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For the interrogation, a lady with a clipboard asked politely if I would "step away" from the window so she could interrogate my mother about what happened when she drove her car into the wall of the carpet store. When she mistook the gas for the brake pedal. I sat on a bench -- just within earshot of my mother referring repeatedly to the brake as the "clutch." What she learned to drive on what, a good, 75 years ago? I wanted to pinch her. I could swear, above all the raucous of sorry waiting souls in this enormous DMV room, I could actually hear the mad scribbling of Clipboard Lady. "So you weren't driving a standard then." "What standard? I was driving my car."  Read more >

A Mother and Daughter in an Emergency Room My mother was hungry and thirsty; when she’d fallen that morning, she’d just woken up, so she never even got a cup of coffee before she was whisked away in an ambulance. More than food or drink really, she wanted a comb. They’d loaded her into the ambulance as they found her, on the bedroom floor in a lavender nightgown, with not even shoes or time to grab her purse. “How can you not carry a comb?” she asked me.  Read more >