Tomorrow is Kingman Fraternal Cemetery Day. I drive down with a big pot of geraniums located in the backseat –  seat belt holding them in place – and a little cooler next to me in the front. And a camera. Right now, my rear end is sore from working with the mighty wet/dry vac at Mother’s and walking behind the little mower on this little lawn.Maybe I will put a pillow on the driver’s seat for tomorrow.

Sydney is going to the kennel for some rest; Shane is staying here with the crew. HA! That is what Shane is thinking right now. He’s too young to know about laughing last laughing best. In the next couple of weeks, Sydney will be sending Shane off for a “neutral” visit to the vet/kennel. Maybe, just maybe, Shane will not feel so macho he has to run INTO cars while he is chasing them. Perhaps he can learn not to chase . . .  Nah, I’ll bet not.

I’m walking around the talking with the dead part of being at the cemetery because there is so much too say about and so little. It just is.

Throat tightening . . . Okay, backing away from that path and thinking about making certain my ipod is charged – I’ll probably listen tot he same song all the way home. For some reason Sweet Gypsy Rose is tempting my ears – maybe it’s the beat, or maybe it’s the trombone slide part. Wonder what the theme song for Thelma and Louise is – minus the off the cliff part?

I still have not decided which way I will go; I could just activate the GPS and listen to the voice repeat, “Recalculating route.” I wonder if computer voices have an exasperation aspect that can be factored in if you have a bozette driving?   After a certain point, you would hear, “Stop the car, get out, back away and wait for the police. You obviously should not be driving. In fact, don’t stand there, sit down.”

I was thinking of having Spikey and Rose and Woo and E4 and AP ride along with me, but that would probably guarantee I would be stopped by a trooper who would look at all those smiling faces and say, “Stop the car, get out . . . ” I’d have to call Foo to vouch for me. Or maybe not. I find it interesting that many people in my family practice saying, “Well, officer, yes we are making arrangements for this woman  . . . “