Sam Houston, Santa Anna, and On Star!

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for a paper map

If Sam Houston and Santa Anna had relied on On Star for directions, the Battle of San Jacinto might never have taken place and I would now be writing with a Spanish accent.  I shall explain.

The twelve-year-old missed the class field trip to the San Jacinto Monument due to a schedule conflict.  In a very small school it is good to have common reference points so you don’t feel left out.  So I decided to take both children to the San Jacinto Monument during San Jacinto Days when the most decisive battle of the Texas Revolution is re-enacted.

We left home at 7a.m. for the three hour trip.  When we hit the outskirts of Houston at 9:30, I hit the On Star button for directions.  The festival did not start until 10 a.m. so we should be on time.  I followed the directions and ended up at the Lynchburg Ferry only the ferry was closed for the day.  I backtracked and consulted On Star again.

Maybe they couldn’t understand my Texas accent.  I carefully spelled S-A-N    J-A-C-I-N-T-O   M-O-N-U-M-E-N-T.  I was routed back onto the six lane freeway and given instructions to make a U- turn when it was safe to do so.  On a six lane freeway??? Fifteen miles later I turned around and ended back at the closed ferry…again.  This time I gave On Star the exact address and explained that the Lynchburg Ferry was closed.  I was routed back onto the freeway and six miles later I heard “You have arrived at your destination”.  In the middle of a six lane freeway??

We could see the 580 foot obelisk.  We just couldn’t get there.  I told the nine-year-old to keep the monument in sight.  I stopped at a convenience store for directions.  The proprietor was on the phone.  I think he had just switched to Vonage because he was reconnecting to his 384 relatives in India.  He didn’t know what the San Jacinto Monument was.  I was about to point to it out the window but the fog had obscured my landmark.

The twelve-year-old had brought up Google Map on the I-pad.  The blue line extended past the Lynchburg Ferry exit so we decided to follow that.  After ten miles, the pin on the Google Map had not moved and none of the streets matched what was on the map.  Time to make another stop at a convenience store.

“Do you have a map of Houston?”

“No. No map.    I Google, yes?”

“No.”

Two things prevented me from taking him outside and pointing to the monument.  One, I think his brother was calling him from the other convenience store and two, he was standing behind bullet proof glass.  Time to leave.

With the monument now on our right instead of on our left, it was time to stop before the fog came in again or I arrived at the Gulf of Mexico.  I spotted the San Jacinto Mall.  Surely somebody there would know how to get to the San Jacinto Monument. The lady I asked gave me more convoluted directions than On Star.  I thanked her and contacted Dr. Hubby.

“I can’t get to the monument.  The ferry is closed.”

“What are you doing at the Galveston ferry?”

“I’m not at the Galveston ferry.”

“Where are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well stop at a convenience store and get a map.”

“Right!”

It is now 10:30.  We have been driving in a semi-circle for an hour and thirty minutes.  I called On Star…again.

“Yes, Mrs. Worsham I see you are not at the monument yet.”

“Noooooo, I am not.  Now listen very carefully.  I will speak slowly.  I can SEE the monument. Don’t tell me to turn left; it is a one way street.  The Lynchburg Ferry is closed, no matter how many times you send me there. Ferry Not Working!  And there is no monument in the middle of a six lane freeway.  Get me to the battle before there is another one right here."

“I am sending an alternate to the alternate route to your vehicle now.  Have a nice day and thank you for using On Star.”

Like on Gilligan’s Island, our three hour tour took four and a half hours.  We made it to Parking lot D.  We boarded the shuttle bus that would take us to the monument.

“Don’t forget.  You are parked in ‘D’ as in Dog” said our driver.

Another D word immediately popped in my head. 

Fortunately Sam Houston and Santa Anna relied on real stars for directions and the Battle of San Jacinto took place on April 21, 1836.  Ironically the actual battle lasted only 18 minutes but finding the battlefield 178 years later with GPS, On Star, and Google Map, took us an hour and a half.

