Traveling used to consume more trees. When our family moved from Connecticut to California in 1966 my father and brother depended on books of maps called Triptiks from AAA. The agent would use a yellow highlighter to mark your itinerary across the hundred or so flipping pages, to steer you through Missouri, Nevada, and the Great Plains. All you did was follow the yellow bright road. 

 

We still got lost. 

 

Now there is Siri, and her calming voice ready to help you maneuver the intricacies of the George Washington Bridge as if it were an Amish covered one with hand split shingles. 

 

We still get lost. 

 

But for shorter spans of time, because she is there in a flash with rerouting suggestions. No extra charge. 

 

One March our family, or a portion of it, went to visit Hosanna at Yale. Ironic that every grad student she introduced us to was eager to tell us where they were headed for spring break.

 

"South Africa." 

 

"Indonesia."

 

"Russia."

 

Hosanna was on her way to Japan, a trip that would take her ahead through time such that she had a forty six hour day. Take that, Daylight savings. 

 

The next week we were asked the inevitable conversation starter "Where did you go for vacation?" our answer was the inverse of those students. 

 

"Yale."

 

Hosanna gave us a tour which included the library. But it was glaringly devoid of books. I saw six on display in a glass case with titles I could not begin to explain. Apparently they use less trees for that too. 

 

John handled the driving, while I held on to the phone. There were tense minutes where the exit numbers and mileage predictions, city prompts and interstate names fired fast and furious. So was my heart rate. Add the eighteen wheelers barreling along like bullets, drivers who may or may not have their eyes on the road, and the relentless lane changing, and I was nearing a panic attack.

 

Then came a welcome respite.

 

"Stay on 95 for 64 miles."

 

Exhale.  

 

There have been periods when my life was as complex as New York traffic at rush hour. Five kids under ten, a tight budget, and a feisty congregation ratcheted up my adrenaline to a fever pitch. But these days, the Instructions from above seem quiet. 

 

"Just keep on keeping on."

 

It is tempting to wonder if the Navigator has forgotten to recharge his batteries. Why are no complex directions forthcoming? 

 

I'm not sure, but I will take the opportunity to look out the window.