Monthly Archives: February 2013

Ain’t Technology Grand?

November 16, 2012

I was going to go to Meijer yesterday. I had my grocery list made, the bags in the car. I was ready. It was The Plan.

And then my mom called. She’s been helping a friend with her knitting. Thought I might like to join them. At 3:30. At Water Street.

Well… I did need to go to the Food Co-op, too. I’m planning risotto for when my brother and his family are here next week. And I used up my arborio making a really nice paella from How to Cook Everything Vegetarian. And knitting with my mom and Lizzie is way more fun than Meijer.

So I went to Meijer today. And this morning, I picked up my bottle of prenatal vitamins and gave it a shake to see if I should refill them today. I decided it could wait. And then, shortly before 9 this morning, I got a text from the Meijer pharmacy telling me that I had a prescription that was due for a refill. Did I want it to be filled? Why, yes, yes, I did. It texted back that it had put in the refill request. And by 1:30 this afternoon, I had a final text letting me know that my prescription was filled and waiting for me.

Okay, so this probably isn’t as magical to some of you as it was to me. I’ve been using the online pharmacy to log in and request refills, but this is the first time I’ve done it all by text message. It just made me very happy. There I was, not in the mood to count how many more days my vitamins were going to last, and Meijer took care of it for me. It’s quite clear that I was never supposed to go grocery shopping yesterday.

(I should add that I wound up skipping the Co-op. It was late enough that knitting broke up that I didn’t feel like doing it, so I just went home. I’ll be by Sawall’s tomorrow. I can buy arborio there.)


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In Which Connie Forgets Breakfast

November 15, 2012

As you may recall, the company I work for now is not the same company I worked for on June 30. Except, of course, for the job and the boss and the office and the wages and the benefits and that Connie is still across the hall and Melanie is in the office next door and Courtney is downstairs (or would be if she weren’t on maternity leave). Really, the only major changes on July 1 were our name and tax ID number. (And most employees don’t even care about the latter. I do grant requests, so it comes up with some frequency for me. Not that I have either the old or the new one memorized. But I did have to update the number on some of the paperwork I send out regularly.)

There was one other change that those of us on the third floor, especially at my end of the hallway, have noticed. We don’t have board meetings anymore. Or more specifically, we don’t have leftovers from the board meetings anymore. The vast majority of us never had to attend the meetings, but we always benefited from them. Once a month there would be yogurt and granola, fruit salad, pastries or muffins, juice, and good coffee. Oh, I miss the good coffee! But June was the last time our board met because it was the last time the old company existed. (And they had eggs and sausage and hash browns for that meeting. And, yes, of course there were leftovers!) Occasionally there is a breakfast meeting, and occasionally that meeting’s leftovers are put in the kitchen at our end of the hall, but not with the regularity of our old board meetings.

For the most part, this has just been one of the things that changed that we all took in stride. Until this morning. Connie either forgot to bring something for breakfast or she was running late on her way out of the house this morning. However it happened, she was breakfastless today. And as is inevitable these days, no one was having a meeting on the third floor this morning. I did see a catering box at the reception desk when I entered the building at 6:45, but considering it was A) on the first floor and B) only one box, the chances there would be leftovers that would reach our kitchen were proved to be nonexistent.

That previous paragraph has a poor implication. It makes it sound like Connie did not take the lack of board meeting leftovers in stride. She most certainly has done so. She did bemoan the lack of leftovers with me. It was more one of those times where we got briefly nostalgic for the good old days of five months ago. One of those times where we sighed and then went on with our days. I asked around lunch time if she’d found something. She said she got a granola bar from the vending machine. It wasn’t very good.

And now I feel bad. When I got home and went to empty my lunch bag, I realized I had my emergency instant oatmeal packet. I could have given her something better to eat than an ancient vending machine granola bar. I’ll have to remember that should she ever forget breakfast again.

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I Was Going to Complain…

November 14, 2012

After yesterday’s, um, adventure (?) with the pharmacy’s computer, I had every intention of sharing that experience with the customer service rep when I finally spoke with one. Okay, that sounds harsh. I wasn’t going to ream them out. But I was going to point out that it was very odd for the computer to call me and then hang up on me, and that a lot of people use smartphones these days, which means we don’t automatically have a keypad handy. I was going to be very polite about. I was going to say that I found it frustrating. I was going to say that I knew it wasn’t the rep’s fault, but that I thought they might want to pass it along to their higher ups. I was going to do all of this, but I didn’t.

First of all, a rep answered on the first ring. Okay, the first ring after I pressed “6” to get to a rep, but I was never on hold. And she was incredibly soft spoken. I called from my office landline. It’s your typical office phone. I can adjust the volume of the speaker or the ringer or, well, pretty much every noise a phone might make. (Admittedly, those are the only two I can think of at the moment, but I feel like there was more back when we got this system and had to go through training on how the new phones worked.) I increased the volume as far as it can go and still had to ask her to repeat a couple of questions. And she was so friendly.

Tangent alert: The BBC has or had (I’m not sure if it’s still on the air) a radio program called “Goodness Gracious Me”. It was sketch comedy about being Asian in England. And, of course, in England, “Asian” generally refers to the Indian subcontinent. One of my favorite sketches was about a British man getting a job at an Indian company and his colleagues insisting that his name (something like “Bob”) was far too difficult to pronounce, so he would have to choose an Indian name to go by at work. (They also would do song parodies. I haven’t been able to listen to “I’m a Barbie girl” without replacing Barbie with Punjabi since.) One of the recurring themes was about how Indian girls are so sweet. There would be a woman doing something serious, becoming prime minister, say, or an axe murderer, and all of the men would just go on and on about how she is “so sweet”. Meanwhile the woman would say things like “I just killed 17 people.” And the men would laugh and say “so sweet”.

