I know it’s been realreal hot with only a promise of more hot weather lurking ahead. But the heat we’ve been suffering through does bring about some abnormal behavior and thoughts that often lead us into the valley of poor decisions. To wit, my wife Pat says “I wish we could go for a nice drive somewhere.” I was thinking quickly — that it was for sure too hot. No way! But I replied something like this: “I think this would be splendid.” What was I really thinking? A drive over to Ada and sucking down an oversized vanilla milkshake made right there in Braums, an Oklahoma owned and operated facility would be absolutely great. Of course, my wife would be welcome to go.

Then I heard Pat say, “its been forever since we drove over to look over the family graves at Lula and Stonewall.” I replied that we could do a little sightseeing while we are about it. She agreed as I gazed out at the shimmering heat waves on the blistering blacktop we call Lee street. She told me to load up my battery powered weed eater and the blower in the pickup. I silently went out into the inferno I call the out-ofdoors and loaded them up into my red pickup. I remembered that my old 17 year old pickup had A/C and it still worked. So going on what was beginning to seem like Homer’s Odyssey didn’t seem so bad after all.

Pat soon appeared with some cold drinks and we boarded the truck without further ado and headed down scenic Highway 48. Toward Lula. I soon drove us to the gate of the Lula cemetery. Like I say, “Boy, was it hot!” We finished our bottles of water as we walked across the pretty little cemetery. We had some meaningless conversation agreeing the graves were OK. Everyone was right where they had originally been placed. I guided my Pat in the general direction of my red pickup which lay sautéing just to my north and soon, we were on our way to Stonewall.

As we sped toward Owl Creek I listened to my 17 year-old pickup, worrying about its age and the heat, but I needn’t have. The pickup did fine. Later, after making a few obligatory turns about the Town of Stonewall, we found ourselves parked by the graves of an old cowboy movie star named Jack who was parked right next to his brother Harry. Two of her uncles. They seemed OK as was the case with the grandparents--Aunt Annie and Nora--and a few other cousins and dead people. Boy, was it hot.

I glanced west and thought I saw the smokestacks of the Cement plant, not so far from Braums. And my ice-cold milkshake. So we headed on to Ada. We enjoyed our hamburgers and French fries and stuff and went back to Allen. I especially enjoyed my vanilla milkshake. Our day of wandering was done and I was soon safely back in my air-conditioned home on Lee Street. I was silently singing the song: “Home at last, home at last, thank God almighty I’m home at last.”

“Can’t find my phone,” was the first words I heard from Pat. After some concerned searching—and calling, I took my phone and hit on the thing that says find. Sure ‘nuff, the phone shows to be just south of Stonewall.

After the usual technology denials by her and some disgruntled moans that emanated from my mouth I said, let’s go. Where? She asks. To where my “find” feature says—to Stonewall. So off we went. This time in the car. The pickup suddenly was anathema, and I secretly blamed the whole other trip on it. We drove off south, again on scenic SHW-48. Without wading too deeply into waters that are not only deep, but mysterious, we didn’t find the-lost phone at the Highland Cemetery in Stonewall. So, I called her phone, again. A mysterious girl answered and told me she had Pat’s phone in her hand. At Braums.

I continued the circuit of madness and drove over to Braums. You know, the place we had been to for my milkshake and stuff. I retrieved the phone without much conversation and no more delicious milk shakes, we drove quietly home. Very quietly. We haven’t been on any more drives. This time, I will lock up her cell phone in the glove box or something.

I was going to write up a series of precautions you should take before going off on a Summer’s Day Drive. But, heck, summer is about done for. Be sure and go to church Sunday. Hang onto your phone.

Wayne Bullard, DPh cwaynebullard@gmail.com