So it’s been years since I queried magazine editors. I’ve always enjoyed writing personal essays in particular, and as a writer, there are things that happen in life that prompt me to say, “Oh, I need to write about this.” I’m such my father’s daughter. My late father’s essays are legendary, as were his letters to the editor. One of my favorites is a letter he wrote in 1991 to the traffic engineer of our city. This is just an excerpt of the two-page letter:

“Dear Sir,

Every morning at five-thirty I leave for work via West Mulberry near Overland Trail, and continue on Mulberry to nearly I-25. At the early hour the traffic signals are still on their “nightly mode.” It’s their modus operandi that has has finally driven me to make this written appeal for more humane treatment from your office. Traveling east on Mulberry, the first light is at Taft Hill Rd., and as I arrive at the crosswalk, the light immediately begins to change. It works beautifully . . . unless there is another motorist more than a quarter block behind me. He or she would hardly see any beauty in the way the light turns red in three or four seconds. This is one of those “you had to be there lights.” Now, that trailing motorist will have to wait for some specified “recycle” time before the light will change again.  .  .

. . . The next three signals, at Loomis, Howes and Mason, appear to be set on a timer, stopping vehicles on Mulberry at prescribed intervals. At this hour there is NEVER (99.9%) any cross-traffic at any of these intersections, prompting some motorists to actually consider committing a misdemeanor. Oh, yes! And, if one’s timing is particularly unfortunate, the result could be a rapid erosion of an otherwise cheery disposition.”

A couple of days later my father received a phone call from the chief traffic engineer who said, “I just wanted to let you know I got your letter and really enjoyed it!” Enjoyed it?! was my dad’s reaction. Enjoyed it?! The traffic lights remained on the same idiotic timing (and do so to this day). Maybe I have his same angst-y traffic genes, but I often find myself mentally composing a letter to the traffic engineers about the nonsensical and mind-numbing system our traffic lights seem to be on, as I sit at one of those idiotically-timed lights. See? I just got myself going . . .

So, I guess it came as no surprise to me that a car-related situation prompted me to immediately take notes for an essay. Last fall, I had a moment where I went environmentally militant on a complete stranger; a parent at my son’s school, to be exact. Her daily 45-minutes of idling in the school’s pickup lane could no longer go ignored. Her response surprised me. So anyway . . . long story short, if you feel so inclined, you can read about my experience at Whole Life Times. Don’t worry, it’s only a page. Scroll to page 42—the very last page called BackWords. This concludes my shameless self promotion. Thank you.