Not all who wander are lost.

Good man, that Gandalf.

I had a little adventure last night. Not the scary kind, and not the irritating kind. Just, an adventure. I’ll get to that in a bit.

Work was good. I nearly zeroed out my desk, and while I was typing away in a most secretarial fashion, I made notes regarding a couple of reports I need to do for the data clerk. [We had two mediations this week.] And I wondered, suddenly, if I had gotten her a report for every mediation we have had this year.

So I figured out how to get myself a list of them, and I converted that list to a PDF, and while I was covering the last half hour of switchboard (because the usual suspect was at the dentist) I went through and marked up that PDF with what date the case closed, if it was a closed case, and the date of the mediation, if it was still open. It will now be a simple matter to compare that with the page where the data from my reports shows up, to see if I’ve taken care of all the jots and tittles.

I did not make it to the gym yesterday. I took my bag, figuring that I would go after I finished up at the temple. Served there, had a nice leisurely dinner at Rockfish (jalapeno cream soup and a side salad), and then headed home.

I have several alternatives. One is a toll road, but Lorelai has a tolltag, so that’s not a problem. One is under construction, but typically I can dodge that by running down the service road at the airport. They outfoxed me last night. The detour shunted us off by Bass Pro, led us hither and yon by Grapevine Mills Mall, Great Wolf Lodge, the Gaylord Resort, and back to the freeways.

Which is where it gets a little tricky. At or near Grapevine, you have State Highway 26, State Highway 114 (which leads, basically, from where Texas Stadium used to be, out past the north end of DFW Airport to Paradise, Texas, and who knows where from there; i.e., nowhere near downtown Cowtown), and State Highway 121. If I had stayed on 26, I would have come in on the north end of downtown. If I had continued on the 26 service road for maybe a quarter of a mile, I would have connected back with 121, which feeds into Belknap and takes me right to Camp Bowie.

But I did not. I took the road less traveled, when in the back of my mind I should have remembered from my interpreting practicum days (spring of 1998) that one false move can put me in Wichita Falls. More or less.

I spent half an hour meandering semi-suburban streets, knowing approximately where I was and approximately where I should be, but not quite making the connections. I had that lovely full moon in my face, over my right shoulder, over my left shoulder, and at one point she disappeared, which suggests that she was following me. I drove past a huge Wal-Mart, a bigger high school, went halfway around a traffic circle (roundabout, for you Brits) until I got to a street that I knew connected with 121. Naturally, because the moon was full, I turned the wrong way on it for a bit, but eventually I came to the intersection where the California Pizza Kitchen was, and suddenly my internal GPS kicked in.

I left Rockfish about 8:45. I got home after 10:30. Yes, there was a wreck on LBJ/635 that slowed me down for awhile before I took the long way home (and of course it was too dark to knit while I was just sitting there), but mostly I was just emulating Charlie on the MTA.

But you know the cool part? I wasn’t stressing out. Just this lovely sense of “I wonder where this goes?”

I know where the gym bag goes, this morning: back into the trunk. I needed to type more than I needed to sploosh in the pool. I will do that tonight after work (because I will not be going home by way of the temple tonight).

I started the sleeve on Faith’s sweater yesterday. I get my eyes checked tomorrow morning, and I get to go dancing tomorrow night.

Jimmy Stewart / George Bailey was right: it’s a wonderful life!