Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

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Daughter of Ishmael by Diane Stringam Tolley

Daughter of Ishmael

by Diane Stringam Tolley

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Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Getting There

Navigate this! (Taken from Blarney Castle. Just after I kissed the famous stone.)
In Canada, we have The Dominion Land Survey. 
And my husband has iron boogers. 
These two are connected.
Maybe I should explain . . .
First:
My husband's favourite program on TV was the Tim Allen show, Home Improvement.
In one episode, Neighbour Wilson told Tim that men are actually endowed with minute bits of metal in their noses that aid in navigation.
Tim, putting his twist on it, called them 'iron boogers'.
A term that my husby whole-heartedly embraced and endorsed.
And:
When Canada was first being mapped/documented, it was divided into a perfect grid.
Or maybe an imperfect grid, but a grid, just the same.
We were raised in an area where the roads were straight and regular and one mile apart.
If one road was blocked, you could find 113 other ways to get where you wanted to go.
It was a perfect system.
People growing up in that environment developed an unerring sense of direction.
Thus, my husby.
See the connection?
Moving on . . .
We were travelling in Ireland.
Have you ever heard it said that there is no green quite like the green of the Emerald Isle?
It's true.
But I digress . . .
We had just driven into town and were looking for our bed and breakfast.
Our map only covered the specifics of reaching said town, not the particulars of what to do when we got there.
There was a woman walking down the street.
Grant pulled over and we asked her how to reach Thus-and-So Bed and Breakfast.
These are her exact words, "Oh that one. It's rather difficult to describe. You need to go up that hill (pointing) and turn right. There is a hotel there and they can direct you further."
We thanked her and did as she directed.
Except for the 'turn right' part.
My husby turned left.
At which time, I gave up.
He drove around for a total of thirty seconds, then pulled over to the side of the street. "Why don't we just stop here?" he said.
I looked out of the window and gasped.
Thus-and-So B&B. Right there.
In front of us.
I gasped and turned to stare at him.
He merely tapped his nose and looked at me significantly.
From then on, I used the map merely to get us to the next town, then tossed it into the back seat.
Grant was much better at finding our destination when he wasn't hampered by such distractions as maps.
Old Iron Boogers.
Old Iron Boogers.

12 comments:

  1. Hysterical. Nothing like counting on your husband's nose.
    My husband always gets us exactly where we need to go too. He doesn't have iron boogers, though, he has me. He just asks which way I think and then does the opposite. Voila, we're there!

    ReplyDelete
  2. That is hilarious!! I have the same sense of direction as Karen, above :)

    ReplyDelete
  3. The nose always knows. My dad used to say he was part homing pigeon.

    ReplyDelete
  4. I loved this one; and I am chuckling. For some unknown reasons by husband too as a sense of direction. Maybe I will use that name on his next find. Meanwhile, I am always turning in the wrong direction.
    Blessings for the fun on this one!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I thought I had a pretty good sense of direction. But I'm usually backwards. Sometimes he asks me which direction I am going . . .

      Delete
  5. What a stroke of luck!
    On the other hand, I am so jealous you've been to Ireland.
    I'm going one day. Maybe in my next life, but going. One day.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. You will be glad you did. Worth every effort! :) I could give you directions . . .

      Delete

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Diane was born and raised on one of the last of the great old Southern Alberta ranches. A way of life that is fast disappearing now. Through her memories and stories, she keeps it alive. And even, at times, accurate . . .

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