As we were driving home, the sounds of the day’s battle were still ringing in our ears.

“Remember the Alamo!”

                                  “Remember Goliad!”

                                                                                  “Remember the ferry is closed!”

The Birds and the Bees and Males

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for bee repellant and bird cages

Yes, it is springtime.  The groundhog is off the hook finally, and the world blossoms once again. 

Each spring young people shed shapeless bulky sweaters and sweatpants and replace them with shorts and tank tops, revealing curves and abs that weren’t there in the fall.  Notice I said young people.  The birds and the bees are buzzing and twittering.  Love is in the air…and on every mind. Time for “the talk.”  It is every parent’s worst nightmare.

It is time for mom to sit down with the young females and give them the facts.  These days she can skip all the biological and physiology aspects associated with a maturing body.  The kids have internet and access to television soap operas; they already know that part.  Mom has to give them the real facts about dealing with the male of their species.  It might go something like this:

“Daughters, males are different from us in the most important ways.  Males do not have an internal compass even though they think they do.  They will never ask for directions, read a map, or consult On Star.  For this reason, whenever you leave the house with a male, especially when in his car, it is your responsibility to see that there is a full tank of gas, there is a supply of food, water, a thermal survival blanket, an umbrella, and a fully charged cell phone.

Similarly, males do not read instructions of any kind.  Look for extra screws, bolts, nails, or parts when a male has finished assembling something.  If you sit, rock, fold, or pull on anything assembled by a male, do so at your own risk.  For the sake of your future children’s happiness, allow at least eight weeks for “Santa” to assemble something if you want it on Christmas Eve.  If you don’t, you may find yourself inventing stories about a kind and benevolent St. Valentine who flies though the air delivering special Valentine swing sets on February 14.

Likewise, males have no sense of balance.  If the pergola seems to be listing to the left, they will tell you to tilt your head to the left rather than adjust the posts.  For them a balanced meal is equal parts alcoholic beverage and red meat.  Fruits and vegetables are for rabbits and women on a diet. If these were eaten by males, it would interfere with the plaque build-up in their arteries.  You will have to be sneaky with your cooking. 

Males never outgrow toys.  When young, you may find them playing with a bee bee guns.  When they are older the bee bee gun will have morphed into several shotguns, deer rifles, pistols, and anything requiring gunpowder and a trigger. This is especially true of southern males.  Be prepared to negotiate a peace treaty at birthday parties when your husband and young son get into arguments over whose turn it is to shoot the new bee bee gun at the target. 

Males have ears that are specifically designed to filter out baby cries at 3a.m. or unidentified strange noises in the night.  Be prepared to defend yourself from intruders.  On the other hand, they have extremely sharp eyesight when it comes to identifying a six-point or an eight-point buck.  They also have the ability to focus in on a subject no matter what is going on around them.  For example, the Dallas Cowboys are playing. It’s the fourth quarter, fourth down on the one yard line with ten seconds on the clock and a field goal could make the Cowboys Super Bowl champs.  A firewoman would have to physically pry the male away from the TV and out him of his burning house.  A fireMAN would wait for the commercial. 

There is also a special hollow spot in the male’s brain.  Its specific purpose is to freeze all hints that have to do with presents.  Because of this, hints about presents cannot be processed by the male.  I discovered this when I “hinted” to your Dad that for Christmas I wanted something shiny that reflected light brilliantly for my hand. He got me a stainless steel spatula.   Also the male’s brain synapses will often misfire when given a choice between two possible presents.  Once I told your father that for our anniversary I wanted a new car or a bunch of bananas.  I got a lovely bunch of bananas because as he said “I know how much you like banana pudding.  I did good, huh?”  For the male, you must spell it out, and I mean spell it out.

Now I love your Dad, who is male, but these are the real facts of life no matter what you were told in health class.”

While I am not speaking about you, my male reader specifically, I bet you or your significant other know somebody just like the above.

