Lost

Yesterday afternoon I got lost in my own city. There is nothing more humbling than realizing you are in a city of 2 million people and you have no clue where you are at that moment.

I drove 40 minutes to meet our realtor in an Old Navy parking lot. We looked at seven houses in a suburb of Denver that could easily pass for Kansas or Ireland. The houses were all out on the rolling green prairie hills east of town. It was startling and somewhat unsettling to be in an area not next door to the moutains. Hubby grew up in a western Denver suburb and I grew up in a western Colorado valley surrounded by mountains. They have always been part of our literal horizons. They are like embracing, powerful arms, or massive nests made out of rocks.

The houses themselves were nice, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that moving to the other side of the city would be like moving to another state. It was that geographically unfamiliar. The House of Mold was near canyons, state parks, open space, and mountains….there I go, comparing again. One thing the east side has going for it is the Schlotsky’s I saw.

The trouble began when the house-hunting was done and it was time for me to head home. I decided I would leave the parking lot the same way I entered. The problem was no left turns were allowed. Forced to go right, I looked for a place to turn around. With six packed lanes of rush hour traffic I felt like a small raft in the Mississippi river about to collide with a steamboat filled with cigar smoking gamblers in white suits—insignificant. So I drove and drove, trying to act like I knew where I was going by keeping up with the insane speeds and not glancing pathetically at the other drivers while idling at red lights. Exotic street signs confused me even more. I didn’t know there was a Hawaii street. I have heard of Iliff, but only in reference to a used car dealership that advertises on the late night news.

Caught in the current, I continued north until I saw Florida Street ahead and I made my move. I turned left, so that at least I was heading to the blessed west. As I drove, however, I realized that I needed to swallow my pride and make one of those tearful phone calls I am so famous for. I called home and said “I am lost.”

Hubby determined where I was located. I know he was trying stiffle convulsive laughter and he did a good job, being sympathetic without making me feel like an idiot. He told me to go back to the main road I was caught on, make a right on Havana, and follow it west for the next 25 miles or so. Then I would know where I was.

Today we are going back to four of the seven houses, one of which may be our future home. I have visions of moving there and getting lost on the way to the grocery store and the school. I do, however, know where Schlotsky’s is located.