Winging It, Coatless, Into Winter

Rise is still ferrying her offspring to and fro. Having a few years on her, I’ve moved on to being the one ferried. A few days ago I was ferried to the airport by youngest son, The Bean. Who overrode my protestations that I would do the driving. He had his motives. Probably had visions of me putt-putting along at thirty miles an hour, and him having to be in a class at nine a.m. I too had motives in wanting to be the one at the controls. He’s a good driver, but he’s male, and he’s twenty. Need I say more? Driving with him is not one of the things I do for relaxation.

The traffic was horrendous. What should have taken one hour took two. Most of the cars on the highway with us, crawling towards Tampa, had, almost without exception, only one occupant. This when our esteemed governor, Charlie Crist, is schmoozing with the green folks in Britain and elsewhere, and taking bows all around for his stated plan of making the greening of Florida a priority. Hey Charlie! How’s this for a plan? Tax low occupancy cars at rush hour. Lots of those hot shots in their Mercedes or Beamers or Corvettes could, with a little effort, team up, thereby helping themselves---they’d get to work faster, without a headache---and helping the environment at the same time. But I digress.

Finally we were there, and The Bean, who had required copious infusions of coffee to get him from sleep to alert enough to drive, given the early hour that was in it, needed to dash inside the departures building to a loo, while I looked unconcerned and tried not to attract the attention of the traffic movers who want you to stop, disgorge passengers and bags, and move on. But at last, here he came, looking beatifically relieved. Yanked the bags from the trunk, gave me a squeeze, hopped back in the car and was gone.

It was early, so check-in was easy. As I headed to the gate I started to feel uneasy. I was heading north, to OC territory. Chilly. Shouldn’t I be carrying something else? Yes-s-s….but what?

Then it hit me! My coat! My lovely warm, navy, woolly coat! Where was it, when it should have been over my arm, but wasn’t? On the back seat of a little red car that, even as I groaned, was humming along the highway, bound for a class. Poor coat. It had probably been a little bit excited to be getting an airing, getting out among shoppers, getting a sniff of brisk, northern, Fall air. It languishes in the closet all year long in Florida. And now it’s back in there, probably sulking. Fortunately, it’s still Fall here, but making winter noises [snow is lurking up there!] Three days in and I’m surviving, doing my onion imitation, with layers of sweaters and fleece. But maybe when the Bean comes to join us later in the week, for Thanksgiving, he could bring my coat. Brrr.