 And yes, this “talk” will go viral and be repeated around the globe again next spring.

Over the River and Through the Woods...to Grandma's Condo

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved so Currier and Ives can adopt Aunt Lurlean

If you are of the Boomer generation, pre or slightly post, you probably grew up seeing Currier and Ives Christmas cards displayed around the house or on the tins holding the ten ton fruit cake.  Christmas Eve or Christmas Day found you at Grandma’s with plenty of room to run around with all the cousins. Later you would be seated at the “kids” table for real mashed potatoes, string beans, and ham or chicken and dressing, before diving into the mounds of Christmas presents piled under a real Christmas tree.  At least that is how I remember it, but families have changed since Currier and Ives as my friends and neighbors will tell you.   

  “We had the grandkids for five days.  I’m plumb wore out.”

 “Glad this is over with.”

 “Why would you put people who don’t even speak to each other during the entire year together in the same room on the same day and expect them to be civil to each other? It is just stupid.”

 “I know there were only six of them, but it felt like a whole herd had moved in.”

 “Whee, I’m free!  No more cooking three meals a day for four days for twelve people in a kitchen designed for two!” 

“I hinted to my son-in-laws that the pine needles on my roof needed sweeping off…they agreed.” 

“We managed to get through it.”

 “Over the River and Through the Woods” kept playing in my head against a snowy Currier and Ives backdrop. Time to read between the lines and remind myself they didn’t have an Aunt Lurlean, at least that they would admit to.

 First, if you could get to Grandmother’s house in a horse drawn sleigh over snow without freezing to death, she must not live very far.  No five hour trips in a car.  Unless that sleigh was from “Back to the Future” there were no electronic games or DVD players in that sleigh so rather than bickering or aiming their blaster ray guns at each other, siblings would huddle together for warmth and encourage each other to cross the imaginary DMZ line drawn in the middle of the seat.  The one horsepower sleigh would get good hay mileage, so no thirty minute detour hunting for a gas station so Aunt Lurlean could save 2 cents a gallon on gasoline.  “The horse knows the way…” thus avoiding backseat driving or complaining from Aunt Lurlean that the On Star guy’s accent is not Southern.

The farmhouse is pictured as a two story job with a candle glowing in every window, obviously low maintenance.  Aunt Lurlean would require a generator as backup to avoid stress over possible downed power lines resulting in a semi-microwaved turkey.  The barn offers a place for the children to expend their energy.  Today Grandma may live in a condo and more than likely the pool and game room will be closed for the holidays forcing Aunt Lurlean to invent new games to occupy the children:  Monotonous, Scraping, Family Feuding, Twisted, Name that Dish, Repo Man, Dueling-in-laws, and Angry Bird-Brains.

Currier and Ives would have their family gathered around the Christmas tree and all would be able to trace their family tree with multiple branches down to one root.   Today’s family tree would resemble a stick with so many grafts that no one knows where the original root system began, well except for Aunt Lurlean and she’s keeping those skeletons locked in the closet ... temporarily.

 “Over the river and through the highway to Granny’s condo we go.   Lurlean knows the way to avoid the tolls through the gray and slushy snow, oh.”   Ok, so that’s not the words.  But we didn’t have Currier and Ives Christmases either. The only thing today that resembles a Currier and Ives Christmas is those tins with the fruitcake in them.  I think it is the same fruitcake.

From Here to Eternity...or the Beach (whichever comes first)

by Jody Worsham
All rights reserved for plane tickets

A family vacation is supposed to bring a family closer together and it does; especially  if there are two grown-ups, two children at the warring age, and a shih zu that lives up to her name packed into a car with enough electronics to launch a sattelite.  Still, the children wanted to go to the beach so that's where we headed.

