Time for a vacation. Time to get out of town for a while.
We head off, packed for a week's worth of camping and traveling, ghost town searching, going where the road takes us, generally headed in the direction of the Four Corners.
After several days on the road, many miles away from home I am trying to find an appropriate birthday present for David whose birthday is just a few days away, and he is constantly by my side! At a flea market I spy some beads I would love and a small horse hair pot just like the large, expensive ones David has been quietly drooling over the entire trip. I told David I had left my wallet in the car, knowing full well he would offer to get it, being the gentleman he is. While he was gone, I took the money out of my pocket and bought the pot, tucking it back into my pocket.
The night before his birthday, after he fell asleep, I wrote a Happy Birthday - I Love You poem to tuck inside the pot. I got the pot out of its hiding place and knew, beyond doubt, that David would put down the pot, and without apparent reason, it would fall and shatter before we left the motel room to continue our journey. I left the pot and poem beside his bed and went to sleep, still stunned by the strength of the getting. It had been months since I had one.
The next morning, after David saw his present, it was time to shower so he placed the pot on the side table. I immediately picked it up and wrapped it up. I received a strong release, and knew I had changed it's path. The pot is home with us now, safe and sound.
That would be the beginning of many gettings on the trip, one after another.
David is a non-believer. Alas. On the way home, I got two things loud and clear that would run my life for the next 24 hours.
As I slipped into bed next to him the next night to snuggle next to him as he slept, I heard, "Appreciate this, it will be the last time." I saw a semi, out of control roaring at us. I hardly slept.
Somewhere in here I knew we would break down in the Mojave desert in a town called Dawg Town or something close to that. How do you tell someone who has no concept of 'getting' that this is going to happen?
The next day we had to return to the highway and I asked David, keeping my attitude as light as possible, to be careful. We spent the next few hours amazed by all the insane truckers, close calls and stupid moves we witnessed. I don't consider myself to be easily panicked, but I wondered how I was going to survive this mentally I was so tense.
I heard, "20 minutes" and knew we had to get off the road for twenty minutes. When we reached Kingman, David surprised me by saying we had made good time and had time to stop to look at ferrets if I wanted to. Absolutely. We never did find any, but that took us off the road for about an hour, and I breathed much easier to get back on 40. Still, no release. When we crossed the Arizona California state line, it came like a wind. "Whew" just doesn't begin to describe the relief.
We stopped for gas in Needles and got out of the car to get hit with 112 degree heat. Incredible. Again, I hinted at the fact that since it is sooo hot maybe we might want to wait till early morning or night time to cross the Mojave. We were truly rocked out by this time and just wanted to get home to our own bed so we charged ahead at David's insistence, I held my breath most of the way.
Needless to say, Betsy started overheating. David passed exit after exit, I tried to not scream at him that we HAD to stop. We finally had no choice as she red lined, then the needle went off the gauge. The next exit was Dagget. We limped to the only shade near a small, deserted park and David poured the extra five gallon jug of water I insisted on bringing with us in the radiator, but the thermostat was stuck by this time and it was a nightmare. I asked a guy in a water truck nearby if he knew where we could get water and he coldly offered the drinking fountain in the park. Karma WILL pay him back. I cried quietly the whole time I filled a 12 ounce water container and poured it into the water jug, time after time after time. If only I had told David, if only I had insisted.
Eventually, David and I talked. I told him the entire story, from the days when my ex made fun of my gettings to yesterday's knowing we would break down in a town called Dawg something. He has assured me that next time I get something and he is not listening, I should tell him, "Needles."