I love my genes!

I can't sing. I can't play piano by ear or sight. And I don't have a blessed creative gene in my body. But boy do I have a sense of direction. And memory. And general feel for which way I should be going. As Tim Allen in "Home Improvement" put it, we (as men) have "iron fillings" in our noses that turn us the right way.

Well maybe all men don't, but I sure have my Dad's genes. He, being a pilot (formerly, for the most part), always knew which way to go. Where to turn. And where we were. At all times (at least it seemed).

So yesterday, when I decided to go hike a mountain (see previous post), I just left. No directions, no preparation. I did cheat and glanced briefly at a map, although I was simply confirming what I already knew. Didn't know what road to turn on, but that's where the memory took action.

Probably 4-5 years ago, we went hiking on Sugarloaf Mountain. [It's a large "mountain" formation in the middle of the Potomac River plains (or something like that). We can see it from our neighborhood, almost due north of where we live. It's a neat place for a visit.] I think we may have gone twice, but I remembered the road like I had driven it yesterday. Pretty crazy.

So as I was driving along and marveling at how I made it there without getting lost, I just had to be grateful for my genes that (almost always) keep me going in the right direction. Thanks Dad!!