The original plan was to leave on a Sunday and I had been packing the RV accordingly.  On Saturday afternoon Dr. Hubby decided it would be nice to break up the long drive by leaving on Saturday
in an hour.-   I went into overdrive and started throwing the rest of the last minute items into the trailer...leaving the hot dogs still frozen in the refrigerator freezer.  One mile down the road we had to stop to see if my hormones had been packed.  Finding that they had been, it was safe to continue our journey.

Nine miles down the road I had finally untangled all the earphones, assigned chargers to the various i-pods and i-pads, and negotiated a peace treaty for the next ten miles, when I saw pieces of rubber flying through the air in the side mirror.  A blow-out!  Dr. Hubby managed to steer us into an RV park with a semi-level surface to change the tire.  A contruction worker took pity on an old man, a fat wife, two kids, and a dog and changed the tire for us.

With no spare tire, I confiscated the i-pad, dialed up On Star and began a search for a set of four tires or at least a spare.  It was 5 o'clock on a Saturday evening.  Who was going to be open?  No one.
We made it another 120 miles and stopped at an RV camp.


The next morning our ever faithful Wal-Mart had 4 tires.  We drove there and an hour later we had four new tires.  The plan was to keep the  other 3 tires as a back-up.  Where we were going to put them hadn't been decided.  The point was moot since the other three tires were all cracked as well.
We headed out for the remaining five hours of the trip.

We gave the tween-ager the TomTom (gps) .  "What's a POI?" "Point of Interest."  For the next five hours she discovered more apps on the TomTom than we ever imagined.   We heard "Four hours and fifty-two minutes to destination.  Traveling at 61 mph, legal speed 70, crossing an intersection just...about...now.  Four hours and fifty minutes to destination.  Traveling at 66 mph, legal speed 70, and we are making a slight curve to the left,  right about....now.  Four hours and 48 minutes to destination.  Traveling at 82 mph, legal speed 70 and there is a lake immediately to your right."
If this weren't enough, Dr. Hubby was discovering all the buttons on the car.  His favorite was the miles per gallon feature.  "We are averaging 6 miles per gallon.  That's awful.  No wait, that's 99 miles per gallon."  "That's because we are going downhill, Honey."  Actually, we were getting more like $50 per hour.  Every hour we stopped to fill up with gas and to check the tires.

A normal seven hour drive to the beach took us two days, four tires, three game chargers, an on going conversation with On Star, a constant miles per gallon up date, and a cartographic description of the route by the Tween-ager.

In self-defense, I lapsed into a coma at 8 miles per gallon, four hours and 32 minutes to destination with a slight bend in the road right about....now.

Follow the Yellow Brick Road, Follow the Yellow Brick Road

By Jody Worsham
All rights reserved for red slippers.

Confused once said “All paths lead to the Rome..if you start from there and travel in a cirlce.” I also remember advice from Glenda the Good Witch to just follow the Yellow Brick Road. I was neither in Rome nor did I have a Yellow Brick Road. What I did have was a temporary job that required me to travel to a nearby city.

It had been fifteen years since I had been to this particular city. I thought I remembered the way but to be sure I consulted “Never-Need-a-Map Hubby. I also got the Tom Tom out of the glove compartment, and just for added insurance, I drove the car that had On Star installed in it. I also left an extra hour early in case, just in case I got lost. Heck, I left an extra hour early because I knew I was going to get lost.

I began by following Hubby’s directions since I had asked him twice just to be sure I had the right turn off and I even wrote it down. “Yes, turn at the Y”. Ok. Somehow that did not match the highway signs I saw so I decided to plug in the Tom Tom. Tom sent me down a back road I had never traveled before. I decided I had better consult On Star.

At one point the Tom Tom was telling me to make a u-turn at the same time On Star was telling me to bare left while the notes from No-Map-Needed-Hubby said keep going straight, and I am telling no one in particular "I don't remember ever seeing that red barn before." I decided to consult the next human I saw face to face. The highway worker confirmed the directions from On Star. I unplugged Tom and threw the notes from No-Map out the window.

