H, his brother D, and his sister C are all flying to New Zealand today to manage the will and estate of their recently deceased uncle. Each one is flying from various cities around the world. H’s journey takes him on a five-hour flight to Los Angeles, where he has a four-hour layover before embarking on a thirteen-hour flight to his destination. He leaves today and doesn’t arrive until Tuesday (New Zealand time)... a daunting trip, if you ask me. With all of this on his mind, his last words to me when I dropped him off at the airport were:
Do you think you can follow the signs to Camp Creek Parkway and get home from there? I worry about you driving back.
It sounds a little silly, but my husband knows me well. Directions are not my forte. I’m a creature of habit and follow the same path out as I do in. I’m not good with north and south, instead preferring left and right, all the while looking for visual landmarks (not helpful if you’re on the wrong road). I get confused easily, and my car doesn’t have a GPS.
So, after several minutes of repeating directions back to him, we waved goodbye. I texted him as soon as I arrived safely home and I’m now waiting for his LA shout-out.
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