It was one of those ordinary days that turned into a funny story. My cousin Lisa and I were housesitting in New Orleans for one of my sons. We had walked to Magazine Street for a shopping spree. I purchased a large, framed print of Jesus and the Mother Mary and an antique set of Austrian stag mugs and pitcher which had been neatly wrapped and placed in a large Frito Lay box for us to carry. We walked off Magazine Street to return home and I said, "Let's go this way. There is shade."
An hour and over 7,000 steps later two very hot and sweaty women carrying a Frito Lay box and a framed picture of Jesus sat down on a steamy sidewalk in the Garden District surrounded by gorgeous homes and concerned neighbors to pull out a phone and figure out where we were in conjunction to Jacob's home.
It turned out that if we had needed to go north, I had taken us south. And if we had needed to go east, I had led us west. And when Lisa asked me, "Why did you take us this way?" All I could say was, "Well, there was shade."
I have absolutely no sense of direction. I never have. And I often blame it on my husband. I have been married to that bloodhound my entire adult life and have never really needed to think about directions. Between him and my car map, I just follow along. This was a lesson Lisa learned the hard way. But we got our exercise and in a lovely neighborhood. That's what I told her.
The other day I was reading an old nonfiction book published in 1899 about a group of men on a hunting trip in the American wilderness. One chapter was about getting lost in the woods. It turns out that when one becomes lost in the woods, he travels in a circle. This has been explained by the fact that a person takes a longer step with his right leg than with the left. When one has his bearings, he instinctively regulates his steps so that he overcomes the tendency to circle to the left. But wandering aimlessly, without regard to distance, the tendency is to make a circle.
Once my husband and I were walking along in Vienna when we realized we weren't sure how to get back to our hotel. Everyone I asked spoke German and I began to panic until Clay just grabbed my hand and started leading us around one corner after another until our hotel popped into sight. I was floored. I told a friend about this, and she said her husband was the same way. They must go by the sun or something weird like that.
And that would explain my New Orleans mistake. I wasn't looking at the sun. I was seeking shade to get away from it. And maybe if my right leg step had kept going, we would have eventually made our way back to Magazine Street. But instead, Lisa put our spot in her maps and her phone started guiding us back home with Frito Lay box and large picture of Jesus in hand. And when I had the strange audacity to say, "This way doesn't feel right," she swung around with her Jesus picture and phone and stood silent. We walked on.
I don't know how some people do it, and I shouldn't try to do it myself. I tell people up front who don't know me. "I have no sense of direction." You can say to use the sun which is above us and that must obviously be north, but how does that tell you anything?
Oh well, if you too share this weakness, we must just remain at camp. No wandering off in the woods or the Garden District.
