many may consider a route that doesn’t follow ‘as the crow flies’ or as the map/gps/passenger ‘suggests’, to be inefficient or in other words – not the best way to go.  in my experience however, it is on those unknown avenues, that i find myself inevitably traveling most often, and on these journeys, i always end up where i planned to go, though i discover many places along the way that i never would have experienced otherwise. 

     i first noticed it when i was very young, and went riding my bike out of the garage, all smiles and with sparkly streamers flying from the handlebars, excited for what the day held, venturing into the safe confines of my own neighborhood.  once out on the street though, it was often a struggle to find my way around, and in and out of places. 

     frequency and familiarity made absolutely no difference – somehow between the time i left and the time i returned – the paths, the roads, the routes, all seemed to converge and made me wonder how i would arrive at my  destination, and upon eventually getting there, wondering how i would ever get back.

     over time, i learned to adapt and just worked things out, though i was reminded of this challenge as i grew up, began driving a car, and had places where i was actually expected to be at a particular time. 

     as a parent, and as my daughters became more aware of their surroundings, i heard comments from the backseat such as: ‘are you doing this on purpose mom?!’, ‘this is not where your company picnic is supposed to be, it looks like we’re going to the place where we went canoeing yesterday!,’  ‘haven’t you lived here forever?’, ‘is it legal to turn around here?’, and ‘are you trying to be funny?’

     over time, family and friends got used to u-turns at the emergency turn-arounds on the freeway, circling around a city, (even our own), calls and stops asking strangers how to get from one place to another, and of course, finding our way to places via other places we never even knew existed. 

they adapted as well, and knew when they got the call, ‘which way am i supposed to go?’ from me, not to ask which direction i was heading, but rather, ‘what do you see?’  landmarks make much more sense than cardinal directions do in my book, and it’s not as common after all, to be sitting at a light next to a giant paul bunyan statue, as it is to be ‘heading north on main street.’

     as an adult, i’ve only encountered two other people who have these same challenges – one of my sisters and one of my close friends. when trying to visit each other or even go places together, we often end up somewhere else first, and are understanding of the idea of having chosen the ‘more interesting route.’

     for some unexplained reason, when traveling far distances, such as australia, i seem to be able to navigate my way there. once i was lost walking around hong kong, with broken glasses and no command of the language. word soon spread like wildfire in the family, with texts going out – ‘mom is lost and blind in hong kong, hopefully she can find her way out’, (think mr. magoo), and i eventually did somehow. ironically, one of my first jobs was as a travel agent…

     recently, i began to look into this phenomenon and stumbled upon a reason, a scientific explanation for all of this – dyscalculia.  just five syllables to sum up what i’ve always wondered about. amazing there’s an actual term for this – think of it as ‘directional dyslexia’. it has to do with mental mapping abilities, directionality, mechanical steps, and conversion of 2d images to 3d. wow – had i known this a long time ago, i would have had a comeback when i was questioned by my daughters!

     the plus side of this, is that people who have this are generally, ‘highly intelligent and developed in other areas.’ okay, i’ll take it. on this research site, there were many who wrote to say, ‘i can’t believe i have found others like this!’, and ‘i feel redeemed at last!’, and ‘now i know when i come out of the restroom at the airport why i am lost in the terminal!’  one woman even had the ironic twist of fate of marrying a cartographer. it was an endless word-fest of ‘lost’ people celebrating the finding of others like them. 

     like them, i have found my people at last! i think it would be wonderful to get together and meet to discuss this in person, however, i don’t know how long it would take us all to find each other. until then, i’ll just try to make sure i don’t have my shirt on inside-out and i’ll keep my eyes open for the giant salmon, where i know i should turn to head towards the cottage.  

on my daily walk downtown today i was glad, as always, to happen upon a loud and raucous main street event – even more amazing when i finally saw its name on a banner – ‘inner peace festival’ – never would have guessed that…

security is in the eye of the beholder –.

      playing with my grand babies recently, and watching each of them reach for various familiar things when tired or in need of comfort, i was taken back to the days when my three daughters were young. each of them, as well as their friends, had something they relied on to soothe and reassure themselves. it seemed to be a very personal choice and there was no way for the adults to predict or account for these important selections.

      in our house, it ran the gamut from a very long, skinny strip of yellow knitting, (meant to be a blanket but ultimately it became something more akin to a giant scarf, as knitting is not my forte), a well-worn puffy checked blanket, (meant to be a welcome home from the hospital gift for my first daughter, but not actually completed until the third was born, as sewing is not my forte either), and of course my middle daughter’s choice – a silky yellow nightgown of mine, (meant to be worn by me, but commandeered by her for this higher purpose).