The first 81 mile trip took me 2 1/2 hours. On the way home that first day, I passed the same McDonalds three times on the loop before the guy at On Star could stop laughing long enough to get me on the right highway and headed home.

The second day of traveling to this city, I chunked the Tom Tom in the backseat, reminded myself that hubby got his PhD from Texas A&M, and called On Star for directions. That time it only took me two hours because I stopped for gas. On the way home that evening, I thought I knew the way well enough to go it alone. When I got lost in the parking lot, I called On Star. They had put the GPS locator on me my second trip around the parking lot and were taking bets as to how soon I would call.

On the third day I waited until I got to the city limits of my destination before calling On Star. I thought I was close, but I wasn’t sure. “Oh, you’re Jody. Just let me look that…oh,..well… it looks like you are just two miles…now one mile, ok, look out the window on your left. You are there. Is there anything else I can help you with?” “Yes, I need coffee now!” “If you look to your right you will recognize the McDonald’s you passed three…” Click.

That was the day of the Texas tornados. When the storm let up enough for me to head home that evening, I wasn’t sure I could get On Star with all the lightening and the pouring down rain, so I followed one of the directors out of Longview as far as Kilgore. From there, I knew the way home...head south, don’t turn till you see your mailbox. The car was on auto pilot.

When I arrived home, Hubby was waiting at the door. “I was worried. I was afraid you might have gotten lost” he said. “Not me.” Technically I hadn’t this time. “Just tapped my ruby red slippers together and said “There’s nothing like On Star! There’s nothing like On star! There’s nothing….”

From My Mouth to God's Ear

By Jody Worsham
All rights reserved for a muzzle

It was Service Sunday, a day when the members of our church gather together for a quick sandwich and then grab paint brushes, hammers, rakes, trash bags, or drills and set off in groups to help out the community, a sort of grass roots local missionary trip without going out of the city limits.

Sign-up sheets were provided so people could find the right job for their skill level. There were houses that needed to be painted, porches that needed railings, nursing homes that could use some Color Splash, trails that needed to be cleared of trash, and dogs that needed to be walked.

Guess which one the six-year-old and the ten-teen picked? Yes, we were going to walk dogs even though you have to bribe, conjole, or threaten to get them to walk their own dog. These dogs were in training as senior companions. I’m thinking “Ok, this isn’t so bad. They are all probably small dogs, poodles, shih tzus, other little fluff balls.” We got our map and off we went, dog leashes in hand.

The map was from Map Quest. Need I say more? Ok, I’ve lived in this community for 50 years
and I have driven down Hwy 7 many times but I was always looking down the highway or checking in the rearview mirror to see if I still had the horse trailer behind me. I was not looking at what is on the sides of the road.

I found the highway and also several white fences, one of the landmarks that was to mark the dog kennel place. The map said two tenths of a mile. When we had gone five miles, I decided we had passed it. I gripped the steering wheel and made a hard turn to the left, saving wear and tear on two of the tires as I did so.

“This is where she starts screaming”, said the six-year-old, a veteran of at least three
skirmishes and one all-out war with a paper-never-to-be-folded-correctly-again
map.

“Not this time, this is a church trip,” replied the ten-teen.

“Nu uh, the back of her neck is red. She’s gonna start yelling any minute. Even God is gonna hear her!”

“I’m not going to scream!” I shouted over my shoulder to the back seat. “We can find this place.” I pulled over on the shoulder of the road and pulled out my GPS, Tom Tom. I punched in
the numbers but Tom didn’t know where it was either. I checked the number of the address. I back tracked to the starting point. “This time look for the numbers on the mail boxes and tell me if we are going up or down. Now what’s that number?”

“1704”

“And this one?”

“There isn’t a number on this one,” came from the ten-teen.

We drove on for another mile. “And this one?” I asked.

“2289”

“Are we going up or down? I can’t drive and remember numbers.” Truth is I can’t remember numbers whether I’m driving or not.

“I forgot” came from the ten-ten.

