Tom Brown's VW

Dear Emma,

You asked me to tell the story of the day I ran into your grandfather's VW. And because I love you, here goes.

To begin with, I myself was in a VW. And now that I think about it, I'm not sure Tom was, although I have always remembered it that way, because what could be a more irresistible image? Two bugs colliding!

Anyway, I was HAULING down the sloping part of 1400 East, because I was late for Mutual. And when Ann is late, you should NOT get in her way, even if she has the yield sign and you don't. Apparently, however, no one gave your grandfather the memo. So as I was hauling and planning to take a right turn, suddenly your grandfather innocently appeared in the intersection, also on his way to MIA with a car crammed full of kids.

Seriously, Emma, it was like a clown car. EVERYONE was in there. Your mom. John. Allison. Maybe Elizabeth. The mayor. A few Osmonds. Several foreign dignitaries, including the president of France and also his mistress. Also the Pope. So you get the picture. The car was REALLY full. And it didn't stop, because it had the right of way. And I didn't stop because (I don't know) I just kind of forgot to.

I'll always remember the look on everybody's faces as I hurtled toward them. Their eyes were wide and their mouths were open and it was clear the president of France was shouting "Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!" Meanwhile, your grandfather, the kindest man in the world, was all "I can't believe this is going to happen. But I'm pretty sure it is."

And it did.

Everybody was okay.

And nobody spoke of it again. Not even that night at Mutual. Meanwhile both cars got magically fixed by the VW fairies, aka Tom and LaVell.

See how many memories I have of you and your family, Emma?

Some thoughts on tomorrow's nuptials

I've been thinking about my friend Becky this week, partly because I always think about her, but mostly because her second daughter, the lovely and talented Alexandra ANN, is getting married tomorrow.

Here's the deal. When Becky was alive we talked almost every single day, and so we both had the sense that we lived doubly--I had my own life and I had her life, too. She felt the same about me and mine, as well. So when she died, I lost my friend AND I lost my second life. There were parts of myself that shut down that day, and frankly I've just never recovered them, although in my own defense, I have tried.

I can't help but think how frustrated Becky would be with me about this state of affairs. She and I were alike in many ways, but there were differences, and one of them is that Becky had a talent for inhabiting the present with a fierce, delighted energy. When I spoke at her funeral, I quoted C.S. Lewis who said his mother was one of those people who took to happiness the way some people always find the best seat on the train. I, on the other hand, am always looking for ways to keep my past alive, to make it present long after I should let a thing go. I can practically hear Becky scold me. ANN! DARLIN'! I LOVE YOU BUT YOU GOTTA MOVE ON, BECAUSE I HAVE.

On the other hand, she would be thrilled with her girls who are beautiful and smart and emotionally healthy and very much engaged with the present. They are truly their mother's daughters. Awesome cannot begin to describe them. And their father, too. I do love them all dearly.

Somewhere

So I grew up with this fabulous person named Kelly Clark who is pretty much the best violinist in the world, and here's the great thing. She lives (sort of) in my neighborhood here in Salt Lake, which means we run into each other occasionally, which means I get to tell her she's pretty much the best violinist in the history of the world and also that she has great legs.

Which she does.

Also, whenever I see her I say, "I want you to play at my funeral." The last time I said this, Kelly went, "Well, what do you want me to play?" And I said "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" because that's what they played at my friend Becky's funeral. It was a solo on the sax and it made me cry.

Anyhoo. I saw Kelly today and she told me that she has almost finished the arrangement of "Somewhere" and if I want to hear it BEFORE I die, I can attend her concert this fall.

Can I just say how much this means to me? Thank you, Kelly Clark. I love you.