      the options seemed to work well for each of the girls, though the trashy lingerie in the grocery cart situation was a bit awkward at times – (to add to the shock and awe, it became quite filthy over time, as she could not bear to part with it for a wash, and of course it was nowhere near as comforting if i ever did get the rare chance to do so).  who am i after all, to mess with someone’s sense of security?

     i smile as i remember the choice that my friend’s 2 year old daughter made. after her mother had her long, dark hair cut into a summer-friendly short bob, this lovely young girl lost her security, which had been her curtain of hair, and found her own unique way to regain it. one day soon after the fateful cut, she wandered out of her mother’s room , wearing her black half slip on her head where her long hair had once been. after that, she cried and refused to go in public without her ‘security wig’.  even though she resembled a miniature nun, and garnered many odd looks from the unknowing public, she wore it with pride and happiness, and balance was restored to her world once again.

    as i now work on a blanket for the latest grand baby soon to be welcomed into our family, (and notice that it has somehow morphed into something resembling a queen-sized comforter, estimate that it will take 6 more feature-length films for me to complete, and note that my sewing prowess has not improved with time), i wonder if she will reach for this behemoth in times of need, or will she leave it piled in the corner while clinging to something i have not even imagined?

 dictionary.com attempts to explain it in this way:

“sucking your thumb without a blanket is like eating a cone without ice cream!” – Linus van Pelt

in the end, we each, at all ages and stages of life, search until we find a sense of security in our own places – how else to explain the phenomenon of ‘snuggies?’

i recently received the following email from a very generous and friendly co-worker, and while quite possibly everything about this offer is appealing, i may just have to consider it for a bit. hope no one snatches it up it while i’m thinking about where this will fit into the cottage, this one may move fast! (even the dog looks a bit confused/amused)

Anyone interested in this old couch and loveseat?  the Loveseat is in good shape, but the couch has bare springs showing.  Kids.  If you are handy with furniture or want to pay someone to re-upholster, go for it.

  Both need to be cleaned.

  If you want either, for free of course, let me know soon or they’ll be hauled away to furniture graveyards.  We have had them for 20 years and have enjoyed them very much.  

   Whatever has fallen into the springs is yours also.  Marbles and Hot Wheels, mostly.  I don’t really want to know.  Peace. GG

walking downtown, it’s always interesting – the things one encounters. after a long day in the sun, and lots of action, we were ready for a bit of food and some calm, and took a wagon to make the trip a bit easier on my young niece. after approximately 20 feet, she climbed out and decided to walk, leaving us to haul the wagon with no purpose other than to offer us the unexpected opportunity of a better workout.

along the way, we encountered many interesting things: a colorful abstract art exhibit being disassembled – lying in a state of disarray and ready to head off to europe, a random group of people of all ages gathered and milling around in the middle of the road with a keyboard, an uncle sam statue that my niece stopped to hug,  a circular bike rolling it’s way down the road, a green street fair, a man selling golf balls in his yard chatting up another local, a trio of dancing ballerinas clad in wedding gowns and high tops, and a gaggle of tourists with name tags and cameras. while all of these were fun happenings, they were merely the appetizer for what was yet to come – our dining experience. 

we decided to go with the food that would most comfort the littlest of us – noodles, and went to a local asian restaurant. it was small and quiet and uncrowded so it was just what we needed. once seated, our waitress  presented us each with a jumbo glass of water. after walking away she must have noticed the glass was bigger than my niece’s head, so she swooped it up, without a word, poured the water into the glass of a customer at another table and walked away, never to return with a smaller glass for her. all interesting choices….

next up, the order. we each ordered and when it came to my niece, her parents tried to order her ‘just plain noodles and some broccoli.’ upon hearing this, the waitress replied, ‘no butter.’ ‘okay, just the noodles are fine – and some broccoli maybe?’ her response to this; ‘noodles?’ ‘yes.’ ‘broccoli?’ ‘yes.’ her response to this was: a dead unblinking stare – totally expressionless, dumfounded, stunned, or insulted, frozen in a state of zen or anger, hard to tell.  after a few minutes she jotted something down and retreated to the kitchen without another word. discussion at our table then turned to what might actually come out of the kitchen – did she understand, was she angry, confused, humiliated, who knew? a very hard call to make at that point.

time went by and she never did return to our table, instead she had someone else wait on us, and then proceeded to put on large blue rubber gloves and began cleaning the restaurant. keep in mind the entire place was the size of a small living room, so everything that happened was quite out in the open. at one point, while awaiting the arrival of our food, another group came in, and she sat them, and served them the giant waters – large blue rubber gloves and all, refusing to acknowledge us in any way. 

when our food came out, it was somewhat anticlimactic, everything had arrived as ordered, and we felt that even though we had horrified or insulted her and she abandoned us, all had ultimately turned out well. we finished up the meal, with the american/asian tradition of fortune cookies, and called a cab to take all of us and our wagon back home again. imagine our surprise when we opened the first cookie and found the message below. the perfect ending to the perfect evening. 

