I signed up for a wilderness writing workshop hike this morning to the most lovely of the locations from last year--Fremont Station. I thought it was last week, but noted it wasn't, and even though the choir performed last night at a trifecta of a service (the AME church choir, a representative of the mosque in town, and us, with the choir singing a suitably peaceable song)and I got out late, I got up at 5:30 and made my way up toward Irvine Park. Only it wasn't where I thought it was. I ended up calling Richard, who told me I was on the wrong road! One more street up Jamboree, there was the correct turn. So I found the entrance, paid my fee, and asked the people at the booth where parking lot 15 was.
Now I am not noted for my sense of direction. I get lost going around the block, and that is almost not an exaggeration! So I followed their directions. The ones I got from the workshop leader were on the floor of the car, where they had fallen, out of reach. I kept on the bumpy path, seeing the numbers of the parking lots climb... 9, 10, 13, 16. Nothing between 13 and 16! Parking lot 15 was nowhere to be seen. I drove around the place 4 times, and then asked again, also asking if they could contact the workshop leader, but they didn't have her number. Neither did I. So I gave up, and went to yoga class in Costa Mesa.
When I told my classmate at yoga what happened, she said that showed good mental health. I didn't let frustration stop me; I reconfigured my plans, and went on with the day.
That's true. And oh, I stopped at Steinmart, where a giant sale was going on. When I couldn't find my coupons ($10. off till noon today!), the community of shoppers provided some. It restored my faith in human beings!