Right Turn Only

As my mother's birthday approaches, I think of her more than usual. Gone from our world 12 years now, she would have been 86 this coming Monday. I miss her smile, her voice, her scent, her loving touch. The years march on and as the tangible presence of those you have loved and lost begins to fade, the memories become infused with a richness and beauty all their own.

Mom grew up in Waterbury, Connecticut, a proud "Connecticut Yankee." Her father moved the family to New Jersey when mom was a young girl. She missed her beloved Connecticut and disliked living in New Jersey.

For many families in those days, car ownership was a luxury well out of reach. Public transportation was the preferred option, they took trains and subways and buses everywhere they needed to go. Mom was in her twenties before she learned to drive; dad taught her while they were dating. Although she was grateful for the lessons, mom disliked driving nearly as much as she disliked New Jersey.

We moved to Colorado in a black 1952 Chevy Bel Air nicknamed "Old Bessie." Later dad bought a new Chevy pickup truck, his pride and joy. Mom and dad owned numerous vehicles over the years. Here in the West, especially in the suburbs with limited public transportation, a car was definitely a necessity. And even though she now lived in a less populated area, mom still hated driving.

Over time she devised elaborate routes through quiet neighborhoods and around town, routes that ensured she never had to cross a busy street without benefit of a traffic light or four-way stop, never had to make a left turn except at those safe and secure intersections where a turn signal was present.

Dad taught us to drive, mom would have none of it. And even though she was a nervous wreck every time her children drove her somewhere, secretly mom seemed grateful to be relieved of the burden of driving. Eventually I became the family chauffeur.

Unlike mom, I was unafraid of making left-hand turns or darting across lanes of traffic. This is not to say that I am some sort of wild and crazy driver, far from it. But mom could never achieve any real level of comfort in a car driven by anyone, especially in heavy traffic or at high speeds.

So whenever I pulled across a road or turned in front of oncoming traffic, mom would clutch the dashboard and stomp on the invisible passenger's side brake. Occasionally she would make hissing or gasping noises as she quickly drew in her breath. Once the scary traffic hurdles were cleared and we were safely on the other side she would exclaim, "I don't know how you can stand it!"

On days we set aside for shopping or errands, mom recommended routes for me to follow, explicit directions that had received Loretta's Seal of Approval. I usually thanked her for the suggestions, then went whichever way I preferred.

Soon mom's driving behaviors became legendary among friends and family. We laughed at the image of her making perpetual right turns, adding miles to her travels simply to avoid a busy intersection. She didn't care what we thought and was not about to change. Because the reality was that this quirkiness, which seemed downright silly to the rest of us, made driving less stressful for her. And it allowed her to maintain a sense of freedom and mobility for as long as she was able.

After mom's memorial service, a longtime family friend recounted a story. Apparently her mother had taken a trip to a place where she knew the traffic would be awful. So she found a way to get from Point A to Point B by maximizing the use of right turns. They laughed together as her daughter said, "You're pulling a Loretta!"

A couple of weeks ago Dave and I were headed to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants close to home. The normal route has been closed for months due to a bridge reconstruction project. Traffic is horrible on the detours, and here we were heading out during rush hour right into the thick of it. As we drove off, I chuckled a bit while explaining to Dave how he could get to the restaurant and back home using only right turns.

Oh no, I was pulling a Loretta!

Mom would have been so pleased.