Mimi's Along for the Ride

Tuesday would have been my sweet Theia Mary's 90th birthday.  "Mimi," as we all called her, was honestly one of the best friends I had growing up.

Nothing beat spending Friday nights at her house. She'd pop a big bowl of corn in her first-of-its kind electric popper, which looked more like a coffee percolater, and we'd kick back and watch Sanford and Son howling with laughter.

In the spring we'd walk to Big V and buy dollar kites to fly on the sports field at the junior high school across the street from my yia yia's house. Mimi was almost always the only adult flying a kite along with the kids. And she had skills.

Come summer, we'd walk up to Albertsons - a mile and half round trip - to buy individual Creamsicles. She'd just pop open a box, take a couple out, and we'd buy just two - always her treat.

But it was when I got my driver's license that our adventures really began. She'd call up and casually ask me if I'd mind taking her here or there (always offering to pay for gas) and the next thing we knew, we were lost behind vacant warehouses and railroad tracks. She'd always tease it was my fault we got lost, she was just along for the ride.

She didn't care my 1969 Buick Electra was a piece of crap, matched only by my questionable driving skills. My knack for clipping the curbs in parking lots made her squeal "oooh!" and sent her into hollers of laughter.

There were many experiences I wouldn't have had if she didn't call and ask, "Would you take me?" Together we saw the man-made canals on the streets of Salt Lake after the Great Salt Lake flooded, and a year later the Olympic torch on its trek to the Los Angeles Games. Both of those outings were her idea.

The boys don't really remember Mimi. Gus was barely six, and Niko wasn't even 3 when she passed.  I wish they had, they would've liked her. But every time I clip a parking lot curb, I squeal a little, "oooh!" and tell them Mimi must be along for the ride.