Here's what happened ...

Aunt Marian was feeling very good and wanted to take Adam on a tour of the complex. She had also just gotten a brand new candy apple red turbo charged walker and wanted to take the baby out for a spin. We walked/rolled across the street to the Roddy McDowell Rose Garden and then further on to the Jeffrey Katzenberg Koi Pond. All very lovely. We then walked/rolled with Aunt Marian back to her suite. But Marian wasn't done yet, having had her heart set on showing the ever-patient Adam her original cottage. Being that the cottage was too far for her to walk/roll, we decided to make a road trip of it. This is where the weirdness begins.

Even after folding up her candy apple red turbo charged walker(CARTCW)as far as possible, it still would not fit into the trunk of a Swedish two-door. Switching to Plan B, we managed to force the CARTCW into the Volvo's back seat and then Adam tried his best to squish himself back there with it. Unfortunately, no matter how Adam tried to contort himself, all he succeeded in doing was to impale himself rectally on the CARTCW's right brake mechanism. The boy simply would not fit.

After ingloriously backing out of the car like a plumber backing out from under a kitchen sink (need I say more?), Aunt Marian sprung spryly into action with an "Oh Jesus, just let me do it." The next thing we know, our 93 year old aunt with her six month old titanium hip is wedging herself around and under the CARTCW and into a highly precarious spot in the back seat. Seat belt? Forget it. My vision at this point was of the right brake mechanism that had previously impaled Adam next finding its way into Aunt Marian's eye socket as we rolled over the first of many speed bumps.

So off we went. Where, I wasn't really sure since I knew that cars were certainly not allowed on the pedestrian pathways. Oh, but apparently I was mistaken. Following our Aunt's adamant instructions, I veered right onto the first pedestrian pathway we came to and began an amazing journey.

With spiny shrubbery and sharp masonry alternately scraping and impaling my car at every turn, Aunt Marian served as our diminutive tour guide, pointing out the hospital to the left, her former cottage to the right and the elephant-shaped topiary bearing down directly in front of me, etc.

Being only 4' 10" tall and completely camouflaged by the CARTWC, no one could see my 93-year-old back seat tour guide which is why I became the target of many "what kind of asshole are you?" stares being shot at me by various residents and visitors who were trying to enjoy a lovely stroll without fear being rear ended by a Volvo.

In spite of her assertion that "we're just fine," I ultimately aborted the amazing journey, taking the next clear pedestrian path I could find that led back to, you know, an actual street. But, as it turns out, the real fun was still to come.

After parking in front of Marian's building, Adam and I took great pains to first extract the CARTWC from the backseat without introducing great pain to our Aunt. Mission accomplished.

Now all that had to happen was for 4'10" 93-year old, titanium hip equipped aunt to bounce out from the backseat so we could call it a day. Except, instead of bouncing out of the back, Aunt Marian's backside slid ever so slowly off the seat and onto the floorboard whereupon she became securely wedged into the crevice between the backseat and the front. With her ass in the crevice and her little legs and feet flailing in front, I could clearly envision the headlines: “Senior Citizen Succumbs in Backseat. Subhead: Woman is fatally injured by relatives during ill-fated joy ride."

"Well honey," Aunt Marian remarked calmly, "I've gotten my ass stuck in here."

My thought process wavered in that strange middle ground that exists between panic and hilarity. Fortunately, I have not yet taken enough leave of my senses to allow the hilarity part to supercede the panic part. So, in a panic, I ran to the other side of the car and got into the back seat with my wedged-in aunt.

I slid my hands under her armpits and slowly, albeit forcibly, pried Marian out of the crevice and back onto the seat. So here we are, our Aunt and I in the Volvo, Adam standing outside, and none of us knowing what we should do next. I had a vision of the Fire Department being called to the scene to use the Jaws of Life to rip open the Volvo like that anchovy can and save my Aunt from death by compression.

But before calling 911, we decided to try again. Once more, in spite our best efforts, Aunt Marian's ass slid off the cushion and again became tightly wedged between the floorboard and the seats. She was reaching out to Adam with her arms as though she was trying to grab the last floating life preserver from the Titanic, her little legs and feet once again flailing in the air before her like a marianette puppet.

It was now time for drastic action. Shouting out orders like a desperate football coach, I told Adam to take both of Marian's hands while I slid my hands underneath the buttocks of our 93 year old aunt and we, together --aunt, uncle/nephew and nephew/grand nephew -- moaned, groaned, lifted, twisted and ultimately slid our Aunt out of the Volvo's leather and aluminum clenches.

We all stood there silently for several moments letting the experience wash over us. We were all in a bit of shock, especially me because of the way I had just physically assaulted my Aunt's ass and armpits with my hands. Aunt Marian was the first to speak and her words truly captured the thoughts that we all now shared. "Well," she said calmly, "Let's never speak of that again."

And away we went with our Aunt securely at the helm of her CARTWC with her two exhausted and relieved nephews trailing closely behind.

-Dad.