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!

It’s ALIVE!

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for air fare.

As I was filling the gas tank on the rental car, I took the time to program the GPS I called "Tom" before continuing on to Florida. Tom, like the rental car, was designed, manufactured, and shipped by foreign midgets with tiny fingers. It was impossible to type in a location with my fingers without creating locations in Zimbabwe or local destinations with dyslexic spellings. In desperation I used the end of a ball point pen. Even with the correct American spellings, Tom indicated there were no such locations. I tried typing with a foreign accent. That seemed to work. I also had a road atlas as a back- up. The gas pump burped after depositing ten gallons into the tank and I was off on my adventure.

As soon as I left the gas station, "Tom" said "500 feet turn left." I knew that couldn't be right so I continued. Again "200 feet turn left. 100 feet turn left. After one quarter mile turn left. At any of the next six intersections feel free to turn left. Ok, turn left or right, I don't care."

I think I have a trust issue with Tom or maybe it's a commitment issue. I hear what he says but I get contradicting advice from humans, one being my niece who had said to turn right after six miles, then left. She was right about the location of the trunk button in the foreign made car, so I followed her advice. After backtracking six miles and following the road signs which were in English, I finally turned left. Tom said "Finally!"

After traveling for an hour, it was time to stop for a quick snack. I didn't bother checking in with Tom. He'd just tell me I didn't need the calories, the next gym was 162 miles away, or my stretch jeans had reached their limit. I looked for the familiar golden arches or a sign with the golden arches. That's when I discovered signs can be wrong or else I am directionally challenged and turned the wrong way, both possibilities. After a detour of four miles, I settled for Burger King and got back on the interstate.

Now my confidence in road signs and the GPS were shaken. I crossed the state line and stopped at the Tourist Information Center where real local humans could converse with me in something close to English. My ears cut through the heavy accent and listened carefully as the helpful tourist human marked the paper map with a yellow highlighter. "Y'all can't miss it." Since I was traveling alone I could only assume she meant me and Tom; then I realized we were still in the South so I replied in my native tongue "Thank ya, podner!""

At this point I have a l993 Road Atlas that may or may not be up to date, a single printed sheet with a yellow highlighter marking city streets, and Tom who may or may not be speaking to me. The mall I was trying to get to evidently hadn't been built in l993 and Tom and the highlighted map did not agree so I sort of drove in ever tightening loops until I saw a Target sign along with a Dillard's, Starbucks, and other assorted signs testifying to the possible existence of a mall.

After several cups of Starbuck's frozen coffee and before my credit card sent up a red flag, it was time to head for my friend's house. I studied the map. I typed in the address on Tom. I guess he was still mad because he told me no such street existed. I typed in the community where my friend said she lived. That did exist so I committed to giving Tom another chance. This time I would ignore the map and listen to Tom.

When Tom said "Left turn ahead", I turned left. Of course I was so concerned about doing exactly what Tom said, I forgot that he gives you instructions then a 500 foot warning before you are to actually turn left. Had I realized that, I would not have been going the wrong way on a one way street. I safely dodged a couple of cars whose drivers still gave me that friendly universal one finger salute. I pulled over to the curb just as my cell phone rang. It was my friend. She stayed on the phone with me and guided me street by street until I arrived at her house.

I parked the rental car in her drive-way and as I reached to unplug the GPS, I swear I heard electronic giggling followed by "You have just left the Twilight Zone."

Next time, I'm going to fly.