Last week, there were so many letters to the newspaper that I didn’t have room to print my column. That really didn’t bother me at all, especially considering the fact that I didn’t write one.

I used the time instead to get a few things done around the house, like installing the extra set of steps off the back porch to access the new clothes line, fixing a few broken things and getting the contents of the storage building stacked up so I could once again walk without climbing over stuff. I also had other chores to complete that had been on hold for some time. I didn’t get much done the weekend before, since I spent a great deal of my time driving. In fact, I drove all day that Saturday from morning until night. The family and I took off for a jaunt to visit friends in Denton and family in Salisbury. That should have been a simple enough trip, but not with me driving.

I missed the exit to U.S. 601 and ended up driving into Winston-Salem and hitting U.S. 52 South. Before I realized what had happened, I found myself in Salisbury. That may have worked out just fine, if not for the fact that I was trying to go to Denton first.

While I was there, I picked up a discarded entertainment center and a pinball machine. After all, I couldn’t come home empty handed, could I? The two items barely fit in the back of the truck and the pinball machine was sticking up over the cab on one side and the entertainment center was sticking nearly as high on the other, effectively blocking my rear view completely.

I love driving on the Interstate with no rear view mirror. It makes lane changing much more exciting.

After leaving there, we headed back to Denton another way, using a computer-generated direction sheet. Of course, I had one of those on the way down, also. Sometimes those things are more trouble than they are worth. Go south .1 mile, continue south .3 mile, go south another .5 miles and continue onto blah-blah. I always get lost trying to read a 400-step instruction manual and drive in 80 mile per hour traffic at the same time, it just isn’t sane. Add the fact that my glasses had been missing for about two weeks to the scenario and you have a man who doesn’t see well enough to read road signs trying to drive in a beat up truck with traffic whizzing by at 80 while simultaneously reading cryptic computer directions. It isn’t pretty.

And don’t even bother asking for help at the gas station. Even though I had to stop there several times to get my gas guzzler satisfied with the $2 a gallon liquid gold, I decided not to ask for anything other than the bathroom key after the young lady behind the counter, loudly smacking what must have been delicious chewing gum, informed me how to get to a nearby roadway while staring at the ceiling, pointing in the air and adding, “Umm, like” to the front of each and every sentence.

I decided then that the spare car tire tied to the key was probably there for other reasons than to try and keep the customer from stealing the key. It might have been a teether for the cashier.

Anyway, on the way out, I somehow ended up going the wrong way again, this time heading into Lexington and Spencer. I didn’t have the awful computer directions for the trip home and had lost the earlier version. I was following a map that was obviously printed around the time of the Vietnam War that somehow found it’s way into my glove box through nook or crook. It didn’t even show I-74 as a roadway, as one example. Other interchanges and roads were not correctly shown, either — a fact that did not escape my attention while sitting on the side of the road near Lexington wondering where it all went wrong.

I finally managed to find my way, albeit the long way, back to I-77 and more familiar territory after heading the wrong direction for about 15 minutes and then going 30 minutes out of the way to get back on track on one of my many ‘short cuts’ of the day.

I had left home around 8 a.m. and didn’t get back until well after 10 p.m. A light rain had just started falling. I had to get the entertainment center in the house and the pinball machine under a tarp. I drug the six-foot tall wooden center out onto the front stoop and then stood it up. I rolled it over and shoved it through the door. After dragging it across the carpet, I stood it up again, thinking, “This is going pretty well.” I should have slapped myself for even thinking things could go well.

On the way back outside, I started to walk around the truck to get the tarp when I fell over the woodsplitter, hidden in the shadows behind the truck, and went sprawling. I ended up with a terrible bruise on my inner thigh from the hitch and a big contusion on my shin from kicking the splitter. However, the first thing I did was look around to make sure no one saw me fall. It was nighttime, raining and I was outside my own house. I should have known without looking.

I finally got the machine covered and held down the tarp with a couple pieces of firewood just when the rain really let loose. As I was climbing off the tailgate my foot slipped on the rain-slick bed liner and I stumbled and nearly fell again. After measuring, I realized the pinball machine wouldn’t fit inside my house.

Just about then, I got a call about needing to move some of my things from another friend’s house who is moving out of the area. I looked at the pinball machine and shook my head. After calling one of my friends in town here, I agreed to donate it to his cause. The following day, I took it to him, happy to be able to share and even more happy to not have to unload that heavy joker by myself. We took the front legs off the truck, set them down on a set of picnic benches and then my friend balanced the back end while I moved the truck we soon had it on the ground and into his car port. We plugged it in and it whirled to life in typical pinball fashion, complete with all the bells and whistles. Now if we can just figure out how to get the ball to come out.

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