Maps, Maps, and more Maps!
We’ve been checking-out a ga-zillion maps trying to determine our route, and still try to keep a bit of spontaneity. The simple task of getting from here to there has taken on a new dimension. Don is from Vermont, and learned at very young age to find his way through the woods to the neighbor next door and "next door" is 3 miles East, over the creek and don't run into a moose! Vermont is also a state where in most instances, you have to drive 150 miles to GET to the road that takes you somewhere. In short - his directional ability is uncanny and rivaled only by NASA's Ground Control team. On the other hand, I’ve lived “on the coast” (a coast, any coast) most of my life, and regardless of where I am, I can usually figure out which way it is to the water, and therefore, that's where I’m headed. Sort of like a salmon swimming upstream. I may not know exactly where I'm going, but by golly, I know I'm headed in the right direction...sort of...of course, if you put me on a peninsula – I’m screwed, but what the heck, how often does that happen really? (Note to self, avoid all peninsulas on this trip.)
So, you must be wondering, if Don is so good with directions, how come JoAnn is the navigator? There are a couple of reason actually…the first being - I’m the only other humanoid passenger and it’s my duty…ney, it’s my RIGHT to have that front seat. Reason 2: you need an opposable thumb to change the channel on the radio, pop the top on a can of soda or unwrap a hamburger for the driver. Reason 3: (and the critical one) If I move from my seat, I will lose it to Julio who thinks it’s his job to assist in driving the vehicle. He will push whoever is sitting there, out of the seat and if you give an inch (and if you’ve ever been displaced by 175 pounds of Great Dane who knows how to hunker down then you know what I'm talking about) which is a stratigically devastating move that may affect the rest of a trip - especially one of this magnitude. That front seat has great windows and if I get to it after him, there will be so much "Snoggy Dot" (yeah, that's the way our family says Doggy Snot) on the windshield that the rest of the trip will be a blur...literally. Also, truth be told, if I’m gonna be the navigator – I’ve got to know exactly when and where we started getting lost so that I can carefully point out that we are now on the “scenic route” instead of admitting we’re really on the “I-have-no-freakin’-idea-where-we-are” route.
But don’t panic before we’ve even leave the chocks, we’re investing in a GPS, you know, a really good one, that talks to you and provides direction of your every turn. Of course, our luck is that we'll end up getting the Tom-Tom GPS in the Smart A$$ Edition…’cuz it was ON SALE! You know the one I’m talking about…that advises you in that sultry voice, “You’ve just missed your exit.” Seconds later, in an equally calm voice informs, “Your next off ramp is 462 miles away.” A moment later, in well modulated tones, we’ll hear, “Proceed to wander in the desert like the Israelites until you come to the next Texaco station.”
I guess what I’m saying here is if you expect us to make it to your place, send us REALLY good directions and pray that we can Google you! If all else fails, leave a candle in the window and shoot off a flare when you think we might be 50 miles out. Don't worry, I’m leaving a breadcrumb trail just in case my husband decides to throw me out along the way. ;o)
