Front Porch Lemonade

285 East or 285 West

Whew, what a busy but fun week I had last week. Okay, a bit of stress was thrown in there too . . . just so it was complete.
Oskar Myer (our white cocker spaniel) tore his ACL completely in two, so he had surgery last Tuesday. The surgery went well, and he came home on Wednesday to begin home rehabilitation. It was difficult for me. We had to get Oskar to do range-of-motion exercises three times a day for ten minutes. I could see that it hurt him by the way he rapidly winked his eyes when I bent his knee to a certain spot. After it was over, my husband Mike took him to the living room and put ice on his knee for a bit while I stayed in the bathroom and cried. I laugh now, but it reminded me so much of being a mom and having to care for children. When they hurt, I hurt.
Wednesday night I met a former co-worker for dinner at Crown Plaza just inside the perimeter. At least I believe it was inside the perimeter (remember how I am compass-challenged). Dinner was wonderful, we ate at the Cheesecake Factory, and it was great catching up on our lives, as well as what was happening with former co-workers that she is still in contact with. Since she had to be up early to work a trade show, we said good night around 9:30, and I began my journey home. Needless to say, I got lost going home. But this time I SWEAR it wasn’t me . . . I don’t think. See, here is the thing. The directions I used to get there said to take 400 to 285 West, to exit 29. Followed them exactly, and boom, I was there. Now, here is where I got a little turned around apparently because . . . no laughing . . . I was thinking logically: if you take 285 West to get somewhere, shouldn’t you take 285 East to return home? Well that is what I thought too! But NOPE . . . it didn’t work out. The next exit number was in the 30s not the 20s like it should have been going, so I knew something was not right in Atlanta, or La Vista, or Dunwoody, or where ever the heck I was. I saw the sign for 85 and thought, “Okay, if I can get to Atlanta, I can get home.” So, I take the exit for 85. Guess what? Yep—it was the “wrong” 85 exit. I was headed towards Greensboro, not Atlanta. “Great, just great,” I thought. So I took the first exit I found, turned around and got on 85 “whichever”—I can’t tell you for sure . . . because by now I was so turned around, I had no idea. HOWEVER, I did see the exit for 285, so I calmly exited . . . only—you guessed it—I took the dang 285 East again.
By this time it is at least forty-five minutes since I had left the restaurant, and I was still not heading in the direction of home. I took a deep breath, mumbled, “Yippie, another dang adventure,” under my breath, took another exit, and finally got on 285 West. I passed the exit for 85, and held my breath to see if the exit sign numbers were increasing or decreasing. Sure enough, they were decreasing. I let out a very loud clap and squeal, even waved at exit 29 as I passed it. Two and a half hours later, I pulled into my driveway, climbed into bed, and laughed out loud as I tried to figure out how any could possibly be as turned around as I had been. Has this happened to anyone else but me? Saturday, I participated in my second book signing at Yummy Yogurt Den in Cumming. Believe it or not, I drove there, set up, had an awesome day people-watching, laughing with the Gal Pals, who made another trip “north” to support Front Porch Lemonade and me, and even sold a few copies. One was to some friends I graduated high school with who made a special trip up to see me and buy a copy. Even my beloved editor and publisher, Obi Jan, came by to say “hi” and show her support to all of the authors she works with. The day was great, the rain held off, and I drove home without once having to get on 285.
Oskar has done very well through all of this. His stitches come out on Saturday. He is putting more and more pressure on his leg, and his eyes don’t blink as much with each set of exercises.
Yes, indeed, it was a fun, busy and stressful week filled with love, laughter, and tears . . . but then that’s just another chapter in the story that is my life . . . and yours too probably. Or am I really that strange?

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Comments on: "285 East or 285 West" (1)

  1. I know someone who went through the same 285 debacle — several times. Avoids travel to the city at all costs, in fact. She wouldn’t want me to name names, though. LOVED THIS BLOG!

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