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