| Once upon a time, she knew that she would be driving | | | | whipping through your hair) cross country in a Cadillac |
| back to Boston rather than flying. She didn't know | | | | convertible, the classic style, with the big fins. |
| directly - she simply had a sense about it, a few days | | | | Waking from her day dreams, she parked in the front |
| before her flight to Savannah to visit her family in | | | | yard, parallel to the street, in a space between the |
| Lyons. | | | | front porch and the pavement just wide enough for |
| The first morning she was in Lyons, she went for a | | | | the DeVille. She was aware of the impact of the car |
| walk to see the sights and to breathe in the fresh air | | | | on this street as some of the "boys" from down the |
| of this little town in Southeast Georgia that she loved, | | | | street unabashedly ogled the DeVille. She noticed the |
| the same one from which she had run away years | | | | curtain in the living room window pulled slightly back |
| ago. | | | | and detected the side of her Mom's face looking out |
| It was November, still warm, and the ground in her | | | | from behind. "What's that?" her brother asked when |
| mother's yard was covered with leaves, under which | | | | she walked in, of course knowing full well. |
| she knew lay thousands of precious pecans, naturally | | | | What it was was identity dissonance. Who did she |
| organic. While she almost raced out to those leaves, | | | | think she was? Imagine parking this shiny and very long |
| she took off, instead, toward town across the railroad | | | | car on the streets in her Boston neighborhood. How, |
| tracks. As she passed by the empty lot just before | | | | and where, would she ever park it? Would the |
| the Vidalia Onion Warehouse with the faded, now | | | | neighborhood dudes who walked down her street late |
| barely red letters, her pecan antenna piqued up and | | | | at night take her down a notch and slash the tires or |
| she looked to the left. There was a lone pecan tree | | | | run keys down the side? Would the neighbors judge |
| separated from it's clan that seemed to be growing up | | | | her? She called a couple of friends from Boston and |
| out of the sidewalk - its pecans were strewn | | | | her oldest friend in Texas to discuss the matter. What |
| underneath. She filled her pockets for later. | | | | she was really looking for was permission. |
| From there she turned the corner. Ahead she saw a | | | | Later that afternoon she drove her brother down |
| used car lot. "Interesting," she thought. A bright yellow | | | | Route 1 and out into the country to pick up their sister. |
| Volkswagen Beetle caught her eye. A salesman met | | | | Her brother gave her his best Cadillac consult, being |
| her at the car and asked, in his most gracious | | | | himself a great appreciator of the "finer things" in life. |
| Southern manner, if he could be of help. She thought | | | | "Style it and profile it," he said. "That's how you drive a |
| she might take it for a spin, but as she walked to the | | | | Cadillac." So, she styled it and profiled it back to town, |
| other side, she saw, parked right next to it, a silver | | | | and then the 1300 miles north to Boston. It was the |
| Cadillac DeVille. | | | | most luxurious and comfortable Boston-Lyons trip she |
| She left the Beetle right away and began admiring the | | | | had ever driven, and she had driven many over the |
| mint condition DeVille. Within a few moments, the | | | | years. |
| salesman had photocopied her Massachusetts driver's | | | | There was a parking space right in front of her |
| license and given her the keys to the DeVille until the | | | | condominium. Parking a car had never been easier in |
| next afternoon. Not in Boston, she thought. | | | | the city: it simply glided in. She saw a few neighbors' |
| On the four block drive back to her family's old and | | | | eyebrows raised, but in admiration. Her next door |
| somewhat run-down farm house, this time crossing the | | | | neighbor, who had oohed and aahed over the car on |
| railroad tracks by way of the old Piggly Wiggly, she | | | | several occasions, bought his own version of a DeVille |
| remembered the story Jimmie Lou told of her Dad | | | | the following spring. |
| about his first Cadillac. He had been a modest farmer, | | | | She may never buy another Cadillac; the inspiration |
| but one day had the idea to convert much of his farm | | | | would never be the same. Nevertheless, driving one |
| acreage into a housing development, with houses he | | | | became totally natural. |
| would build. During this prosperous process, he bought | | | | QUESTIONS: |
| a Cadillac and proclaimed, in his own Scarlett O'Hara | | | | What is the yellow VW Beetle in your life? |
| style of passion, "I'll always drive a Cadillac from this | | | | What is the Cadillac? |
| day forward." And he did. | | | | Of course, enjoy the process! And remember: |
| She remembered her own dreams some years ago | | | | Step into your greatness...it is the most natural thing |
| of flying (which is really driving really fast with the wind | | | | you'll ever do! |