My mother did not get her vehicle license until after my father died, when she was sixty-one years of age. You cannot imagine what an accomplishment that was for her. She tried learing to drive when my brother and I were young but quit when she almost put the car through the garage door. After Dad died however, their car was parked outside the door and Mom had to rely on others to get around. She had the incentive to drive then. After her third attempt to get her license, Mom was successful.
When it came time to get work done on the car, Mom always went to the same garage. The first time she went there, it was shortly after she had her license. The garage had a pit in the middle of each car bay.
"Put your car in here, Mam," said the mechanic.
Mom looked at the car bay and said, "I don't know about that," pointing to the pit.
"You can do it, Mrs. Just take yer time."
Mom touched the gas and the car leapt forward, down into the pit. Though the car was undamaged, it took six men four hours to get the car out.
Years later, after Mom died, my sister-in-law, Michele, took her vehicle to the same garage. The workers there remembered my mother when Michele said her name. They laughed about the event. Mom was famous at this garage; every new employee heard about her exploits years after she was gone.
Life was rarely boring with our mother.