The Show Me state

I am two hours from my Missouri home, sitting in a Panera in Springfield, Missouri. I left Skull Valley Tuesday morning, a red tail hawk circling above my SUV, Romy safely tucked on a pad in the back. As I approached Iron Springs Road, a roadrunner ran briefly alongside, wishing me a speedy return. Or maybe he was saying "meep, meep"; what do I know?

It. has taken me two-and-a half days to drive the 1450 miles from Skull Valley to my second home in Missouri, or will when it is all said and done. Romy is a road warrier, only standing up occasionally when I slowed, to roll down the back window (she taught herself how, just as she figures out almost every drawer and door in the house) and stick out her head, sniffing the air as if to reorient herself and me, for she takes her duty as my protector seriously.

This morning I awakened to her ferocious barking when a maid knocked on the hotel room door. I feel safe with her. Oz is remaining in Prescott for the months I am gone, in training with my good friend Pat so that in August we can begin the process of titling him. On my way out of town Pat met me at Young's Farm in her van and Romy ran toward it, sniffing for Oz. We opened the door to show her he wasn't there, and she seemed satisfied. She was sure he was coming with us, but on second thought, I'll bet she wondered, where would he ride? Every available inch is stuffed with clothes and boxes and dog items.

My friend Barbara (www.thefirstchakra.blogspot.com) downloaded an eight-disc book for me, "Darling," by Russell Banks, and it has made my trip across the southwest much less introspective, if not sad because the book is a grueling look at a rootless woman's life. I wonder if she was trying to tell me something? For once, though, I can concentrate on someone besides me.

When I travel, I see myself stopping and investigating small towns, antique stores and walking in beautiful, tree-drenched areas. The reality, however, is that I am always anxious to arrive where I am going and I rarely stop, except to get coffee or let the dogs run. This trip was no exception, except for a short stay in Gallup to cruise the few still-open American Indian jewelry wholesalers, for I arrived late in the day.

When I was at the Old Shoe Group Monday night, I told the story of my encounter with the mad New Yorker in the alley behiind Gurley street. One of the group members had encountered him, too, and had the same experience, except that he is a six-foot-plus male and when he got out of the car to confront the man, he fled. So on my way into Prescott I called my friend and told him I had a plan.

"My truck is packed, Romy's in it, I have a U-Haul, and I feel like a wrong-way drive up a one-way alley," I told him.

He laughed and said, "Yeah, tell him there's some good rehab facilities in New York for one-armed men."

We both laughed and it helped to quell the sadness of leaving Arizona, for I am truly an Arizona woman, almost born and bred. I don't know what my future holds right now; I feel like I'm starting over with my Missouri boyfriend since we've only seen each other once in five months. I'm nervous and tired and trying to watch my fears and expectations.

I know this. Wherever I go, I have learned to bloom where I am planted. Missouri, where I have also lived happily, will be good to me.