A few weeks ago, Tom drove me to New Orleans to meet with old friends and classmates whom I've known for over 60 years, because my legs are still not up to driving that far. He drove my car to my daughter's house in River Ridge on the outskirts of NO. I told him he was not to drive my car anywhere. He's had two wrecks in NO, one that totaled my car, and another fender bender that cost the earth to repair. He no longer knows how to drive in the city, if he ever did, farm boy that he was and always will be. Though I learned to drive in NO, now that I've lived in a small town for so many years, and I am old, driving in the city sets my nerves on edge. so I took a taxi from my daughter's house to Bravo's Restaurant in Metairie and arrived in a calmer state than if I had driven there myself.
On the way home from NO, we had an...um...interesting experience. We were waiting in traffic in a long line of cars near railroad tracks, and, when the line began to move, Tom moved ahead. Then we saw the red warning lights flashing that a train was coming. Tom stopped well short of the tracks but, with not enough time to see if he could back up, the crossing gate came down on top of the car. No harm done to the car, but the experience was decidedly unnerving. We made it home without further excitement, thanks be to God and the traffic angels.
