me."

Lisa patted me on the back.  "I'm just teasing you.  The thing is, there's a show today in two hours I was hoping to go see.  I've been wanting to see this movie for a long time, ever since I read about it."

I nodded.  "Well, its a Sunday, and that sounds like a faith based movie. So most of the audience would just be getting out of church and won't go to the early matinee."

"We need to go now."

"Are you ready?" I asked.

"Just have to grab my purse."  She opened the front door and her small dog Bailey came zooming out and made a beeline for me.  He was jumping in the air, and when I bent down to pet him, he peed on my shoe. 

"Bailey, no!"  Lisa ran over and took a wet wipe out of her purse.  I grabbed it and wiped off my shoe, but still gave Bailey the attention he deserved.  "He gets excited sometimes."

"No worries, I love Bailey."

"I know you do."  She took Bailey inside and we got in the car to leave.  We had a nice drive to the theater, and caught up on what had been going in each other's lives.  Lisa also filled me in on the little bit she knew about the movie.  From what she said, I thought we were going to see a documentary.

When we arrived a the theater, I was very surprised by how crowded the parking lot was.  "It looks pretty busy.  I betcha that the majority of the crowd is here to see the new movie DIVERGENT."

We walked inside to find the box office, and as we entered a Cashier at the box office shouted, 'GOD'S NOT DEAD" is down to the front row only."

Lisa smiled and looked at me.  "First show won't be busy, huh?"

"Wow," I said.  "I really called that one wrong.  Well, you want to see something else instead?"

She looked confused.  "No, I want to see this movie.  I don't care where we sit."

"Well I'm not picky, but I sat in the front row once years ago, and my neck was very sore afterwards."

She shrugged.  "You can see something else if you want to."  I stepped up to the box office and bought us two tickets for GOD'S NOT DEAD.

Inside the auditorium, it was very full, but not quite as bad as we'd been led to believe.  We found two seats in the fourth row.  Definitely a lot closer than I like to sit, but a whole lot better than the front row.

The movie was surprisingly moving and not the least bit preachy.  Kevin Sorbo plays an atheist college Professor who forces all of his students on day one of school to sign a contract agreeing that God is Dead.  But one student believes in God and refuses to sign.  So he is goaded into making a cogent case for the existence of God.  The classroom scenes had a David and Goliath feeling to them, and the sold out audience was very much into the movie.  It had been a long time since I'd been in a movie that had such an emotional impact on the crowd.  Lisa cried several times.  I felt a lump in my throat.

After the movie, we both went to the restroom.  I could see that the line to the Ladies Room was much longer than the Men's Room.  When I was finished, I stepped outside and waited for Lisa.  A young man was sitting on the sidewalk, leaning up against the building, and he seemed upset.

"Did you see that movie?" he asked me.  I've grown used to strangers starting conversations with me.

"GOD'S NOT DEAD.  Yes, and I really liked it."

He shook his head, agitated.  "It confused me.  I mean, come on..."

"What confused you about it?"

"My parents were both teachers, and they don't believe in God.  And they raised me that way, even though I always had questions."

"What kind of questions?"

"Is there a God?  Is there a Heaven?  Is there an afterlife?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Based on what, exactly?"

"Based on faith.  I believe, simple as that."

"No way.  It can't be that simple."

"But it is."

"You expect me to dig through the Holy Bible and try to find the answers?  To interpret what they write and figure it all out?"  His agitation level was clearly rising.

"Just check out John 3:16.  That's all you need to know."

"What, one verse?"

"It pretty much sums things up.  It's the foundation of my faith."

He came to his feet and got in my face, shouting.  "But I've done some really bad things in my life.  I've stolen, I've slept with whores, I drink, I smoke, I've done all kinds of drugs!"

"Doesn't matter."

His yelling got louder.  "What do you mean it doesn't matter?  You telling me I can do all of that and still be saved?"

"Yep.  That's what I believe."

