Doris arrived eleven days ago . . .

. . . after rolling along a well-worn groove across New Mexico, Texas, and Oklahoma and on into Springfield, MO, where she spent two nights with our old friends Tim and Terry.  She then drove to St Louis to see family.  A week ago Wednesday Terry routed Doris on alternate highways to avoid dark skies and funnel clouds which hop-skipped across her planned path.  Her silver Honda CRV, packed with our desktop computer, 22 inch TV, folding bookcase, folding table, a case of wine, clothes for all seasons, and whatever we need for six months chugged across Missouri before cutting across short corners of Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky, West Virginia, and Virginia, and rolling into North Carolina. 

When she knocked on my door just after dark, I melted on the doorstep seeing her standing there in my forest after nine months of living with most of North America between us.  North Carolina reminds us of the Ozarks, spring tree frogs and all.

            Doris has transformed an over-furnished two bed/bath apartment into a cozy but more spacious den.  She can’t move walls, but she has moved a plethora of faux greenery and other ugly stuff into the depths of closets.  She persuaded Forest management to remove the clunky old cathode ray TV: it might leak fumes harmful to fragile lungs—so she says.  

With the monster cabinet banished to the small bedroom to store my memoir files, we can forage for the recliner of my dreams.  Our new friend Pete, partner of Gene, who’s a friend of Victoria’s from the Wisconsin in Scotland program, gives us some hot tips about second hand furniture shops.  (Victoria and I taught at Dalkeith outside Edinburgh where I also lived in spring 2005 and fall 2007.)  Doris finds a gently used grey leather recliner at Collectibles and makes friends with owner Blake, who gives us a discount and promises to pray for me.

On Doris’s first Friday in Durham, I suggested we celebrate my completing another week of exercise by discovering the Food Lion near the edge of my forest, one supermarket Lisa and I had not explored.   Zipping around on their motorized cart I filled my basket with necessaries and treats such as ice cream—two recycle bags full.

When Doris went to start the Jeep, it clicked and went black.  Battery?  I thought not, but Doris thought it worth a try. Triple A came to give us a battery jump.  No luck.  Thus I had to start my AAA request all over.  Finally a tow truck arrived.  The starter needs to be replaced.  Symbolic of my life?  Meanwhile, Doris must follow the Jeep and meet the mechanic who’s holding his shop open awaiting our arrival.  

Need I mention that it’s raining, our ice cream’s melting (minor problem), we need a ride home, and I’m always in danger of running out of oxygen (potential major problem).  Lisa’s old friend Karen comes to the rescue.  She follows the tow truck and takes us home.

Doris makes friends with Ken the mechanic and shop owner; he writes my name down for his church’s prayer list and gives us 20% discount because of my lung condition.  She’s charmed all the good ol’ boys.  I’ve noticed the slightest southern drawl creeping into some of Doris’s vowel sounds.    The following Tuesday Gene picks Doris up and takes her to Ken’s shop to pick up my Jeep while I’m at the Fitness Center.

I made another new friend here in Durham through an online memoir writers’ workshop Feb-March 2011 led by Lisa Dale Norton http://www.lisadalenorton.com. Diane, http://www.bydianedaniel.com/, journalist and travel writer, wrote about her husband becoming her wife, a piece of her forthcoming book.  Diane and Lina’s story appeared as the feature in the Sunday Raleigh News and Observer a couple of weeks ago.  I met Diane for coffee between getting my nose tube removed at the hospital and rushing off to lunch and exercise.  I look forward to talking more with her about memoir writing.  I’m immensely grateful for these new friends.