Up a tree without a post
I'm out of pocket for the next few days, doing my "good mother" deeds by taking care of my daughter's home and animals (2 dogs and 5 cats) until the weekend. She and her children are going to Texas to attend the funeral and burial of her mother-in-law, who passed away unexpectedly last Saturday morning. Her husband is already there, having left immediately after receiving the news.
To keep up my resolve to post something every day this new year, I've pulled up a post I started drafting last summer but hadn't posted, until now (you will see that I am desperate for something to post about. )
Here followeth the long tale:
The Adult Bible Study Group at my church is comprised of some interesting characters. Nearly all of us are in the "over 50" category and, thus, have a lot of living under our belts. We get into some interesting conversations. Our group leader, one of our deacons, does his best to keep us in line, but along with learning a bit more about the Gospel reading for the day, we somehow learn more about each other. Not a bad thing, when you come to think about it. We share sometimes very personal information, and just like Las Vegas, what happens in Bible Study stays in Bible Study.
Deacon Richard is fond of the discussion guidelines from the Serendipity Bible, and generally prepares those in the form of a handout to get us started. Sometimes, the questions appear to be far off the topic of the text at hand. Such was the case one Sunday this past summer. The Gospel reading was Matthew 7:21-27 in which Jesus talks about the wise man building his house upon a rock. The opening question from the Serendipity Bible was "If you should become lost while driving, how hard would it be for you to stop and ask for directions?" "Depends upon your gender," one said, and went on to relate how her husband would rather drive 20 miles in the wrong direction than to stop and ask for assistance.
Which recalled to me my own "lost" story, which I had previously shared with the group when it occurred, about 4 years ago. All I had to say was "Highway 412," and everybody just grinned at me. Unfortunately, they all remembered this embarrassing episode.
I had been to visit my youngest sister who lives in northern Virginia. I can drive the 1,000 miles between our homes in two days, stopping the first night after I have about 600 miles behind me. The second day is then a relative breeze. As I do most of the time, I made the trip alone; I like the solitude and a chance to just think. I usually don't even turn on the radio, since the highways I travel run smack-dab through the Country Music Corridor and I can wear my finger out trying to find a station that plays something else (almost anything else.) Sometimes I take along a few audio tapes of my preferred music, just in case. For this trip, I had also checked out a couple of Books-on-Tape from my library, but didn't listen to them on the way up; too much pretty scenery to see and think about.
Blue Ridge Mountains - Photo from Wikipedia Commons
When I leave home, I drive east on Interstate 40 all the way through Tennessee, then turn north on I-81 along the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. I dog-leg a bit through some beautiful 'horse country' and on into the suburbs of Washington, D.C. to my sister's home. When I return, I usually just reverse directions and come back on the same highways.
On this particular trip, however, I decided to take a different route for the return journey. The route was through somewhat unfamiliar territory, down through West Virginia and into Kentucky. At the close of the first day, I found a hotel room in Elizabethtown, KY. While studying the map to plan the next day's journey, I decided that there must be an even shorter (and new) way to get home, and called a friend who frequently travels Kentucky, Tennessee and Arkansas to ask him for a recommendation. He told me "take U.S. Highway 412 when you get to Dyersburg, TN. It'll cut off 60 or 70 miles." OK, Gene, Highway 412 it is!
At dawn the next morning, -- I guess it was dawn; it was hard to tell through the heavy fog that had materialized overnight. The clock said it was time to be moving down the road, and it wasn't what you'd actually call "dark" outside, although I did have to use my headlights. So, I loaded up and headed out toward Dyersburg, TN and U.S. Highway 412, just like Gene told me to do.
I drove along in a fog so thick it was hard (impossible for me) to tell which direction I was going; the whole sky was the same gray all over; no sun to be seen anywhere, not even a lighter gray where the sun was (presumably) in the sky. Since there was no scenery to view on this new route home, I popped in one of the Books-on-Tape, a mystery story. And so I drove along, listening to the tape and watching the highway for signs indicating Highway 412.
There it was! I exited the main highway and set off to travel through new territory. I couldn't really tell where I was because of the fog, but just kept an eye peeled for highway signs; couldn't go wrong that way, could I?
I travelled along in the fog, making sure I didn't get too close to anyone's tail lights, listening to the story and checking the signs as I came across them. US Hwy 412. Yessir! Right on track! I still don't know where I am, but I definitely am on Highway 412.
The story coming from my speakers was engrossing. Time passed; I rolled along in the fog, putting miles of highway behind me. Surely I should be getting close to the Mississippi River by now. I know I have to cross a big bridge to get over into Arkansas. No Mississippi River, but part of my mind (not occupied with the mystery story) noted that I had crossed the Tennessee River. ??? I don't remember the Tennessee River as being on my way back to Arkansas. Then I noticed that I had entered the city limits of Jackson, TN! Hmmmm? Jackson, TN is definitely not supposed to be located on my way back to Arkansas! Where in the heck am I?
Pulling myself out of the physical and mental fog I was in, I stopped at a service station to check a map. Well... I was on Highway 412, alright! 412 EAST, instead of 412 WEST! I had driven a good 100 miles in the wrong direction! Talk about being disgusted with one's self! I could have banged my head against the fender!! I filled up the tank with gasoline, got back in the car, took out the tape and stashed it in a box in the back seat. I never did hear the end of that story.
Needless to say, by the time I back-tracked to where I should have turned (I'm stubborn that way), I drove a long way before I got back home! My desire for a short cut cost me about 4 hours and over 200 extra miles.
I don't think I'm quite ready to have my car and driver's license taken away, but I do more fully understand the stories about people who set out to go to Florida and end up in Canada. I don't intend to ever pull such a stunt again, even in a fog so thick I can't tell east from west! When I traded cars a year or so later, I was most adamant that it have a compass -- and I check it often!
