Orientation

It had been a long time since I had moved someplace completely new to me.  I didn't necessarily have the luxury of 18 years to learn how to live as an adult in this place, nor did I have a roommate who had just arrived a few months ahead of me and available to answer my questions.  There was no orientation manual.

But I kept my eyes and ears open.  I took notes (two were on our fridge for many months before being relegated to the inside of a cupboard door) of the hours and days that the bank and post office are open.  I picked up helpful handouts at the library or bank (Bonus: they're all in English!).

I slowly learned a few main routes to neighboring cities.  And I paid attention to all context clues, which in America includes street signs (again, in English!).  The result of that is that I know names of some roads that Jim has never had to learn.

I know I'm still not up to speed on geography of this state.  People are all the time sprinkling their conversation with, "I'm from x," or "She had to go to y-ville," and I sometimes act like I understand, but other times I get a puzzled look on my face and admit, "I'm not from here. Where is that?" (Of course, their answer isn't always helpful, if they explain where it is relative to another town.)

None of the examples mentioned above are life-threatening; they're just pride-threatening.

But I've found one item of local knowledge that could be life-threatening if I do not learn it.  I need to know how to find our village on a map when there are no city names listed.  During a tornado watch or warning, I turn on the TV, but the map showing where the tornado has been or may be spotted is only a map of the state (or only our region of the state) with county lines.  Period.  And so I have quickly tried to memorize what our county looks like.  And then where in those lines we live.