Put Me Back In The Saddle, Again


I want new wheels – well, not new. Looking for a nice used car that I can afford is tedious since I want something in the best possible condition at the lowest cost possible, which preclude each other. Along with that is this common conflict: The features I notice first are cosmetic qualities while my husband is checking out things that aren’t on the same target. Tough job, car hunting!

Do I really want to get in the driver’s seat? I like being chauffeured everywhere. I truthfully wouldn’t care if I never had to drive again. The need for me to take the pressure off our one driver and help overworked Dad shuffle the kids and myself to our commitments means I have to use a tired expression, “to climb back on the horse.”

I know I’m going to be uncomfortable when I start to drive again. It won’t be due to the pain in my stiff ankle. It becomes a scary prospect to think of being responsible for the vehicle I’m riding in when visions of the wreck that totaled my last car still come back to haunt me, sometimes. Sudden swerves and stops that would never have bothered me before send me into a tizzy.

My Aunt Marie believes the only way to really “take the reins” again is to go it alone from the start. She should know. She has been through this more than once – the first time, after an accident that was nightmare enough to have made her never get in a vehicle again. She says the only way to get past doubts and fears is to drive alone without the distractions of advice and with no one to lean on.

My doctor says I can drive now, as long as I’m not creating pain or riding long enough to get stiff. My aunt says the first time out will seem long no matter how short a trip I take. Maybe, if I hide behind a mask…

“OK, boost me into the saddle, Tonto, make sure I’m facing the right way…”

“Ride safe, Kemosabe.”

“…and give me a silver bullet to bite.”

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