Sometimes the destination is not important at all

My stepdad Fred liked to say the life is a process, not a destination. The other day I had a real experience of that. The plan was for my friend Lea and me to drive up to the Michigan Renaissance Festival together for a fun outing. We have done a bunch of community theater together and have taken a number of Chautauqua vacations together. We both have a sense of humor that can be quirky and enjoy period costumes, although neither of us is so into it that we considered going to the RenFest that way.

There are folks for whom the costume part is very serious business indeed. For example, my son's 10th grade Shakespeare teacher and his wife had costumes that were really wonderfully done. The reason I came to know this is that the Grosse Ile Boar's Head Festival was being produced that year, and Ed -- tall, thin and with a thick head of wavy, shoulder-length hair -- had been recruited for the part of the knight. The costume folks had located just the thing for him to wear -- his teacher's RenFest costume, which consisted of a handsome red, knee-length tunic and a breath-takingly fluid, full-length "cloak" made of a material that was light and flowing but somehow managed to look like chain mail. His teacher's wife also offered the use of the black tights, but that was apparently way too close for comfort for Ed, so we spent the $30 for a pair of his own. In the end, he was truly a vision of knightly grace and charm, if I do say so myself.

For me, Boar's Head is a great place for this kind of costume, so I have a kirtle and chemise and head piece of my own. But not to wear while running around in a field in Holly, Michigan, on a Saturday in September.

So I was in jeans and a sweatshirt when I picked Lea up at her house and off we went. The weather had unfortunately taken a turn for the potentially unpleasant. Rain was expected in the region, although timing and specific location was not certain. We decided to take a chance.

It's a long way to Holly from downriver. On a good day, an hour and a half is making decent time. We were on track for that until we were just shy of University Drive. Then the tail lights went on ahead of us like Fifth Avenue in New York at Christmas. Four lanes were merging into 3, no 2. No...into 1!!!!!

Anyone who knows me will know that I am not necessarily the most patient person. (Note to my husband -- stop laughing!) Sitting in a traffic mess fuming is not my idea of a way to spend more than about 10 minutes. There was a ramp ahead, and I took it. All of a sudden, we were faced with a new choice -- straight ahead into the Chrysler gated facility (an obvious no) or turn and follow a road that seemed to lead into a parking structure. I pulled over and we searched the door pockets for helpful maps. Let's see - Philadelphia, PA. The Lower Huron Metropark system. Ann Arbor-Ypsilanti. Curses.

I recruited Lea to call my house and contact my personal OnStar wannabe navigator. Doug sat at his computer and did a Google map on our location. Using what I call the spy satellite, he zoomed in on the roads we were on. The images are not real-time, so it's not like he could see our car, but he could see the buildings and the twists and turns in the road clearly. Then he switched to the street map and guided us around and out of the industrial complex and back onto more familiar public byways. By the time we got north of the traffic jam, I am sure we had spent more time than if I had just taken a chill pill and waited for the merging process to complete.

Once we got past this, we were almost at our destination, but the skies, which had not been particularly friendly looking, decided it was time to become downright threatening. We lined up and made the turn into the parking field for the RenFest. A host of folks in ponchos were standing ready to point us into a space in what was not yet a sodden mess. Lea and I looked at each other, imagining what this might be like in a couple of hours. I poked my head out the window and said to the nearest poncho person, "You know, we changed our minds. Can we please just turn around here and leave?" Well, of course, what could she say? And out we went.

We decided we would head toward home and figure out an alternative on the way. In the end, we just ended up in a shop in Wyandotte having a cup of coffee and a good laugh. We had started out to have a fun outing and had achieved our goal, even though the particulars didn't resemble the original concept as closely as we would have liked.

As my favorite philosopher, Roseanne Roseannadanna, would say, "It just goes to show ya. It's always sumpthin."