The gas gauge indicated there should be half a tank of gas, on a truck that that has about a 25-gallon tank. Yet, the “Low Fuel Level” message lit up. A wind gust buffeted the side of the camper. Although finding a gas station would undoubtedly lower my stress level, still we sat still in the line waiting for the emergency responders to clear the roadway from of the semi-tractor that had jack-knifed ahead of us. There was no telling how long we might be there, and the need for air conditioning was competing with the need to avoid walking when I ran out of gas. Such was the dilemma of that moment.
Wouldn’t you know it? I made safely to a gas station not long after that, and I gave my thirsty truck a big (BIG) drink of fuel. I wasn’t in a hurry as far as the clock was concerned, and we were on our way again shortly. But then the Check Engine light came on, and at the next exit ramp, we were off again to figure a plan of action. Luckily, there was a truck stop with a 24-hour maintenance shop. Except they only serviced big rigs. However, they referred me to a 24-hour wrecker and auto repair shop nearby. Tommy, the technician, guessed it was a loose fuel cap, and hooked up a sensor to the truck’s computer. Yep. A quick reset, and we were on our way once again.
By the way, “we” is me and three dogs – who are unsurprisingly useless in a crisis, but at least they didn’t cause any further stress by howling and growling. They were much more patient than I was, thankfully.
This was the second leg of my adventure. I spent the first day traveling to Elkin NC and survived a wicked thunderstorm in 5:00 Friday night traffic in Winston-Salem. Yeah, I know, good planning on my part, right? Anyway, I had an absolutely wonderful time Saturday on the Blue Ridge Parkway, revisiting Blowing Rock, and getting the feel of my camper and truck on a cross-country trip. So making it through Nashville’s spaghetti system of interstate interchanges was done by a fortified driver.
I was relieved to make it to Memphis, anticipating Graceland’s tour scheduled for Monday. It was too bad some jerk parked his truck quite close to my campsite, making backing it and setting up harder than it should have been in the dark. But two women from Ontario, Canada, Dawn and Louise, were very helpful, so all was right again in the world. (If their names had been Thelma and Louise I might have had second thoughts about letting them guide me.)
The next day would be a long-awaited visit to Graceland, but as I finally laid in bed that night, my mind was filled with thoughts about how I was living out the Solowingnow name I had given myself. Of course, we are never fully alone. I did have my dogs, but I also am certain I had divine help in the form of angels helping me along the way. How else do you explain that I never once had a close-call with merging onto interstate traffic because the lane was clear a mile back? Or that I made it to a gas station in the nick of time, and that I found not one but two 24-hour service stations on a Sunday night? I think we often think we are alone because we don’t see anyone else, but I was not unaccompanied either physically or spiritually.
Other thoughts also kept my mind entertained for a while that night. I remember thinking that Kevin would have loved this trip. He would have loved the scenery, the challenge, the upcoming sights to see, the freedom of the open road. And then this bright thought occurred to me: as much as he would have loved it, I also loved it. I promised myself right then that I would start now to put myself first. It is all well and good to think of others, but my first responsibility now is me. I can invite his spirit to come along for the ride, but the realization that it is indeed an invitation means that I have completed another phase of adjustment toward this new life I am living. I am no longer waiting for it to be my turn; I am claiming my place at the fire of the strong, brave, wise women of the world. I have my own stories to tell now, and this trip is just one more collection of memories that comfort me.
I am blessed – and I know that I am blessed – to have this opportunity to travel. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as “they” say. I have been to the ocean, to the mountains, across the prairie. I do not have to choose one over another. That is freedom.
Here are some sights along my way so far. More to come as I settle in.
his post is about the past month, during which I found myself distracted by opportunities, reminded by anniversaries, and presented with new partners. In the end, doors and windows keep opening while I’ve been busy closing others.
I thought I might be able to add some glass shelves and use it for books or cds or dvds … or something, maybe just use it as a curio cabinet. I might even be able to put a mirror backing. Paint it up shabby-chic like and I would have an unusual piece that might become the envy of my friends. Anyway, the answer is no, not yet. It’s just sitting in my hallway. At least I have moved it out of the closet where it has been hiding from chalk paint and all its glory for the past two years.
hall table I’ve had for about 20 years and that used to be dark cherry colored. Phyllis also helped me paint a window my sister gave me, so I must have a little flair hiding in me somewhere, right?
to sell it, to let her know. I had wanted a bistro-style tall table and counter stools in my kitchen when we moved in, but Kevin wasn’t a fan, so this was our compromise. It’s a lovely look, sturdy for him, with enough feminine curves to please my eye. So I called Betty last week and said I did want to sell it. Pictures and measurements were sent, but, she told me, she wanted it for her daughter and it was too large for the small alcove she has. Another friend, Armen, overheard our conversation and immediately said, “I’ll take it. I’ll bring you a check tomorrow.” She said she had wanted to say something the night Betty expressed interest but was too late. So it looks like I can start shopping!
Our neighborhood ladies were having lunch together last week near a consignment shop. I got there early so I could have a peek – this was before I even called Betty. They aren’t exactly what I thought I would want, but with a little paint, they could be fun. And the price is right. I wonder if a cross-style of Mary Engelbreit and Kelly Rae Roberts would work? Definitely some kind of splash needed. Would depend on the table style I find, and if these stools are still available.
and made a baby solarium or put one of my rocking chairs here and made a peaceful place to sit and meditate or read? I have a great outdoor bench that could work here, 
too, if I put a little elbow grease into sanding the rough and rusted edges. And then I could just put an outdoor table on the deck – which I don’t have right now. Still get to shop!! Oh, the options! :o)
kills. As I see it, the world is desperately in need of these attributes. Last fall I had the incredible opportunity to see 144 counties sharing a weekend in the pursuit of a better world, at a Toastmasters International conference. Proof that we can live in a different world. That’s how I serve, what I choose to be a part of. As John Lennon said, you may say I’m dreamer, but I’m not the only one.
Keep on loving your children, encouraging them, playing with them, nurturing their positive spirits. Someday probably we will look back on this week and all we feared, but for now I will remember that January 20, 2017, is my son’s birthday, and the day I graduate from the National Speaker’s Association Speaker Academy. I don’t have any inclination to cast a shadow on this day by worrying about other things.
I could not believe it. I am absotively, posilutely certain that Kevin sent me this to let me know he was still with me and remembering our special day. I wish I could figure out how to play this for you here. It is uplifting, and floaty, and a little bouncy and sweeping. It’s a happy sound that you could swing around and around to, arms out wide, in an open field and be in a Downy fabric softener commercial or something. Yet, it’s ballroomy and enveloping. It certainly wasn’t his kind of music, but he knew it was clearly my kind of music.