1. since peaches are not quite in season yet, take a bag of frozen peaches out of freezer to defrost in fridge, go to sleep dreaming of healthy breakfast smoothie

2.  take peaches out of fridge on the next day to chop up and create delicious and guilt-free smoothie

3. notice the fridge shelf below bag is a bit sticky

4. notice the bag has leaked (even though it’s unopened), while defrosting

5. take everything off of sticky shelf

6. notice peach juice has leaked to the back of the shelf and hardened into a solid gel

7. take out giant sticky shelf and place in sink

8. turn on hot water to melt off hardened peach juice gel

9. notice peach juice has dripped down into fridge drawers below where the shelf was

10. take out drawers

11. say a few things back to fridge that is now incessantly beeping due to door being ajar too long

12. feel my feet getting wet and turn back to sink

13. notice hot water running on shelf placed in sink is somehow flowing over it and onto counter and beyond

14. notice water has also flowed into junk drawer and cupboards below counter while on its way to the floor

15. slide on floor as i turn off water, pull out junk drawer, empty it, throw away things that are waterlogged

16. empty cupboards below, dry out everything, grab beach towels to clean up floor

17. turn back to fridge, still beeping, notice bottom of fridge has peach juice on it also, now that drawers have been removed

18. get more towels, empty entire fridge, wash and dry everything, replace shelves and drawers and contents, wash and dry floor

16. cut open peach bag, notice the peaches are now dried out due to lack of juice. put them in a bowl. add whipped cream. back to healthy eating plan tomorrow.

17. notice one ant milling around, sensing a dot of sticky peach nectar somewhere

Saw the first one out of the corner of my eye. The sighting was part of an annual rite of spring in my cottage actually. (Technically my house, but due to it’s size and feel – definitely a cottage) Along with its cottage status comes the inevitable parade of ants who enjoy passing through, stopping by, or just hanging out for a bit at this time of year. 

Interesting creatures, ants, they seem to be highly social and have somewhat of a ‘copycat’ mentality. As I often remind the kinders I teach, “Make your own choice, you don’t ALWAYS have to do what your friends are doing, it might not be the best idea.” 

This year’s batch kicked the whole ‘visit’ thing up a notch or two to say the least. For some reason they have been proudly strutting around and congregating in the kitchen sink. Not sure if they heard there are ample supplies of exotic food crumbs in the area on occasion, or just love the aesthetics of the shiny white surface. Either way, it appears to be a very popular spot for gathering, skittering, marching, and just milling around. An appealing neighborhood ant park if you will –

Try as I might, using my usual approaches to ending their visits quickly: asking them to move on, loudly threatening them with the imminent arrival of twin hungry rogue monkeys, squishing them with bits of paper towel, and sprinkling salt around the area, I couldn’t seem to encourage them to go. 

Interestingly enough, after all these attempts, the population seemed to be growing, and I even began to notice different kinds of ants, apparently word has spread throughout the diverse ant world – all ants are happily welcome here, we clearly do not discriminate in this park. 

At this point, I made a decision to kick it up a notch – plugged up both drains, stuffed paper all around the entire area between the sink area and counter below, and put out lots of ant bait traps. These little gems are supposed to  

‘lure ants with delicious treats which they cannot resist and they carry back to the queen, quickly wiping out the colony.’ Sounds good to me. More time went by and they continued to show up so I put traps directly in the sink, now rendering it useless to me and probably exposing me to some yet unknown future disease or mutation. For personal safety’s sake I had to switch to washing my dishes in the bathroom sink and not use disposal, it appeared they were winning control of the territory. 

After a couple more days of the battle, and a few random sightings, they seemed to finally be gone and I re-opened my sink for business. Hope this has taken care of my visitors for this season, though if they show up again, I can always order those monkeys, you can pretty much find anything on E-Bay these days. 

Shortcuts are not all they are made out to be. As most everyone on the planet has discovered, (and rediscovered), time and again, is that, in the end, they are forced into a much longer and more complicated process than if they had they opted not to take the shortcut in the first place.  Once this ‘easy’ route is taken, and things go amiss, there is no choice but to repair the damage done by going down this road. The original goal is instantly tossed aside and it moves to trying to start over where it all  began, only to discover oneself a bit further behind that point. This is where the trifecta of elements used to make things right once again come into play: a huge waste of  time, a burn of lost energy , and the inevitable mind-numbing frustration.

