My sense of direction is missing. I seem to have none at all. No joke. None. Or maybe I’m just weird in the way I perceive things. 

Take my driving to a barn party yesterday. The hostess had sent clear directions. I checked on a map. I studied it until I understood the directions completely. Then, to be doubly sure, I programmed the address into my GPS. How could I go wrong?

Well, I did. It took me 45 minutes to drive to the party and 12 minutes to drive home. Why? Because I was unable to identify what was a road. The “road” looked like a driveway to me. Or a trail. Or maybe a footpath. But surely not a road. Not a road to turn down. No. Not at all. Not a road. No.

That’s what did me in. I didn’t turn on “the second road after the left turn” because I would never, ever in a million year think of that gravel strip as a road.

But I didn’t give up. I went back and forth over the same two-lane ACTUAL road several times until I finally figured out the “road” I was supposed to turn down. 

I’m glad I didn’t give up. The party was fun and very happy, celebrating two wonderful middle-aged people about to be married. Living proof that love is lovelier the second time around. 

Not always true of finding a destination, however.