A Journey into the Past

Back in March of this year, uncertain as to what to do with myself as I was recovering from my trip through thyroid hades, I decided to 'throw myself out to the universe' and see if anything came to me. I hoped to be able to return to Panama with my dogs, Cleo and Harley, and resume my life on Loma Partida. I like living there, it fits me. However, as the fates would have it, Delta Airlines has a ban on flying pets between May 15 and September 15, so either I travel without my dogs, or I don't travel. Well, so much for returning to Panama for the summer. I may make a quick trip to check on things, but I can't see spending the summer there without the little furballs - I would miss them too much, and besides, who would take care of them?

In the past, before Cleo joined my menagerie in early December, there was only Harley, my spotty American Cocker Spaniel. My ex-husband, Jeff, was always agreeable to letting Harley stay at his house and keep his dog, Oscar, company. But, with Cleo added on, it is a bit much to even consider asking. As of yesterday, she turned 6 months old and weights in at 55 pounds - clumsy and adorable - but a handful. So, I am going to travel in my truck and see what happens.

Six years ago I started a similar journey in my truck. With all of the children off to college in different parts of the country, I loaded Tinkerbell, my Harley Davidson Road King onto the trailer and prepared for a summer on the road. I packed my favorite clothes and girlie goodies into my black Ford Ranger pick up truck, put my favorite CD's into a sleeve on my visor, set Harley (the dog) on the passenger seat, and headed out to visit friends, family and ride for the summer. It was a great plan. There was enough money in my checking account for the trip, and my beach cottage at Ocean Isle Beach was rented to tourists for the summer months, generating more revenue than any job I could possibly hope to obtain. After all, I was trained to teach history at the adjunct level, and trust me, that does not pay the bills. After years of teen problems, divorce, grad school, and an abusive boyfriend, I needed an adventure. Let's face it, I went from being a doctor's wife to living below poverty level within two years time. An adventure was the prescription I needed to heal and prepare to start my life all over again. The last year had been a rough one since my daughter, then a senior in high school, harbored an intense anger at me and was caught up in a mode of self destructive behavior. Yeah, I needed to have some fun.

The first destination on my journey was Laurinburg, NC to see my parents. I was so excited about my trip and this sense of adventure was bubbling in me that I pulled out with the Dixie Chicks blaring "Earls Gotta Die!" As things turned out, my father was feeling under the weather when I arrived, and was sporting an icky shade of gray on his skin. I took him to the emergency room and they admitted him immediately for congestive heart failure. He had struggled with CHF for years as a smoker, and generally recovered, so I suspected this meant putting my journey off only until he was feeling better. He healed faster than anyone I had ever met in my life.

After a routine chest x-ray, the pulmonologist, who just happened to be my ex-husband, met me outside of my fathers room and told me he found a tumor in his lung and wanted to do a biopsy. Oops. Well, this wasn't going to go as I had expected. Unfortunately, he had just been diagnosed a few weeks earlier with prostrate cancer, but it was a slow growing kind, so the doctor put him on hormones which did little else but keep it in check and prevent him from having an erection. That bothered him, and was the perfect solution for my mom. Go figure. There are worse things in life, right? Yes, there certainly are. He had lung cancer. So much for the trip.
He died two years later, and I still can't think about it without getting choked up.

Subsequently, I am a little leery about this upcoming journey. I can only hope nothing goes amiss before setting out on the road. I still have a lot to do to prepare the cottage for rental season, so much in fact, that I can hardly get started on it. The beach continues to beckon me and the dogs on a daily basis, and I put off the difficult tasks. Life is about the journey after all, not the destination.