I became a statistic yesterday.

I had a Memorial-Day-Weekend car accident... truck accident.

As I came through a light, a Benz making a left-hand turn under the light came in contact with the left nose of my truck. Their car hissed and smoked and carried on... mine just smiled, with a few missing teeth, though.

I was mad. I was beyond mad. I was steaming. I got out of my truck ready to tear into these nuts who decided they had the right-of-way. I mean, anyone who knows me knows how much I love my truck. I LOVE this freaking truck! And they CRASHED it!!

With broken English, they tried to tell me that I ran a red light... but um, wouldn't that mean they did, too? No, there was no red light.

I had to wait 15 minutes for their son to arrive on the scene so that he could communicate with me regarding exchanging information - insurance and whatnot.

No police. Can you believe it?!? Just add one more to the growing list of crazy, stupid, ridiculous laws in the state of California. When I called them to report the accident, they said they only come out to an accident scene if someone has been hurt.

Yeah, I guess I forgot to mention the most important part - no one was hurt.

I had a couple of guys as my witnesses (they were on a side street working under the hood of a car when they watched it happen) who will verify that the Benz cut in front of me under the light. And they were nice enough to help me bend my front fender back so that it wouldn't blow my tire as I drove. They also checked under the hood just to be certain that I didn't jar anything lose that would leak or cause problems later. And they did this... just because. Cool fellows.

I called my insurance company, but of course no one works on a Sunday and they were closed today for Memorial Day. So, hopefully, tomorrow I can get my truck into the shop to be repaired. Reckon I'll be driving a rental in the meantime. Bet they don't rent Dakotas. Dang.

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"Ya'll are gonna make me cry."

That's what Memaw (my grandmother) said.

Mamma met Memaw in Atlanta and they flew to Los Angeles under the guise of visiting me for a few weeks in California. At the airport in Atlanta, Mama held up a hand-written sign to the ticket agent that read, "Please do not mention Hawaii or our final destination in front of the woman behind me. It is a surprise trip."

In Los Angeles, I met them as they exited the plane and placed a flower lei around Memaw's neck. (By the way - In Hawaii, such leis are handed out on the street corner. In LA, they cost $45.)

At that moment, she was still trying to understand how I had managed to get into that area as it is for ticketed passengers only and she had assumed I would have to meet them at baggage claim. "How did you get up here?" she asked.

"I'm taking a flight out on Delta... with you," I answered.

Mom and I could hardly stand the seconds waiting for her to grasp the fact that the trip from Atlanta to LA was only the first leg of her flight. Mom was nearly bouncing in place. I was grinning and pulling at the lei around Memaw's neck.

"Oh, okay," Memaw answered.

But it was clear that she still hadn't quite figured it out.

Mom, who by the way is the queen of NOT being able to keep a secret, could bare the suspense no longer. "We're taking you to Hawaii, Memaw!!" she shouted. "And your son is paying for it!"

"What?" Memaw asked as she slowed her pace to a stand still.

It was beginning to hit her.

"We have an hour and a half to kill," I said. "Then, we are getting back on that very plane at this very gate and we're flying to Honolulu."

Memaw grew very quiet. She looked between Mom and me and stared at the other side of the terminal, clearly piecing together all the oddities surrounding her trip up until that moment.

Before she had left Atlanta, her friends and family had been overly excited about her trip to LA... a trip she'd made a hundred times before. "Have fun and send us a postcard!" they'd said. "Wear sunscreen." Mom had even told her to pack a swimsuit... just in case we'd decided to make a trip out to Santa Monica or Malibu for the day.

And then she remembered the note and the strange exchange between Mom and the ticket agent back in Atlanta.

And the conversation on the plane of places they'd love to one day visit while Mom and Memaw flew to Los Angeles.

Mom and I waited impatiently for Memaw to react.

Finally, still staring across the terminal, she said...

"Ya'll are gonna make me cry."

Well, thank goodness she didn't or I might have had to join her... and I had not worn waterproof mascara.

I'm posting pictures of our trip to my Fun Pics page on my website. Check them out soon.

--Thanks, Dad.