If you’re like me — and I truly pray that you’re not — the day’s “journeys” don’t just involve driving to work or around town on errands.
Sometimes there are those awful guilt trips on your mental itinerary.
Often oh so innocently, the day’s flow of events activates this odometer. Some days the mileage count is higher than others.
For me in recent weeks I had two back-to-back but not-related guilt trip experiences.
Talk about “travel” exhaustion.
The first came when I got story information for the newspaper about Two Ridges Presbyterian Church in Wintersville celebrating the 220th anniversary of the establishment of the congregation in 1802 at a meeting of the Ohio Presbytery.
A congregation had formed a year earlier, however, and a cemetery had been started with the death of Josiah Price, who was killed by a falling tree on July 23, 1801, becoming the first person buried in the cemetery.
Oh, no! Josiah Price! Two Ridges Cemetery! Ugh!
I felt as if a tree had just fallen on me.
How many times when my mother and I would be driving by there on our way to Richmond when she would casually mention her desire to stop and visit that gravesite, and somehow that never materialized, courtesy of a complete lack of interest, effort and enthusiasm on my part.
Born in 1738, Josiah Price, incidentally, was my first American Price ancestor who immigrated from Wales in the 1760s with his family.
He was my great-great-great-great-grandfather on my dad’s side of the family and was taken to his final resting place in an ox cart driven by Issac Shane, so the family history information goes.
I’ve actually thought about that gravesite from time to time and even did finally check it out, regrettably after my mother had died in 2018. I had vowed at the time to tend to the gravesite.
Guild trip No. 1 of that day. Some vows. I have nothing save good intentions minus any follow-through.
Think about it, Janice. If this guy never existed, I wouldn’t either. Is a little gravesite maintenance too much to ask?
The other guilt trip started when Better Half called me at work to rather proudly report a friend was coming to help him replace the light fixture in the “press.”
The “press” that’s a mess, I’m realizing! Ugh!
At news of this, I inhaled enough air with such force to rob the world of its next breath of oxygen.
The “press” is an old-time word for this monstrous closet in the bathroom.
It’s very convenient because you can throw a ton of stuff in there and then just slide the doors shut and forget all about it, and who would know how unorganized and awful looking it is unless … a friend of your husband’s is helping replace a tricky light fixtures. Ugh!
Can’t he come another time when I have it organized and painted, I thought, horrified.
We’ll all be skeletal by then, my comedic husband read my thoughts. And, no, we’re not going to keep living in darkness.
I felt a pity party coming on. I’ve done wrong by Josiah. Can’t keep a closet neat and tidy either. Wow is me.
Happy travels to you this week. May your guilt trips be low mileage.