Dona E. Bowens

Well friends, we’ve entered the season of the last things, the last times and the last rounds. In fact, I just cracked open the last bottle of wine left over from the last party I had at my little baby house back in December. I guess that proves I’m not an alcoholic considering this bottle of Syrah has lasted on my counter for five months. But I cracked the bottle open today in celebration of a milestone crossed in my quest to expatriate myself from America once again. I bought the one-way ticket and I have a date for my last day in America.

August 21st.

For some reason, I really like making international moves during August. Moved to Barcelona on August 8, 2006. Moved back to Akron on August 4, 2022 and now to Uruguay on August 21, 2025. Will this be my last international August move? I don’t know, but I think I have one more in me…but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Today was also the last day working as a sub at my alma mater Archbishop Hoban High School. I’m good with this. Not nostalgic at all. Nostalgia is what led me to work there in the first place. But, who is it that said, “You can’t go home,” or something like that? You can go home, but that home in your memory’s eye doesn’t exist anymore. I spent more time than I care to cop to, driving around Akron and remarking in my head things like, “That used to be a bar. And that used to be a little corner store that sold jojos for 10 cents apiece.” I’ve been on a nearly 3 year nostalgia tour. Akron has changed—and more significantly—so have I.

Of course, I know this…that I’ve changed. But I was venturing out on the idea that, wherever you go, there you are! The Mighty Dona was coming home to roost and bringing all my antics and Tom Foolery with me. I’ll find my footing, my people, my bliss because it’s home—the cradle in which my adventurous spirit first sprouted ideas. Then Akron said, “Welcome home and calm that shit down. People trying to work and mow their lawns, damn it.”

Uh…sorry?

But it was far from all bad, got a ton of stories to tell. Some of y’all gonna see in print, some descriptions of people that have a passing resemblance to the person you greet in the mirror every morning…before you go out and mow the lawn. Yeah, I’m going to write about Akron and laugh as I do, from a continent away.

Which brings me back to the lasts. That’s what’s left to get through now. The last time I lock up my little baby house. The last time I throw Nigel in reverse and pull out of the drive. (Nigel is my Kia Soul, BTW. Nigel because he’s square and white like every other Nigel I’ve ever met.) There will be the last time, for a while anyway, that I get an order of chicken and jojos. That’s a real hurt piece, believe me. There will be the last time I see some of you, though thankfully, I don’t know who. So let’s just pretend that it’s not the last time, but an “I’ll see you later” time.