“She’s getting frustrated. She’s gonna start screaming. I don’t care if it is a church mission. She’s gonna start screaming,” came from the Been-there-heard-that-before six-year-old.

“I’M NOT GOING TO SCREAM. JUST READ THE MAILBOXES!”

“See?” said the youngest.

I took a deep breath and continued down the highway. I pulled over at every mailbox with a number. The people following me thought I was an unmarked mail carrier practicing some kind of fake curbside delivery. After twenty minutes of mail-box hopping and shouting, we found the kennel. “Found it!” I hoarsely whispered. “We made it.”

The lady who owned the kennel greeted us and said “Hope you didn’t try to find this place
with a GPS. GPS doesn’t recognize this place. Guess we don’t exist. Hope the other family coming finds us.”

For the next three hours the children walked dogs; big dogs, medium dogs, but no small dogs. They petted dogs and they brushed dogs. They took the dogs through obstacle
courses. They asked questions. They even listened to half of the answers. They had a great time.

The other family never did show up. I guess they used On Star.

When it was time to leave and we were backing out of the drive-way, the six-year-old
timidly asked “Do you know the way home?”

“Yes,” I calmly said “I do.”

“Good,” said the six-year-old, “Cause I think God’s ears might be kinda sore.”

From my mouth to God’s ears… and back. Oops!

On Star, Off Star, On Star, Off....

by Jody Worsham All rights reserved for hieroglyphics translation

We have a tendency to buy a car and drive it until it is ready to fall apart so it was time to start looking. Dr. Hubby called to tell me he had found what we were looking for and was driving it home. "It is really nice and it has several new features that you will enjoy."

That got me to worrying. I have just now learned how to answer "missed calls" on my cell phone and now I have to learn a whole new car? Ok, how many changes could there be in a car in seven years? It's not like it's a computer.

NOT

First, I should have read the manual before I backed out of the drive. When I put it in reverse, a picture of a trash can appeared on my rear view mirror. "Hey, a mini TV. Must be Sesame Street."

That's when Dr. Hubby yelled "Stop". It wasn't a TV, but a TV camera and I just bumped our good trash can down the hill. Well, it should come with those beep beep beep back up sounds. Oh, wait it does, but I thought it was the trash truck coming.

On to Wal-Mart. It was a beautiful sunny day even though the back windshield wiper was swishing back and forth. "That's a nice touch," I said out loud to myself as I searched for the OFF button. You'd think there would be a button labeled rear windshield wiper OFF. Not so.

In fact, there are very few words engraved on anything, which leads me to question the I.Q. and reading level of GMC engneers. As I tried to decipher the GMC hieroglyphics of 2011, I realized that the steering wheel was covered in far too many funny little pictures to be just turn signals, brights, and cruise control. I randomly started pushing pictures.

I'm sure the car behind me thought I could not make up my mind as to where I was going as I was signaling left, right, and flashing my hazards all at the same time while squirting water on my windshields, front and back, and the automatic door locks were clicking open and shut. The windows were going up and down and the side mirrors were angling every which way catching the sun and flashing Morse Code like Iwas some kind of naval destroyer alerting everyone to danger.

That's when I noticed additional picture buttons on my rear view mirror. I pushed those. A strange voice from somewhere overhead said "I detect an uninformed driver in this car. I will commence shutting down the engine and will notify the highway patrol that this car has been hijacked and you may be missing."

Flashes of Big Brother and "1984" went through my brain. Who knew the car came equipped with On Star or Big Mama-in-the-sky? I'm sitting stranded in the middle of North Street with a car I suspect is possessed trapped in a seat belt the car refuses to release. At least the horn is in the same place.

HONK!

Sorry, lady. I see the green light. Ok, my mind just drifted off for a few minutes. Stress, new car.

Later that night under the full moon as I looked out from my bedroom window, I swear that car was staring at me. I looked up at the starry night and I wondered which one was On Star...but more importantly....which one was Off Star?