After a 5:30 AM start to a scan in New London, Connecticut yesterday, four and a half hours later Banjo Man was more than happy to let me drive home. Relieved, even.
While I had munched on half of an old scone (a remnant of my own trip to a medical scan in Boston the day before) and happily sipped lukewarm coffee in the waiting room, Banjo Man hadn’t eaten in three whole hours (might be a record) and was looking forward to a leisurely late breakfast. I had had plenty of time to double check the directions back to I-95 and the menu of an enormous diner in Groton (ten different variations of pancakes was rather astounding, not that I wanted pancakes). So off we went, just like on our road trips.
And, just like our road trips, I expected Banjo Man to slump in his seat and doze off before we even found the ramp to the interstate.
Unfortunately that didn’t happen.
I knew the exit to the quilt store, which was close to the humongous diner where we’d eaten in 2022, after the last scan in New London. Taking that exit was easy, but then I had to find the right exit off the exit, after a light. Groton is a complicated area and there was too much traffic to be able to get over to the right side of the road to make the turn to Rt. 12. So I had to work my way around a neighborhood to get to the right place. I knew what I was doing, and once I hit a particular connecting road I knew exactly where I was.
Not that Banjo Man believed me.
I was not accustomed to my husband being awake while I drove. It was not a pleasant experience. He kept up a constant flow of advice, nagging and warnings.
All very odd and disconcerting. I kept hoping he’d black out.
The shop was only five minutes from a red light and easy to see. BUT we have piles and piles of snow on every corner of every street. We’ve had more than 24″ of snow these past weeks and no temps above 30 to melt it. Roads have been plowed, but are very narrow. It’s hard to see entrances to parking lots or around corners. I had to be careful not to drive over a curb.
My husband: You seem to be hesitating a lot.
Really? You think?
Once parked in front of the store I looked for my ziplock bag of fabric from home. I’d brought various little squares with me so I could hopefully find fabrics that would work with my colors. The bag was nowhere to be seen. I was sure Banjo Man was sitting on it, so I made him get out of the car while I searched.
It was nowhere. Had it slid out of the car in the hospital parking lot? Did I need to drive back? I definitely would have, but Banjo Man insisted there was no fabric on the seat of the car when he got in. Only my new Kindle e-reader. Now you might think I have plenty of fabric, so why the panic? Because I did not have enough of these particular colors to make a quilt. A quilt that is a gift. I needed–prayed–hoped that the “That’s Sew Debbie” shop would have a couple of 1/4 yards of something that could work. Each 1/4 yard would yield 5 squares. And not only did I need squares, I needed variety.
The loss of my little bag of eight different 8″ squares of fabric would definitely be a problem when I was already short of the right colors and wasn’t even close to having the minimum 87 squares I needed.
After a major search of the Highlander, I remembered there was one last place to look: between the seat and the console, that 1″ of space that hides things forever.
By now Banjo Man thought I lost my mind. I have been misplacing things lately, not because I am staring into the ugly face of dementia, but because I am switching between two purses and two wallets depending on where I am going and how long I will be in a waiting room. I have had the same style of purse for twenty years and now I am changing back and forth. The pockets are different, the insides are different, and yes, I often think I’ve lost my phone because it’s in the “wrong” pocket in the wrong handbag.
But I found the fabric in that crevice and, with a little maneuvering of the passenger seat, managed to pry it out of there. Once inside the little shop I found some fabric that would work and was back to the car in no time. Now…to the diner. And another discussion about my driving and where we were going. I knew exactly where I was and where the diner was. Banjo Man was totally confused and adamant that I was going to turn the wrong way.
This from a man with a dreadful sense of direction.
It turned out we were talking about two different diners, one in Groton and one in Mystic. We agreed to keep driving towards home and stop in Mystic. My backseat driver never shut up. I became increasingly nervous. By the time we reached the diner, just a little bit off the interstate, I was sweating profusely and had to turn on the AC.
The diner’s crescent-shaped parking lot was packed with cars. I should never have entered, but we hoped there might be empty spots on the other side of the building. Because of the snow “mountains” and all of the snow lining the lot, we realized too late that only one car at a time could come or go. I ended up backing up three times. There was just no place to move. Banjo Man had a lot of instructions to scream at me, A LOT OF INSTRUCTIONS, despite my doing my best not to get hit or to hit any other cars.
And then he yelled at me to stop yelling.
This was not a good Valentine’s Day. I wanted to drive the car into a snowbank and trot across the intersection to the Dunkin Donuts and let Mr. Know It All figure out how to get home while I drank hot coffee and ate powdered sugar-topped jelly donuts.
He had more to say: You seem to be discombobulated. I should drive. You don’t seem to be able to.
My response: HAVE YOU SEEN THE SNOW????
Yelling felt good.
I considered the joy of zooming into a snow mountain again, but instead I cautiously negotiated the exit, snow piled high so the opening could hardly be seen, and we headed north once more. I tuned out the noise from the man in the passenger seat. In Westerly I remembered another breakfast place we had tried one time, but it was jam packed with people, too. Was everyone celebrating Valentine’s Day by going out to breakfast? Or were people just tired of being stuck in their homes?
I wanted to go home and make toast.
There was one more place to try, a new little cafe that used to be a Korean Wings restaurant. The parking lot was empty and huge, as it was part of a big shopping area, and there were plenty of seats inside. Banjo Man ordered some kind of hash and eggs and I had a smashburger. It wasn’t very good and such a mess I had to eat it with a knife and fork. But the fries were good.
It was past noon when we left the cafe. And we’d been up since before 5 am. A long morning, but not over yet.
Banjo Man was eagerly looking forward to stopping at Walmart on the way home. He had a list. I stayed in the car, in the lovely silent car, and waited for my blood pressure to go down.
And then fifty minutes later we were home, thank God. I fixed myself a cup of tea and went to bed.
We will not be going anywhere together any time soon. Maybe not until April.
is there any more pie? 