Driving Miss Crazy

"Honk the horn!" 

Actually, as I heard it, she had instructed me to "hahnk the hawn!"  If New York is looking for a new tag line for license plates, I think my mom is on to something.  The Big Apple's version of "live free or die."  In Gotham, drivers go on high alert when someone isn't leaning on the horn. Even my hearing impaired mother knew something was missing.

When I arrived at LaGuardia yesterday evening, I had little time to stretch my legs and decompress before I was put to work.  Driving in New York City can be stressful under the best of circumstances, but driving in New York City on a Saturday night, in the dark, with my mother shouting instructions at me (except when they might be useful), had me wishing I hadn't left my bag with the emergency stash of pills in the trunk.  (She's reading this over my shoulder, telling me all the things I did wrong; at least she can't hear what I'm muttering under my breath.)

I spent the night in my old room, which still contains much of the furniture and decor of my youth.  It's amazing how comforting it is to lie down on the rather uncomfortable convertible sofa bed that now stands where my twin bed once stood, to stare up at my favorite old light fixture, to listen to the incessant yet soothing lullaby of ambulances and police cars and, yes, hahnking hawns, streaming down the broad thoroughfare below my window. Music to a city girl's ears.  

  

The symphony was incomplete, though; no barking from Leo for his middle of the night bathroom break.  That particular bit of silence interrupted my slumber; in Leo's honor, I dragged myself out of bed anyway to pee, even though I didn't need to. (I'm pretty sure Leo doesn't usually need to either.) I spent my entire childhood falling asleep to the background noise of city traffic, and I've spent the past two years or so awaiting Leo's nightly wake-up call. It's taken me years, but I've grown accustomed to suburban quiet; I'm not sure what I'll do without Leo's midnight barking, though, when the time comes.  

Happily, I was awakened in the ridiculously early dawn hours by my mother crashing around in the hallway outside my bedroom, performing the same morning rituals she has performed for at least a half century.  Soon, we will head to the car so I can spend another few hours enjoying the harrowing experience of driving in New York.  Hawns will hahnk, mom will shout useless instructions at me, and I will try to remember to keep some anxiety pills close at hand.  

I love the noise.  I wish my mom could hear some of it.