Mom.

My Mother taught me an abundance of things.

One, was that she might as well have been a kamikaze driver.

She was the only woman I have ever known, who would smoke a cigarette, and change the radio station, only to move over two lanes, in Manhattan traffic, without the slightest hint, or care of death.

And when I mentioned I stared death in the face, she blew cigarette smoke in my face, and laughed.

Did I mention she smoked 120's?

Her cigarettes were as long as a city block.

If she looked at you when she was smoking, you needed to take cover, because that would have lit you hair on fire, but I digress.

It was in the same vain she always felt the best times to interrogate, or rather, invest, happened in the car.

She later shared, that this was the case, because I was trapped.

It's true.

Unless I was Evil Knievel I wasn't going anywhere.

I was an unassuming captive audience.

And man did she use that to her advantage.

I got many a lecture in her car.

But yet many a lesson.

I have used these skills on my own children.

Recently I schooled them on Vanderbilt and how he built his fortune.

Talked about life, and how it sometimes sucks.

Talked about all that we have lost.

Conversely how we can laugh, at times, uncontrollably.

I have found the car to be the classroom my Mother had instructed in.

Trying to take her place.

Or rather remember her place.

Knowing I can never replace her, but trying to remember her, through her car lectures, and lessons.

Sometimes when we are captured, we can learn.

Sometimes, that is the only place we retain.

A lot of the time, the only place where we not only listen, we understand .

Being held hostage, isn't always a punishment.

It can be a host to knowledge.

So in her honor I do the same to my own cherubs.

And school the shit out of them.

Wink Wink.

Xoxo,

C.