He grabbed my arm.  "But you--"

Lisa walked up and interrupted brusquely.  "What's going on here?  Is there a problem?"  She walked between me and this young man, forcing him to let go of me.

I smiled.  "Everything is fine.  We were just chatting."  I took out my wallet and pulled out a business card.  "I may not be best qualified.  If you really do want answers, call this man.  He's my friend Pastor Rex, and he will be more than happy to explain everything in terms you can understand."

The young man took the card from me.  Tears filled his eyes.  "Why?  Why are you helping me?"

"Seems like the right thing to do.  Please call Pastor Rex, tell him Bill Thomas referred you.

The young man put his hand out, and I took it for a quick shake.  "Thank you.  Really, I appreciate this."

"No problem, my pleasure."

Lisa and I walked away.  She gave me a long, hard look.  "I walked up and thought you were being harassed by one of 'Bill's people' like I read about in your blogs."

"Nope, it was just a guy who was touched by the movie and wanted answers.  It's good when a movie can make you feel and think."

"I'm glad that was the case, for his sake.  Because no one messes with my Bill."  She put her arm around my waist and gave me a squeeze.  I love Lisa, and I loved seeing this movie with her.

SOMETHING 'BOUT A CAR

A friend asked me last week what was the best car I had ever driven in my eleven years at Drivers of America.  I pondered this question all day yesterday as I was driving in the Pacific Northwest, up the west coastline.  I mostly drive sedans, minivans, SUV and pickup trucks.  Probably more Ford and Chevy cars than anything else, even though I have driven a fair share of Mercedes, Jaguars, Volvos, and Beemers. 

I guess if it weren't for the car, I wouldn't be going anywhere.  I often tell stories of the places I go and the odd people I meet there.  But rarely do I give a shout out to the magical marvels of transport that get me there.  The automobile.  Each one has its own personality and its own story.

Although I always go for comfort, I never sat on the rich Corinthian leather that Ricardo Montalban used to go on about in his post-KHAN days.  Now there are leather seats, seat warmers, and adjustments that can put your seat into just about any position that you choose.  Oh, and did I mention the lumbar support feature?  Once in a while, I get a car with Sirius radio, and that's always a treat.

As I was thinking about the car and the drive, I thought about what I don't like when traveling.  Number one is traffic, and I go way out of my way to avoid any big city at rush hour.  Morning or evening.  I just like driving in a place where there's lots of space around me.  I always assume that everyone else on the road is about to swerve their car at me in the blink of an eye.  That way I am always prepared for anything.  But the more space around your car and distance from other drivers, the less likely that is to happen.

When I am out on a remote stretch of highway and there are no cars in sight, sometimes I wish for a little less space around me.  Times like that can make a man a little stir crazy.  If I'm tired enough, I've been known to see things.  And if I'm bored enough, I have imagined a Broadway musical being performed on the dashboard of the car.  Complete with leaps and high kicks and beautiful dancing girls.

I am going to start paying more attention to the cars I am driving.  And I might suggest that you do the same.  We often take cars for granted, but try to imagine your life without them.  It would take a lot longer to get around on foot, or horseback, or skateboard.

Cars are my livelihood, but what's more important, cars are my friends.  There's something about a car.  And as I was thinking about all of this, Jimmy Buffett came on the Sirius radio station singing "SOMETHIN' 'BOUT A BOAT."  That gives me an idea for a name for this blog!

THE SPELLING DOG

I had taken a car to Miami, and my old buddy John Hazzard asked if I could give him a ride to Orlando.  I picked up a new car to take up to Atlanta, so it was right on my path.  As I neared John's office building, my cell phone rang.  "This is Bill."

"Well hello, is this my little cumquat?"  It was my malicious boss Riff.

"What can I do for you, Riff?"

"Don't take that attitude with me, jelly belly.  I need you to pick up that car in Miami just as soon as you drop off the other one.  It has to be in Atlanta by tomorrow night."

