Navagating Without A Compass...

I'm in the midst of reading the latest book by Bill Bryson entitled "The Life and Times of the THUNDERBOLT KID." It is a humorous memoir of young Billy's childhood life as he grew up in Des Moines, Iowa in the 50's and 60's. Mr. Bryson is uniquely gifted in his abilities to translate that which would appear on the surface to be the mundane occurrences of coming of age in any given mid-western setting; and, with a liberal injection of journalistic embellishment, translates his youthful journey into a side-splitting adventure. I read selected excerpts last evening to my wife while lying in bed and we laughed so uproariously that it brought us both to tears. These anecdotal musings reminded Judi of the time in our early marriage of a foray we unexpectedly took while visiting our nation's capital. She suggested I recount that adventure as a story to be shared in my blog. I offer it, also with my own admitted embellishments, as follows...

Judi's son Christopher, by her first marriage, had previously returned to Bowie, Maryland to live with his Dad, having determined after three years living with us in Florida that the cooler climes to be found above the Mason-Dixon Line better suited his temperament. It was on the up-coming occasion of his graduation from high school that I, Judi, and our five year old daughter, Megan, would make the trek north to witness this special event. We stayed in Rockville, Maryland with a Mary Kay business acquaintance of Judi's, making daily trips via the Metro subway system into Washington. D.C. proper. Judi, prior to moving permanently to Florida, had spent a number of her early adult years employed "On the Hill." She had fond memories of the city, but, as it turned out, a poor sense of direction.

We enjoyed and were proudly fascinated by all the many historical tourist opportunities that D.C. offers at the dozens of venues throughout the city. We visited all the major points of interest...the White House, the Capital Building, the Lincoln Memorial, numerous museums, and the Washington Monument. It was in the latter edifice, while walking up the 897 steps to top observation level, I encountered a young female teenager on her way down. I asked her in passing, "How much further to the top? " She replied, "You're about half way up." I thanked her and turned to continue my journey upwards when she followed up with a question of her own, "How far is it to the bottom?" My first thought was, "Did I hear her correctly?" I looked closely into her eyes to determine if she realized that she had just asked probably the stupidest question of the day! There appeared to be no recognition of that probability, so I replied, "Well, my guess would be that based on your estimation on how far I am from the top, you should be about half way to the bottom." She thanked me sincerely and continued confidently downward. I wonder to this day if she ever found her way to ground level. But I digress...

I previously failed to note that son, Christopher, also accompanied us on our daily "walks" around the city. He, unfortunately, was somewhat limited in his mobility, being propelled forward on crutches as a result of a severely sprained ankle suffered while playing soccer. No complaints from him, however, as he gamely hobbled along doing his best to stay in close proximity to the rest of the family.

It was late in the afternoon, after having visited the Viet Nam Memorial, that Judi suggested that "we walk a few blocks to China Town and have dinner" in one of the many fine Chinese restaurants that are located in that part of the city, assuring us, as best her memory could recollect, that the "walk" would be but a few blocks. Off we started, the sun beginning to sink in the west, daughter Megan being passed back and forth between Judi and me with son Chris bringing up the rear. And on we walked and Chis hobbled...and walked and hobbled...and walked and hobbled some more, with Judi, less assuredly now, proclaiming that "we had to be close." The shadows between the buildings became deeper and more foreboding. The sidewalks dissolved from the congestion of dozens of people going about their work-a-day business to being sparsely stalked by less savory inhabitants of the evening...all looking at us, we surmised and feared, as likely prey. The street lights flickered on finally...and on we walked...and hobbled...becoming more and more concerned with each passing, dread-filled minute that our destination lay in any direction other than the one by which we were transversing. Desperation now became our watchword. Hunger drove us less forward than our own sense of self-preservation. This nightmare of uncertainty, we prayed, had to come to an end soon.

Finally...thank the Lord...we rounded a darkened corner and Judi proclaimed that China Town lay just ahead!It was hardly what I was expecting, remembering previous visions of China Towns in other large metropolitan cities that gaudily proclaim their existence with an explosion of eye-popping colored lights and banners. This China Town, by contrast, looked more like it had been recast out of the old west, drab in comparison with the few illuminated storefronts appearing to me more likely to house laundries than eating establishments. Yet, each represented an oasis to us, so welcome were we to see the conclusion of our hours-long journey. "See," said Judi triumphantly and joyfully, "I told you it was just around the block!"

I do not recall what we ordered for dinner that night. I do remember that it was around eight or nine o'clock in the evening and we were the only patrons being warmly welcomed and lavisly catered to by our most hospitable Chinese host. The meal I'm sure was a degree above delicious. Even had it been less so, it more than satisfied the pallets of a family of four who vowed never again to allow "Mother" to suggest where we might partake of our next dinner "out on the town" without being assured that she had an up-to-date map. Better yet...she can make the suggestion and I'll provide the navigation.