One of my very favorite things in the whole word is the directions that country friends give you to their houses. It could be that in the city, directions are just as colorful, but my experience is that people rely heavily on road signs there. Out here, there may or may not be road signs, and maybe that’s the reason for the detail, or maybe the reason has everything with slowing down and enjoying the journey. Maybe it’s that we simply see the opportunity to interject well-intended but unsolicited advice. Let me tell you how to get to my house so you can see what I mean. Don’t take the exit with the big fruit stand, but do slow down there because the staties will nail you with their radar guns from the overpass if you don’t. Cha-ching. Now, take the next exit– the one with the smaller fruit stand that’s only open in the summer. Usually there is someone urinating on the shoulder of the off ramp. Honk at them. There’s a rest stop just a couple miles ahead, so there’s no excuse to be urinating there. Turn right at the stop sign. Turn right at the next stop…