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The trip to the farm was always anticipated with a great deal of excitement. The travel time created a comfortable closeness where normal emotions and thoughts became suspended, when unusual questions were asked and thoughtfully strange answers were given. I remember asking my grandpa, who was a doctor, what the best way to die was. He said, if he had a choice, he thought drowning was best. This type of question was usually followed by, "How much longer before we get there?" When the questions wore thin, we would play "I Spy." It went something like this. ..." I spy something white and brown with four legs." The other player would look around at the passing landscape and try to guess what it was. Sometimes we would sing songs like "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall" or "Jimmy Crack Corn and I Don't Care." The supreme distraction though was the Burma Shave signs. You had to be prepared for them because they whizzed by very quickly. Grandpa would say, "Burma Shave" and I would sit up quickly, eyes focused on the right side of the road ready to read. Off in the distance a white board could be seen getting closer and closer. I was always filled with the anxiety that we would pass too fast. Then. "Passing cars" …and then . . . "when you" ... and then "can't see" ... and then . . ."may get you" ... and then ... "a glimpse of eternity." Yes! ..." Passing cars when you can't see may get you a glimpse of eternity." I repeated it out loud in time to see and say ... "Burma Shave!"