"Hear it how it goes -- my rhythm!"

So I'm driving down the road, on my way to lunch with Mamma K. (Yes...we are the Ladies Who Lunch).

Suddenly it occurs to me: "I'm driving down the road on my way to lunch with Mamma K and I'm all by myself."

I'm always with Dirtman these days. Dirtman doesn't like music. He'll tolerate it, but he doesn't "get" that some songs you just allow to play and you don't talk through them or about them. They come on, you roll down the windows and bop down the road.

Dirtman doesn't bop. I'll bet Dirtman never did bop. I'll bet that on the last day of school, Dirtman never jumped in the car with his best friend, rolled the windows all the way down, plugged the Beach Boys into the tape deck and drove to the beach playing "Fun, Fun, Fun" full blast, stopping at lights and checking to see if there were cute guys in the car next to you, as if you weren't the biggest geek to walk the face of the earth and you weren't driving the family's Dodge station wagon and that in 45 minutes you didn't have to be at West Dover Elementary School to pick up your little brother. I'll bet Dirtman never did that.

So, when I'm in the car with Dirtman, there is silence or Dirtman talking or, maybe talk radio. But no music. And certainly no bopping.

But now...now I was alone and what I had was a CD mix made for me by Heir 1 last Mother's Day, back when occasionally I was alone in the car. Because when I'm alone in the car, I am free to bop at will.

The highlights of my bop list: