In the heat of late Oklahoma summer, in a beige 1983 cadillac, my Oma suffered the weight of a poorly placed wig and a broken air conditioner.
It was July 13th and with two broken wrists, Oma had elbowed her way into the clunky vehicle. Her injury was the result of a drunken slip at the mailbox earlier that week. She wore casts from knuckle to forearm and was crippled to most activities with her hands, so I don't know how she drove to the liquor store.
Without the use of her fingers, she was unable to release the car door handle. So she laid on the horn until a kind, Ma'm-speakin' fellow came out. “Be a good boy and bring me a case of Jonny Walker Red,” she said. And he, or someone, did.
Maybe she enlisted the help of a good samaritan to light her Newport. Or perhaps she had a reservoir of energy set aside specifically for that task. When the whiskey arrived and the exchange was satisfied, she fore-armed her way back through the town, steering wobbly toward a happier afternoon. Though her exit from the vehicle was awkward and untimely, her journey ended successfully. She made it to her bedroom and to the sweet sweet sound of Alex Trebek's voice, with all the answers.
