Kind of a miracle

Here I am in a city of mystery, relaxed living and extreme heat.  I've been enjoying myself for the most part, doing nothing in particular, but sharing great moments with old friends, my kids, or just on my own.  I've also experienced a harrowing scare and something that was kind of a miracle.  The scare was horrible in the moment, because it was late at night and I was downtown, walking, and I couldn't find the place where I was supposed to meet my son, who would take me home (and his cellphone wasn't working, so I couldn't call him), but after walking in circles, I did find the place so it all ended happily as you can see.  Anyway, it's the miracle that I want to talk about.
I used to live in this city, but that was 18 years ago and technically, we only lived inside the city for a year, before moving to a small town on the other side of the ruins. Still, I did know parts of the city pretty well, at that time.  Today, it's another thing altogether.  Talk about growth!  I'm staying with Lu, who lives in a new area near the perifico, and I am illiterate in terms of the periferico, and all the new streets connecting to it; in fact, even the ones I do remember, I remember only cursorily.  It's been a challenge to maneuver my way around, but an enjoyable challenge, and on the whole, I've been successful in getting from point A to point B. People give me the bare indications, and I make my way from there.
Yesterday, after seeing my old friends and spending the afternoon with them, after doing some errands I had come here to do, I decided on the spur of the moment to try to find the house of my sister-in-law.  You would think that one would surely know exactly where one's sister-in-law lived.  In fact, she lives quite near the place where we lived when we lived here all those years ago.  And yet, here's the thing.  Even back then, we always had a hard time finding her house.  She lives in a little colonia nestled between other more visible colonias.  Her street is only two very short blocks long, and dead ends two houses beyond hers.  The worst part is that all the major streets are the same numbers over and over, so you might be on 38th street and then turn and be on another street that's also called 38th.  It just means that you're now in another colonia.  Suffice it to say that on the few occasions that we came to visit Edith after we had moved away, there were always some tense moments during the drive there.  I used to go bananas at Car's tactics.  He would say, "oh, there's that big two-story house.  That's the turn," and without knowing any names of streets, he would get us there, seemingly with no effort at all, which really galled me at times.  I would be trying to catch the names of the streets, which he didn't know, while he was simply following landmarks.  He claimed that it was just a question of knowing how to follow your intuition, something he happened to possess in spades. 
I, however, have never claimed to be intuitive.  Especially when it comes to geography.  It was one of my worst subjects at school, and my sense of direction is usually hopeless (as in the above example of my downtown misadventure).  Knowing my shortcomings, I told myself as I drove, that if worse came to worst, I could always call Edith when I got closer - because I thought I could at least find my way to get close to the vicinity of where she lives - and she could direct me from there.  So I started out.  Someone gave me the first indication of the general route and I started down the big avenue that would take me to that turn-off.  But as I drove, I saw a road that I vaguely remembered as having taken once to get to her house - though I wasn't entirely sure - and without thinking twice, yet somehow convinced it was the right thing to do, I turned on it, realizing even as I did so, that I was forsaking the tentative known for the completely unknown, which might lead me absolutely nowhere.  This road wound around for awhile and I stayed on it until I was pretty far down, and then I intuitively turned on a street that seemed to enter into the vicinity of her house.  Don't get me wrong. It wasn't that I recognized the street; it was simply that the houses looked like the style of hers and I felt I had made the right choice.  But as I continued, I never came to a corner where I could see the final part, the part I knew would take me there.  After awhile, I turned and backtracked, taking another street.  Once again, it seemed to be leading me close, but not close enough.  I found a shady spot, parked and got out my phone.  Alas!  Her number was not in my phone directory.  No problem, I had brought a little card with me with all the numbers of people I don't usually call but are nevertheless important to me.  Nope, her number was not on that card either.  I sighed and thought for awhile.  Give up and go back to Lu's house? There I could retrieve my other booklet of phone numbers - the complete list.  Well, that was one alternative, but I didn't want to admit defeat when I knew I was close.  I decided to give it one more try.  This time, as I drove, I realized that it could be that I was a little farther off than I had thought, which got me wondering about the actual colonia I was in.  Now what was the name of her colonia?  As I tried to remember, I came to a corner, looked up and there in front of my eyes was a storefront called Pollos Carranza. Oh! Carranza!  That was part of the name of her colonia.  I was close!  I continued down that street another few blocks.  I thought I was now on the lead-in street that would take me to hers.  I thought that her street would be one of the corners I came to, but instead, I found myself turning down a street that I knew was not hers, but which somehow looked more like the lead-in than the one I was on.  This was the moment of reckoning.  Up until then, I knew that if things didn't work out, I could find my way back to the known route that would get me home.  I hadn't really felt LOST, which is something that fills me with panic.  The moment I turned down this last street, however, I felt my sense of direction - what little I have - completely desert me.  If I didn't find her house, I now had no idea how to get back to the main routes.  Don't panic, I said sternly to myself.  Maybe this isn't the right way, but maybe... I continued slowly, feeling that I was very close.  Then I saw an orange-and-yellow house on the corner that I seemed to remember from long-ago trips to her house.  Could that really be her street?  Houses don't stay the same color forever, do they?  I looked up through the leafy branches of a tree on the corner to read the street name.  37-Something.  That's my favorite number!  But was it the name of her street?  I couldn't remember.  I peered down the street and there were only about 6 houses - that seemed right.  But the next block would have to be a dead-end if it was the right one.  I came to the corner and saw that YES, the next block was a dead-end.  I looked at the houses.  Again, only about 6 on either side.  That was right and, more importantly, they looked comfortingly familiar.  I crawled along the street.  OH YES! That one, the 4th one - the front garden looked different but it must be the one!  There was a guy doing some construction work on her house, if it was her house.  I stopped.  I called out her name.  No answer.  I asked the construction guy if anyone was home.  He told me the lady of the house was inside.  He went to a back window and called out, 'Sra. Edith, alguien está en la puerta'.  Oh yes, it had to be her!  She came to the door and when she saw me, the look on her face at seeing me answered my own surprised delight at having found her.  We fell into each other's arms, exchanging exclamations and dissolving into laughter.  As the workman gazed at us with a smile - how could he help but smile! - Edith and I entered the house.