‘THE LAZY MAN ALWAYS DOES TWICE THE WORK’ – SPANISH PROVERB

            My latest foray into the world of multi-tasking, as it applies to my world of yardwork, began at 10am on a lovely, early spring day. I had the fever, and my lawn certainly did as well. My thought was that a quick mow and trim would cheerfully welcome my yard back into the world of the living, and then I’d hit the dirt in the gardens where the real beauty treatment would take place.

It began as usual, with an attempt to start the mower, only to discover it was out of gas. I dug some change out of the crevasses of my car, found the gas can, and made a quick trip to the local station. After wrestling with the pump, (didn’t have my glasses on to see what info the pump was forcing me to provide),  a kind patron directed me to enter my zip code,  and 4 dollars and a full-body dousing with a warm spray of gasoline later, I was on my way once again. After filling up the mower and an over-enthusiastic attempt to start it and get this project rolling, I flooded the mower and decided to give it a rest for a bit.  On break, I went in, had a cool drink, and had to stay standing, so that the gasoline I was now covered with would not get on the furniture.

Determined not let this get the best of me, (though I must admit a bit of the ‘cheeriness’ of the project had begun to fade),  I went back out, refreshed and ready to roll. The mower, now full and happy, easily started up. My estimated mow-time for my little lot in the city was about 15 minutes and I pushed my mower over the first strip of the bumpy and patchy landscape that is my lawn.

Soon after, I came to the railroad ties that serve as the dividing line between my yard and my neighbor’s directly to my side. At that point,  for some reason, probably because I felt I was already running behind, I made the fatal decision to try to trim and mow at the same time.  (Quick flash back in my mind that my neighbor had some sort of irrational fear that something awful would happen to our railroad ties…).  I made the move to lift my mower strategically, at an unnatural angle, to trim the long grasses that grew next to the railroad ties. At this point, it all happened quite quickly. The blades of the mower made an awful sound as they whirred and stuck violently right into the side of the wood. The mower came to a dead stop and a huge puff of smoke came out of its base. The mower was now deeply embedded into the wood and could not be released no matter how hard I tried to pull it off. It was literally hanging in the air, at a diagonal angle, teetering between my yard and my worried neighbor’s driveway.

I quickly switched goals once again, and decided I would do whatever it took to just get my mower off of this wood.  I wrestled and pulled and pushed, all to no avail. All of a sudden, with the dual motivations of saving the wrath of my neighbor and retaining any shred of pride left to me,  I had a superhuman surge of adrenaline, (imagine the bystanders who lift a car off of a victim), and ripped the mower right off of the railroad tie.  I had to push it using a ‘wheelie’ technique to get it out to the curb, so the blades did not drag on the ground. I abandoned it there, put a ‘Free’ sign on it, hid the missing chunk of wood, stained what was left of the railroad tie to match what was left of it, and went in to take a shower and order a pizza as it was now 1pm, 3 hours later. When the pizza man came to the house, he asked if he could take the mower and I happily passed this on to him, wishing him well. I called my friend to hire her son to mow my lawn and thought about a former neighbor who simply posted an ‘URBAN PRAIRIE’ sign in her yard as an alternative to her ever having to mow.  Suddenly I understood.   ‘A SHORTCUT IS THE LONGEST DISTANCE BETWEEN TWO POINTS.’ – Well said.

   Little did I know, when out on a family adventure, deep in the Ferguson Valley of Western Australia, the amazing experience I was about to have.  Way, way out, in the middle of what appears to be nowhere, spread throughout a secluded woodland area, there lies a secret and very unique community called Gnomeville.  You will not find it on any map, you could hurry by it a thousand times and never know of its existence, and you’ll most certainly need a trusting Aussie local to show you exactly where to find this jewel.  Once there and upon entering the woods, you’ll quickly see that this is a place where whimsy is the rule of law, and it is easy to be immediately drawn into this fantasy wonderland.

   What began, years ago, as a place where someone placed their much-loved and very worn gnome to rest, has now grown into an exploding population, all devoted to the celebration of these little creatures. As you walk around, you will discover thousands, ( a virtual ocean),  of ‘gnome scenarios,’ with signs and puns and plays on words, and languages, all in support of this community.  After spending some time reading and wandering through this magical place, it is apparent that the secret has expanded to include visitors from every continent. The messages range from the sentimental, “Far away from gnome…”, to the kitschy, “There’s no place like gnome,” and even the macabre, “Silence of the gnomes,,,,”.  

    When asking the locals who is in charge of this or who owns it, the reply is always something along the cheerful and surprised line of,  “Why no one mate! It is just always somehow taken care of, by someone who stops by for a bit, and it is not owned by anyone, it is open to anyone to visit, simply a part of our local landscape, to be discovered and enjoyed. Why do the Americans always think something has to be ‘owned’ and charged for?”  A very good question my Aussie friends, I certainly have gnome answer for that.