How talking to my mother got me arrested in New Jersey

It’s been a few years now.  I can tell this story.

It’s around 2005.  I’m currently freelancing for an antiques publication, and was on assignment to cover an auction in New Hope, Pennsylvania – a collection of rare and antique dolls and dollhouses.  Good stuff.  I took my camera and my digital recorder, hopped into the old Pontiac 6000, and drove to the Pennsylvania-New Jersey border.  I garnered a ton of great stories and anecdotes, all of which were funneled into a great article for the antiques publication.

After the auction concluded, my plan was to drive to New Jersey, where I had secured lodgings at a Red Roof near Edison.  On the way to the motel, however, I thought it would be a good idea to call my mother.  Seeing as it was Mother’s Day and all.

By 2005 my mother had suffered a series of debilitating strokes, and was staying at Albany Memorial Hospital at that time.  Because there was – and still is – a tremendous amount of animosity and hostility between my family members and me, I would only visit Mom in the hospital at Albany Memorial in the morning on my way to my day job, or I would call her at night, so as to minimize any conflicts.

So on a cloudy Saturday night, I’m driving down an unfamiliar New Jersey road, and I’m calling my mother’s hospital room on my cell phone.  Yes, it’s 2005.  No, I’m not using any sort of hands-free device.  No, I didn’t have a GPS – this was back in ancient times, when you had to go to Mapquest and print out a paper turn-by-turn directional map.  And although I had driven through Bridgewater, New Jersey in the past – well, essentially long enough to get off I-287 and get some sliders at the White Castle near Rutgers University – I wasn’t familiar with this stretch of road.

Anyways, I’m talking to my mother, and just letting her know that I’m doing okay and that I hope she’s doing better, when all of a sudden I realize that hey – I’m in the right lane and I’m supposed to be in the left lane to pick up an upcoming left-exit off-ramp.  I activate my turn signal and shift over two lanes.

At which point I noticed that one of the cars behind me was a New Jersey police car.

And he noticed me.

And he made sure I noticed him – because he turned his roof lights and siren on.

“Sorry Mom, I gotta go,” I grunted, hung up the phone, and parked on the shoulder.

Well, apparently according to the cop who pulled me over, I may have signaled and shifted lanes, but apparently not in that order.  According to him, I may have caused more than a few cars behind me to hit their brakes.  Nobody was injured and no car accidents were caused, but the cop left me a nice yellow ticket for my troubles.  Some friendly police officer he was.  Couldn’t he tell I was lost on some desolate New Jersey road in the God-forsaken town of Bridgewater, and maybe he could have “done a nice” and given me some turn-by-turn directions to get to Edison?

Anyways, I got to my motel, and called my mother again, and explained what had happened and why I had to end the call so abruptly.  She understood, but she said she was tired and we would talk later.

I returned to Albany the next day, mailed a check in for my fine, and to this day, I won’t talk on my cell phone without a hands-free device or a wired earpiece.  Even my friends who call me while I’m driving have to put up with a “Hold on a second, I have to put in the wire” comment from me as I fumble around the car for my wired earpiece-microphone.  Especially if I ever travel through the town of Bridgewater, New Jersey.  I know that cop is still waiting to try to ticket me again.  I hope he’s still looking for a Pontiac 6000.  That way, he won’t notice Cardachrome and me.  Hee.

Flash forward to now.  Here I am in Schuylerville, preparing to pay my respects.  Mom passed away about five years ago; she’s buried in the Gerald B.H. Solomon Cemetery, waiting patiently for my stepfather to join her at some point in time.

The appropriate thing to do would be to visit her on Mother’s Day.  However, I wanted to visit her without the rest of my family being there.  It’s probably better this way.  They still hate me.  Again, better to reduce any conflicts in sensitive situations like this.

So for Mother’s Day, I got something very special for her.  It was something I regret never having done when she was alive.

Which is why, instead of leaving flowers or a ribbon or a note… I left this instead.  And even though leaving this photograph is against cemetery rules, I hope both she and the groundskeepers understand why I left this photo.

And if you can’t make out the picture in this blog, this blog post will explain what the picture represents.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.