Saturdays have long been my escape day. I get in the car and just drive. When we moved to Dover in 2017, Mike spent that first summer in Alaska while I was here alone, setting up our home. I noodled all alone through our new world and loved sharing my finds with Mike through phone calls and photos.
When Mike came home, we started exploring together. Buffalo River. Found a great little diner for Sunday brunch. Swimming holes. Antique picking. Garage sale junkin. Just riding down back roads to see where they’d go. Finding pieces of our new world – the four wheeler. Hunting for a boat. Every adventure had its own story and its own memories.
After Mike got sick, we cut back, but we still tried to do some things. We got hooked on auctions again, and were junkin with an eye to resale. Mike wanted to put some of our things up for auction, so we were scouting out the various houses for potential. We were planning out our new venture while sitting at an auction on the Saturday before his last fatal dose of Keytruda.
Today, I decided it was time to get back out there. Made myself a sandwich (Mike Powell road economy tricks!!) and hit the road. Put on all the schmaltzy love songs that Mike sang to me. Grinned at old memories and chuckled at remembered conversations. Finally settled on a Texas-sized dose of Jerry Jeff Walker to counteract images of my lanky Arkansas boy.
There’s a memory around every bend I traveled. The gas station where we refueled after driving 30 miles past our exit – we were so busy planning our future that we sailed right by our own turn! The old fallen-down houses that Mike dubbed “Po folks gone broke!” There are so many things I want to remember to tell Mike – uprooted trees and billboards from this week’s storms. The long lineup of Corvettes pulling into a rural gas station. The fields full of yellow flowers and the tall purple stalks alongside the road.
I headed up to Coal Hill to an auction that sounded good. Took one look at the half mile of mud needed to climb the hill to get to it, and turned around. Not happening today. Found a cute antique store a little ways down the road and just wandered, with Mike whispering in my ear, “Don’t buy that!!”
Then I decided to drive back to “our” auction house and willed myself to shed no tears. We’ve been shopping for furniture to outfit the apartment so we can rent it. I wanted to see if there were any potential deals.
Bought a hand jig saw, a hand sander and a DustBuster for $5 for the lot. Mike would have fought me for those. Waited for the furniture auction to start. Suddenly, my chest and jaw started killing me. I couldn’t draw breath. I grabbed my paddle, paid my $5, and got out of there fast. As soon as I hit the car, it was better. Every turn of the wheels eased my breathing. I was crying and shaking – and bless my friend who called just then! I was fine by the time I reached town.
Add panic attack to the Saturday list. I have no words. It came from nowhere. That’s a surprise I don’t want to repeat. Maybe it’s too soon to revisit some memories. Maybe some wounds are yet too raw. Maybe I need to take it just a touch slower…which is not in my nature …at 62.
At 62 