I knew I had fully acclimated to the driving conditions in England when, early yesterday morning after I woke up briefly for a bathroom break, I was drifting off to sleep and I began to dream that I was driving toward my house in
Obergeckler, Germany. I was just at the point where I was in the midst of the tall, stately windmills, with the emerald green hills sloping gracefully around me. It was early morning in my dream, the sun just breaking over the horizon. I felt peaceful and happy, and I likely wouldn't have remembered having dreamt this, except that I was yanked back to consciousness as I noted that I was driving on the left side of the road!
So far I haven't had any trouble with staying in the left lane, though we were warned in driving class that drunk or extremely tired Americans will drift into the right lane because it's what feels normal subconsciously. Let's hope I don't meet up with any of these people as I dutifully stay on the left side of the road.
Staying on the "wrong" side of the road is one thing, finding my way around is entirely another. Some people are born beautiful, smart, talented, or with a distinctive sense of direction. On the other hand, some are as "ugly as the side of a barn" (as Pastor Clear, God rest his soul, once told me), a few Pepsis shy of a Heather (or a cup of tea short of a Reese), dull as a crossword puzzle (sorry all you crossword puzzle fans), and with no more sense of direction as a blind, deaf, lame dog in a thousand square mile maze. That last one there- the poor soul without a sense of direction- that's me. Feel free to question Holly or Heather about my sense of direction; Holly saved my compass-deprived bum several times as we wandered around Germany when they visited last fall. No kidding, I walk into a store in a mall and don't know which way I came from when I walked in. It isn't uncommon for me to walk
all the way to one end of a mall to see if that's where I parked, only to have to walk
all the way back to the other end. I'm hopeless; certainly not a candidate for tour guide or nature walker, and certainly not fighter pilot as I would assuredly bomb our allies.
You can imagine my sense of depressed resignation when Tim insisted I go from one base to the one we're staying on to meet the kids after school. I wasn't panicked; I surrendered to the inevitable. I was about to get really, really lost. Tim had a few more stops to make on base before leaving and I'd be late to meet the kids if I delayed, so off I went.
First, I wandered around the base, looking for the exit. There were signs all over the place for the commissary, the BX, the library, the community center, the gas station, the shoppette, you name it, but no signs for the exits. There are a complex series of roundabouts that take you all over, and I went around several of them over and over, in circles, trying to decide where to go. Finally, I ended up on a road that left me nowhere to go but out; there were those tire-puncturing spikes pointing the same way I was driving so, even though I didn't know where I was at this exit, it was my only choice.
You might be thinking,
Why don't you own a navigation system? Well, we do, but it's new and I don't know how to work it. Still, I pulled over right after exiting the base and dug out the navigator that was designed for people like me. I managed to seek out the base I wanted in the history, but I couldn't change the view. All I saw was a map, sideways, of the route I was to take. But the soothing voice of Jason was there, directing me forward, so off I went.
About half a mile down the road, I was directed to take a right turn. It was an unmarked intersection with only a few houses on the road. As I traveled on the houses disappeared and I found myself on a tiny, one lane, dirt road in the middle of two huge fields. As we bumped along The Boys rattled from the back seat, "Wh-wh-what-t-t- ar-r-r-e w-w-w-e-e-e-e d-d-d-doing-g-g?" I plowed on. After a mile (maybe two), I made a left turn along yet another one lane road, only this one ran down the middle of gnarled trees and vines that bent in on the road. Very creepy. At the end of that road, I made another right and continued on past a couple of abandoned houses and barns, through a couple of other huge fields, past cows and ponies, and finally entering a roundabout that took me back into civilization. The navigation system apparently was taking me on the shortest route, without consideration for potholes or lane size. Even as I approached the base, it tried to have me turn down little country roads that certainly led me in the general direction of the base, but not at an approved entrance where I am required to show my military id. I had a mental picture of sitting in my car staring at a high fence and Jason soothingly telling me to carry on.
The real bummer came as I pulled into the hotel parking lot. Not only were Sean and Kristine waiting for me, but Tim was immediately behind me. He had finished all his errands at the other base and still managed to arrive at the same time as me. To quote my sometimes soulmate Charlie Brown, "Good grief."
God is urging me right now to bloom where I'm planted, with the abilities and lack thereof that he gave to/withheld from me. There's no sense in beating myself up over it, eh?
People all over the world will do anything for some cash, as this blue man deftly demonstrates. This is only one of many examples of people playing instruments for money. There was a hand-less man in the Tube station, strumming his guitar with a pick strapped to the end of his stub. Isn't there any other way for a one-handed man to make some dough? 
This bloke became a dog for money. It must have been insanely hot under that blanket. 
Kristine poses by the artful graffiti. This was under a footbridge, where a small skate park was. It actually looked pretty cool!
My friend Javare, posing with me in front of the London Eye. This is right by The Houses of Parliament and Big Ben. A short walk away is Westminster Abbey and Trafalgar Square. 
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