She hadn't driven, as far as I knew, ever. She used the bus to get back and forth to town. When we visited in the summer (a welcome break from the humiliation capitol - home) she would make a big deal out of us getting on the bus to town. Then it seemed like it was the longest ride ever. But actually, it was only a few miles.
Anyway, when we moved to the south my father gave her the old car he had gotten from his mother and father. It was a good old Plymouth - must've gotten a whole 9 miles to the gallon. She got her driver's license.
I think the other thing that made her get adventurous was moving to a new house. The house her husband built after World War II was selected by the people-who-make-such-decisions to be made into an on-ramp for the new interstate going through the town. She fought them and lost (majority rules) and bought another place on the other side of town. I think maybe the bus didn't go there.
So, as it was, she was driving. Actually, she drove for only a few days as I remember.
While my parents were at the funeral we got a letter from Nana that apparently had been posted a day or so before she died. She talked about driving, even signed it "Daredevil".
Then Nana died.
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