Markers

Markers. Those little guide signs that direct our way. They’re everywhere, offering instruction in pictographs, if you know the code. I recently discovered the little triangle above my gas gauge, pointing out which side of the car has the fuel tank. How many times have I driven an unfamiliar car and had to turn around at the gas station once I realized the tank was opposite the side I’d guessed! Or the star on an elevator’s control panel indicating the lobby. Usually the lobby’s on first floor, but I go to one office where it’s on 3 (make that «3) and another is «LL.

Many years ago, in Estes Park, I went for a walk on a fine morning. I would simply hike up a hill behind the B&B and return the same way. It didn’t turn out that way. Somewhere that logical plan went missing, and it was hours before I found the B&B again. In his worry and relief my son blurted, “What about your markers?” Markers? I never thought of plotting my comings and goings, never made a trail of mental breadcrumbs to get back home. Never, until that day. Eighteen years later I still hear his voice clearly, “What about your markers?” I note my parking slot, color codes, directions, natural landmarks; I’m aware of the time; I look both ways. I teach my grands, “What about your markers?”

It’s a simple idea, and one that can be applied metaphorically as well as literally, but for today I’ll let this suffice. What about your markers? Whether it’s the star in the elevator or a stack of rocks along a path, let me know what you’ve found helpful. If you're the first to comment, click "no comment" and you'll be first in line!

p.s. That same son uses another marker when he signs e-mails to me, “Xo.” That’s a marker that needs no explanation and goes straight to my ♥