A Birthday Greeting From Someone Who Knows All About Taxi & She Is Flying Home To Die

The Lucky? Birthday Boy

Next Sunday, December 18th, is my 69th birthday, and scary to think I was 34 when first stepping in a cab back in September 1987.  I think the only thing that's kept me alive this long is that for the majority of all these years I have worked part-time, beginning with weekends only during those early years.  I mention all this due to "she-who-can't-be-named" annual homemade birthday card, something I truly look forward to, this year telling her she missed her calling, Hallmark Cards a suitable home for her skills in addressing crazy taxi one more time.   She rode along with me way back in 1989.  She knows taxi almost as well as I do, and hates it even more.  A faithful companion she is, and certainly wiser than I, who can only be termed a very dumb guy.  The birthday text in all of its glory:

                                                                        69

                                                              Isn't that just fine

                                                              While the jury's out

                                                              he doesn't pout

                                                              but does he fume

                                                              and fly about on his taxi

                                                                       Broom

                                                              Lucky he's a cat

                                                              and a lucky cat at that

                                                              or else we'd be telling

                                                              TALL tales of that 

                                                              taxi-poet Brat

                                                              It's time to let up

                                                             on that metal pedal

                                                             You have earned 

                                                                   a lifetime medal

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The "jury's out" comment refers to my newest book and the hopes we have for its success.  And yes, if taxi medals were issued, I kinda deserve one, at least a cabbie version of the Purple Heart.  Greytop Taxi almost killed me back in November 1995.  My bent nose will never be the same.

Incurable Cancer

Last night late I picked up a woman heading back to Alaska to die, somehow her experimental lung cancer treatment cancelled, and refusing chemo therapy, has decided to give up and die back home with her children surrounding her.   A retired medical professional, she was very matter-of-fact concerning her situation.  Having been failed by her doctors here in Seattle, and the lung cancer "kicking her ass," she has had enough of months of nonsense, preparing herself for the inevitable.  She coughed repeatedly in the back of the cab. 

Finding her with more luggage than my cab could really hold, I nonetheless packed it "to the gills" and off we went to Sea-Tac.  Once there I interceded with various Alaska Airline employees, assuring she got the kind of customer care needed to make her journey a successful one.  For the uninitiated, this is what driving cab is all about, responding properly to the situation handed you.  Life is at times no joke, having to do what is necessary minus argument.  We hugged as I left the terminal, life and death the full circle we all know.  Best of everything!