Miss dorothy’s afghanistan

For the first months that I lived in Oklahoma City, I had a room in the house of a California acquaintance’ s grandmother.

She was an elderly lady with a tough background who was very set in her ways, had an opinion on everything, and was the boss in every situation in which she was involved with uneven success and failure.

No one touched her car, but occasionally when she had to go to some part of the expanding city to which she rarely if ever went, she would ask me to go with her for company or to have someone to help in an emergency that might happen in those parts unknown.

The city was pretty much a giant grid so getting anywhere was easy as it was just a matter of counting up the numbered streets and following the alphabet with most turns being right angles. You could give directions by way of compass references. If you took a wrong turn, it was just a matter of turning around or circling a block to end up in the right place or heading the right direction.

Or so it was for everyone but Miss Dorothy.

Whenever She realized she had passed a street, taken a wrong turn, or ended up heading in the wrong direction, rather than simply take the next opportunity to make a corrective turn oir make a U-turn, Miss Dorothy would just continue on after acknowledging she was going the wrong way as if doing so would eventually have you ending up in the right place. Somehow continuing West would have you end up in the East.

Any suggestion about turns or course corrections was met with a steely silence. It was her car, and she was driving. And, so, I got to see a lot of the city, especially its non-incorporated and still prairie areas, that I would later be able to go back and learn more about when I had a car I was in control of. Many times, I found it amazing that a place we had spent so much time getting to after having just left another was in reality much closer, sometimes just around the corner, from our starting point.

She made none of the corrections I would be able to make later.

If I was to have learned the city from her, I would have learned nothing.

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This obstinateness was not limited to driving as often when she cooked a missed ingredient went on missing and an unnecessary ingredient included while any home DYI project would have to be corrected when she wasn’t around to see the correction made.

She was one of those personality who, while recognizing they are making a mistake, keep up the action or behavior that will not straighten itself out as if continuing will lead to the right end.

She might as well have been one of the people running our Afghan circus for the last 20 years.

Upon seeing the whole thing was a mistake, rather than turn course and make a correction we plowed ahead either unwilling to admit the mistake, taking some heat, and then going a better route, or really, really hoping no one noticed the error because it will eventually correct itself as long as we continued to feed it.

We stayed there only so we could avoid admitting we had made a mistake and continued to keep doing the same thing hoping it would all work out in the end.

We, like Miss Dorothy, were wrong, but covered it up and then forced the country to go along because not to do so was unpatriotic and anti-troops.

The translation of “Thank you for your service” is “Thank you for letting us use you for our political purposes”.

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