I am married to someone who has an invisible compass on the end of his nose. He will say to me, kiddingly (because he knows I struggle with N, E, S & W) “remember that house on Perry Street, you know the one, it sits north east to the red house on the west end of the south of the blue house?” I usually end up saying, “you mean catty corner? Is it catty corner from the water plant? Is it a pretty green house with white trim? Red door? You know, across from the empty lot?” Directions for him come so very easy.
I love the fact that directions are also used when it comes to theatre. Nothing more rewarding when one of my theatre kiddos realizes that there is a difference between stage left, stage right, upstage, down stage and of course backstage. They are most familiar with backstage because of course, that’s where most of their hilarity ensues while the director is not looking.
Cooking directions? For the most part, I am good with those. Other than the occasional old recipe that I may come across (thanks Grandma!) that tells me to put in a “handful of this, or a pinch of that” which of course makes me think, “I have small hands. Do I put in more? Or do I just do the handful?”
Taking direction is a whole other subject. Supervisors tell us what needs to be completed for a job; parents give us a set of rules and regulations to follow in hopes that we will learn something about discipline and as well as becoming responsible adults. We have to abide by law or pay the penalty. Coaches, teachers, policemen, anyone in charge are people we have to listen to and take direction and hopefully, take it well. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. When I don’t, my mouth is usually the first thing that gets me into some type of hot water.
So..do you have a favorite direction? I never did until this past weekend. And honestly? It is something that I really never even thought about.
My soon to be five-year-old granddaughter Lucy had the following conversation with her mother late last week: “Mom, what is your favorite direction?”
Courtney, my daughter, said the question caught her off guard and she answered, “I don’t know.” But knowing that Lucy had something to say about this subject she asked, “Lucy, what is your favorite direction?”
Lucy answered, quite simply, “Left.”
Courtney then asked her why left was her favorite direction and she said, as only a four year old can say, “Because when we drive to Woodville, we turn left onto the big road (Route 20) then we turn left onto the next road (Lime Road), then we turn left again (First Street) and then we turn left one more time, into Mimi’s driveway.”
Lucy’s favorite direction is left because it brings her directly to my house.
I’ve given that sweet sentiment so much thought over the past few days. First, I am amazed that she counts the left turns and realizes where she is going. Second, I cannot describe the love that is in that statement and how it makes me feel. Knowing that she delights in those left turns because it brings her to my back porch, into my house, onto my lap gives me the greatest joy known to any grandparent. And third, it has given me a whole new insight to my favorite direction.
Up.
I love the feeling your belly gets when you fly up into the sky on a swing.
There is nothing like getting up out of your seat to scream like a teenager (when you are closer to 56) when you see your favorite Beatle looking at you in the eye, pointing at you and giving you a grin. (Love you, Ringo).
Up is how I feel when I spend time with girlfriends. No matter what is going on in my life or theirs, getting together for some laughter (which we do, in droves) is something I cherish, and most importantly, crave.
Up is the direction I head each night with my little dog, she runs ahead of me, waiting at the top of the stairs and then jumps up into my lap when I sit down just waiting for me to smoosh her face with kisses (don’t judge).
Grabbing onto my husband’s hand as he pulls me up out of reclining position on the ground or in a chair makes me happy to know that he is able to not only pull me up, but wants to pull me up and then into an embrace.
I have tall, strong, son-in-laws who are both upbeat and happy men. I love looking up at their faces as they gaze back at their wives, the love evident on their faces.
Up is where I lifted my own babies when they were little, arms outreaching, smiling, asking only as my Molly could ask,”Uppy –do, Mommy, uppy-do.” (we still laugh about her saying those words to me).
My Grandma used to tell her grandchildren “I will let you sit on my lap until your feet touch the ground.” And when our feet touched the ground, she would lift up our legs and tuck them under her arm so that they only touched her and she could hold us that much longer. I’ve said the same to my own to little loves, Lucy and AJ. This Mimi loves lifting them up, putting them up on my lap after they have woken up from a nap.
Up is where we look when we need guidance, or reassurance…to our parents, our teachers, our bosses and most importantly, to our Father. Sometimes I search that sky, seeking out the clouds, trying to make faces or shapes out of them and realize that the vastness up there is over powering and beautiful. And I pray that those that have gone before me are also seeing my upturned face and loving me right back.
I thank Lucy, my sweet girl who has the wisdom of an old lady for giving me a head’s up that we all need direction now and again.
Yup..it’s up.
It will always be up.
What’s your favorite direction?
Lovingly written by Marcia Busdeker