"Already done."

"You're already in Atlanta?"

"No, I mean the Miami car has been dropped off and I'm driving the Atlanta car."

He grumbled.  "Then get your fat ass to Atlanta, because there is another car there going to Salt Lake City.  Do you think you can manage that, my little sunflower seed?"

"I'll call you from Atlanta, Riff."  I hung up, then turned the corner to see John standing in front of the building in downtown Miami.  He had a briefcase in one hand and pulled along a rolling suitcase, both of which he threw into the back seat.  As he sat in the front passenger seat, I could see that he was dressed impeccably as usual.

"Hello old friend," he said, extending his hand to shake.  I took his hand and shook, then pulled into traffic and started the journey.  "By the by, my secretary Miss Coral sends her best wishes to you.  She is quite a fan of your blog, you know."

"She's one sweet and pretty lady."

He wagged a finger at me.  "Now don't you go getting any ideas, she is not available for you to date."

I shrugged.  "I just think she's very nice."

"Speaking of your blogs, the last one was incredible.  This wiseguy tells you that he knew your Dad and that he may be still alive?  And you are going to be looking for him, with the possibility of the Russian mob following you?  Have I got all of that right?"

"Yes."

"But how do you know this guy--"

"Joey Salerno."

"Right, Joey, how do you know he isn't trying to pull some con on you?  The whole thing is rather outlandish."

"Dreams often are."

"Dreams?  My God Bill, are you telling me that whole story was nothing but a dream?"

"That's correct."

"For pity's sake, are your blogs turning into the TV series DALLAS?  Where an entire misbegotten season was just Pam's dream?  If you were going to write about a dream, you might have ended the blog stating that what had been written all happened while you slept.  It was all in your mind."

"OK, noted.   Now tell me about this case you are working on up in Orlando.  What you emailed to me was intriguing."

"Bill, just how smart do you think dogs are?"

"Pretty smart.  More than I think a lot of people often give them credit for."

"This is really a fascinating case.  I was retained by a family with an unusual mixed breed dog named Gus.  He was a rescue dog, and the family grew to love him very much.  They wanted me to help nail down the movie rights or story rights about Gus."

"Movie rights?"

"As I wrote to you, this is a very unique dog.  He began arranging children's toys and building blocks into patterns.  Sort of odd, sort of cute, very unusual.  Then one day, the dog spelled the word 'me'
with the blocks."

"He spelled 'me'?

"He did indeed.  This seemed too strange to simply be a coincidence.  So they contacted an animal behavior specialist who dismissed it as a hoax."

"How could the dog pull off a hoax like that?"

John shook his head.  "I don't believe he could.  The dog began to spell more and more words with the blocks, of course always when no one was looking.  They set up a video camera one day and actually caught the dog placing the blocks in his mouth and setting them up to spell the words.  That's when they called me."

"And you took the case."

"I had to, this was the most intriguing case to come down the pike in quite a while."

"So what happened?"

"Well, nothing."  He shrugged.  "A week after I was retained and saw the dog in action, he disappeared."

"What?  I don't understand, where did he go?"

"No idea, buddy.  It doesn't look like he was stolen.  All evidence to the contrary.  It appears he simply ran off.  But he did leave a message in toy blocks in the lawn that said, "He's coming."

I pondered this.  "Who's coming?  Who is He?"

John let out a long sigh.  "I just don't know Bill.  But the lawyer in me says it ain't good."

I smiled.  "And now you are going to see the family to get some answers?"

"I am going to tie up the movie rights for them.  This just became a more valuable movie project than before."  He turned to me slowly and squinted his eyes.  "Bill, do you suppose this conversation will become one of your blogs?"

"Can you blame me if it does?  It's one heck of a tale."  John reached over and pinched me hard.  I jumped in my seat.  "Hey!  What was that for?"  

"I just wanted you to be sure that this wasn't all a dream."