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
