Go North, Young Man!

What does "directionally challenged" mean to you?

To me, it means chaos.

When I (cheerfully) complained about "one way streets" in my last post, I didn't even tell you a fraction of the real story. The real story of my directionally challenged existence.

Every year in school, I took the standardized tests required by Washington State. Every year I finished with something like brilliant scores. Except in reading maps.

Every year, in preparation for the test, Mom had me work through a third grade map reading book. Yes, the same book. Every year.

When I was about twelve I figured out that on a map, north is towards the top. The other directions were easier after that. I can now tell you that California is south of Washington by looking at a nice, solid, stationary map.

But I'm sorry to admit that if I make a quick trip to the grocery store, I haven't a clue which direction I'm going. I just turn right, turn left, and keep going until I get there.

North? South? East? West?

I haven't a clue. I haven't a clue because when I'm in motion...I have a fatal tendency to believe that the direction I'm headed is "north." Just because....well, it's straight ahead. And, somehow, "straight ahead" and "north" are equivelant to me.

I just simply haven't a shred of so-called "sense of direction."

So if I am to make a return trip to any place, I must consciously memorize the right and left turns. My memory is only average, so I get lost rather frequently.

All of which in prelude to announcing: I'm leaving for the next couple of weeks on a trip. First, to see my grandparents in Phoenix. (Hooray!!) Then to visit a friend in Georgia. (Hooray!!)

Just so you know, I'm glad the pilot is going to be the one actually navigating this trip. I assure you I have every respect for his (or her) skill. I always find it mildly amazing to end up at a southern destination when I'm heading north all the way there!