Never too old for a red car

It was dark when we shepherded my 90-year-old mom out to my husband’s brand-new car.  I held her elbow as she navigated the curb, slipping ever so slightly. I breathed a sigh of relief when she was safely buckled in the front seat.

Mom giggled in delight as Charlie showed off all the bells and whistles of his new, red, Prius Hybrid.  (He says it’s “our” car, but I’m happy to let it be his.)  She marveled at the diagram with the squiggly lines, showing the electricity powering the car.  She gasped appreciatively at the mileage the car was getting at the moment – 210 mpg.  I’m not sure she really remembers what mile per gallon means, but she knows she’s been given impressive information.

Mom wondered if I could drive this car, or was it too complicated?  That’s a fair question – I’ve wondered it myself, ha, ha.  But as Charlie explained to her, the driver doesn’t have to figure out when to use electricity and when to use gas, the car does that by itself.

All too soon, we pulled up to the portico of her current home.  In great spirits, and with pride, she stepped out of the sporty red car, mostly unaided. With the elegance of her younger, gazelle-like self, she swept through the doors and into the reception area as if to say: “Look at me now!”