Vroom vroom! The cars are speeding around the track in the NASCAR playoffs. It must be Sunday. Time for a nap while Stewart watches the races except, heaven help me, I’m getting to know the racers by their car sponsors and car numbers and have even picked my favorite driver, Kyle Busch. He drives No. 18 and since he’s sponsored by M&Ms, the car is blue with colorful candies painted on it. His older brother Kurt, driving No. 1 and sponsored by Monster Energy, is a fierce competitor. Another favorite of mine is No. 48 driven by Jimmie Johnson, mainly because I remember when he used to race in my hometown of El Cajon, CA. Local boy makes good.
What does this have to do with writing? Absolutely nothing. But it’s Sunday and I’m taking a day off and hope you are, too. Many years ago, my sister could tell you every winner of the Indianapolis 500 since it’s inception in 1911. Since I adored my older sister and wanted to be just like her, I developed a fringe interest in racing, for a while. Trust me, it didn’t last long. Then I met Stewart Hemby and the Hemby’s, including my son-in-law Bill, are avid race fans. Did I say avid?
Stewart is a southern boy after all and NASCAR is as much a part of the South as sweet tea and okra. I learned to like okra and now I can watch racing with a certain degree of interest. Just don’t hold your breath waiting for me to like sweet tea. I am a Vermonter born and bred and if you go anywhere in New England and ask for sweet tea, they look at you like you’re from outer space. I know because we were there this summer and that’s how the waitresses looked at Stewart.
Pardon me while I go get an M&M or two, or three, and help Kyle win this race. Mind you, I’m doing it strictly for Kyle, not me.
Quote of the Day: Finishing races is important, but racing is more important― Dale Earnhardt