Okay, so maybe it doesn't classify as a miracle, and yet...
Let's consider the facts.  It's a known fact that I've got no sense of direction and that I'm useless in working out geographical locations.  It's true that I've never known myself to be especially intuitive when trying to navigate.  But I got to Edith's house.  And I got there by way of feelings, intuitive turns of the wheel, noticing landmarks, and without going into a panic.  How is that so?  I asked myself that question over and over, marveling at the whole thing to Edith, to myself... until this morning.  Today is the anniversary of Car's departure.  He's gone but I've always felt that he's with me when I need him.  It's been awhile since I really felt I needed him with me, but yesterday, he must have felt my need and come along for the ride to Edith's house, lending me his intuition to get us there.  When you look at it that way, you begin to see that maybe it really was kind of a miracle!

Nitpicking and exoneration

I've grown more and more fastidious in my 'old' age.  Fastidious (though not in the sense of keeping clean), meticulous, demanding, exacting, fussy... some might find these apt adjectives to describe what is essentially obsessive nitpicking.  I get this a lot at home - "Stop nagging!".  But 'nagging' is not the word they mean because you nag a person to do something, and that's not what I do. (oh what a nitpicker I am!).  What I do is "harp".  I want things 'precisely so', whether it's how we put the forks in the cutlery tray, or how we understand the difference between "nagging"  and "harping" or a how we see a situation.  And though I'm aware of this evolution towards uncontrollable fussiness, I usually let myself give in  to it.  Why?  Because, after all is said and done, it's downright satisfying to know that I made my point thoroughly, or that "my way or the highway", as my sons refer to it, is actually the right way! (and not in the political sense, but rather as in the opposite of wrong).  This doesn't mean I am always right - on the contrary, and I welcome it when someone's way of doing things or definition of a term, or attitude toward a situation is more on the target than mine.  It's a relief, because ultimately, what it means is that a battle to the depths of oblivion has been mercifully avoided!
But let me begin to tie the ends together because there is a point to all of this. You see, yesterday, my nitpicking-ness veered off to the outrageous  - leading me to laugh at myself and my obsession, and turning it all into blog material in my mind.  Nitpicker that I am, I want to get it all down in words, but at the same time, I'm hoping to be exonerated, not that I'm actually guilty of anything... but just because I feel like I am. 
The word in question was 'reponer' (Spanish for... well, you'll see).  So there I was, hurrying out of the building to get to my next class in another building 10 minutes away from where I was, and as I shot down the hall, two teachers (not native English-speakers) standing in the doorway of one of the classrooms, beckoned to me to clear up a doubt they had.  They asked me if there was such a word as 'reposition'.  I hemmed and hawed for a moment (I had to come back from the inside of my own head where I was deep in dialog with myself about other issues) and then said, "Yes, of course: to reposition."  "What does it mean?"  "Reposition - to put in another position."  "Ah yes... okay, so would that work for 'reponer'?"  "Hmmm... well reponer, hmmm...you mean maybe replenish?"  "Replenish?"  "yes, like to replenish an amount".... (time was ticking, but they didn't look convinced, and the truth was, neither was I!)... I started backing away, still trying to come up with a better alternative, then turned back and called (by this time I was a few feet away from them) "or replace!"   "Oh, yeah, replace," they cried jubilantly.  "Yeah that's it!  Thanks!"   And I went on my way feeling relieved that I'd found the word.... but then, wait!  Was that really the word?  I mean it could have been 'make up'... like when you have to make up your hours at work after you've been absent...  at that point, I realized that I was nitpicking - surely they couldn't care less by now, having gotten the word they wanted.  Why couldn't I drop it?  But in my mind, it went on and on... It went like this:
Me talking to Other Person whose native language is not English:
me:  .... so I mean, it could be 'make up', or 'put back'...?
O.P. - well, but replace sounds...
me:    I mean, I'm sorry to be such a nitpicker, but... I mean, do you know what a nitpicker is?
O.P.: -very picky?
me:    well yes, but I mean the expression...  do you know what a nit is?
O.P.:  not really
me:  well it's the egg of a louse.  Do you know what a louse is?
O.P. : yeah, like: What a louse!  Like, that's a lousy excuse...
me:    yeah, but no, I mean the real meaning of the word - which is singular for lice...
O.P. : oh really?  I thought it was lice/lices
 me:   no, it's louse/lice... so, can you see the allusion?
O.P. : I'm not sure... someone who picks the nits out of their hair?

me:  right, but think how tiny nits are... I mean if you were trying to pick the nits out, it would take forever,      and it would be really tedious... pretty useless, actually, considering the lice would continue hatching eggs.

O.P.:  oh, so it would be pretty gross, and it might make you cross-eyed or give you a headache.

me:  yes, that too, but I mean in a figurative sense... can't you see it?  I mean look how I'm just going on and on with this explanation, trying to get you to understand all the little details... 

O.P.  - Oh, now I get it!... HAHAHAHA, and you're right.  You really are a nitpicker!