The point of the above tangent is the “so sweet” sketches. The rep had a Southeast Asian accent. Not a thick one, but it was there nonetheless. And between her accent and how soft spoken she was, I confess that I couldn’t help but think she was so sweet. And then I stopped myself. Thank you, “Goodness Gracious Me”.

So, anyway, I didn’t share my frustrations from yesterday with her. And she did ask several questions about what my insurance does or does not cover. I was going through the booklet on the intranet while we were on the phone, but it wasn’t until we hung up that I found it. She said that it wasn’t a problem. She’d be able to find out. I said I was pretty sure none of it was covered, but I wasn’t positive. The FSH and hCG are going to be shipped to my parents’ house in two weeks. That will get it here well in advance of when I’ll need it.

And what I found in the insurance booklet is what I expected. Fertility medications are not covered. Injectable drugs are covered, unless they are fertility medications. (Lawyered!) But, at least my insurance is equal opportunity, or equal no opportunity. Impotence drugs aren’t covered either. So I have no clue how much money I spent today. I’m thinking I should probably pay off the Ikea charges on my credit card before I incur the pharmacy charges. That will make paying that bill a bit less painful.

And now it’s back to waiting.

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Chapter 2

November 13, 2012

All that I asked for from my fertility doctor was compromise. He was finally willing to work with me, so this means it’s my turn to work with him. (Hey, Congress! Maybe you could learn something from this!) My appointment today was for an FSH consult. Yes, I initially said that FSH was not an option. And initially it wasn’t. There was no way I was going straight to the hard drugs without trying something less invasive first. But that was six months ago.

My appointment this morning was at the annoyingly awkward time of 10 a.m. It takes an hour to drive from Kalamazoo, plus some cushion for traffic and stopping to pick up my mom. Same thing in reverse. I like to go into work early so that I have my afternoons free. That’s probably a holdover from when I was still a classroom teacher. And since my boss doesn’t care what my schedule is as long as the work gets done and people are happy, I get to set my own hours. Within HR’s guidelines, of course. This would mean I have to take a minimum of 30 minutes for lunch, and I cannot flex more than two hours out of any day. (In other words, I have to work for at least six hours if I’m going to use flex time and no PTO.) I say my schedule is 7-3:30, but I usually get to work by 6:45, so I always have flex time for Friday afternoons. But like I said, 10 a.m. is an awkward time for me to be in Grand Rapids on a work day. I could pick up an hour or so before leaving, but I’d have to stay way too late into the evening (at least compared to my usual 3:30) if I went back to the office afterward. So I took the day off.

The more my mom sees of this doctor, the more she is convinced that he’s on the autism spectrum. He’s old enough that he’s probably never been diagnosed, but the signs are there. His complete lack of social skills, for one thing. And then there’s his office. I’m not talking about the clinic as a whole. I’m talking about his specific corner office within the clinic. It is the most barren doctor’s office I have ever seen.

For example: I once received a complaint that the certificates of attendance we provide at our CME conferences aren’t fancy enough. This doctor wanted to hang it on her office wall. You know, next to her medical degree.

His office? The complete opposite.

(Okay, while true, the CME attendance certificate posting is a little extreme. I’d never heard of a doctor posting those before, and I have yet to tell that story to anyone else in medicine who doesn’t agree with me that it’s just plain weird. But maybe one of my doctor friends will contradict me on that point.)

Back to his office. He’s got some text books, the 2011 PDR, a photo mug that some happy patient made. At least I’m guessing that’s where it came from. Maybe it’s from one of his kids. (Does he even have kids? I know he has an ex-wife. And while I’m in a parenthetical, the PDR is the Physician’s Desk Reference, the current pharmacopeia.) There’s nothing on the walls. There’s no plastic model of the uterus. There’s a desk, a sofa, a couple of chairs, a not-full bookcase. My mom thinks he can’t take the stimulation.

So here’s the deal. A woman my age has a 12% chance of getting pregnant any given cycle. FSH increases the number of follicles produced, which increases that percentage. It also increases the probability of multiples. (Yes, he brought that up himself. And, yes, you will recall that he scoffed and insisted that the chance of multiples on FSH is very low. Apparently that’s what he says when he’s not telling you the truth.) In order to minimize that risk, I will have ultrasounds every few days. I will be driving to Grand Rapids a lot. Oh, and this whole process? It starts on cycle day 3. That would be today. And since we have to order the drugs from a pharmacy in Massachusetts, and since he’s going to be out of town for Thanksgiving next week, I can’t do anything until my next cycle. (So, again, back in June when he put in my chart that I was starting FSH, he wanted me to come in for a consult after the first day of my period. We would have missed that month, too, apparently. Oh, and I hope this means Jenny was right. She thinks I’m supposed to have a September baby. If I get pregnant on my first FSH cycle, that puts my due date in September. I really don’t want to have to do this for more than one cycle.) But this was the most frank he’s ever been. He looked me in the eye. He looked my mom in the eye. It was clear that he was working very hard to do that. (That autism spectrum again!) But he did it. And he asked with great sincerity whether or not I was okay with taking this course. I told him that all I had been asking for was the chance to try without it, and now that we had, I could move on to something else.

The next step was to meet with the nurse. Angela is who did my initial intake. I remember this because she’d just gotten back from maternity leave and all of her files were in the wrong place. I have to double-check my insurance policy, but I’m pretty sure FSH is not covered. Between the drugs and the appointments, I’m looking at a couple grand. I’m not sure how many cycles I can afford to try. But I’ll definitely try at least once because the clinic still has a vial of sperm in the freezer. She wrote the prescription for two different FSH brands and added the note “whichever is cheaper or covered by insurance”. I’m hoping I’m wrong. Maybe fertility drugs are covered. She did give me info about a refund program for the cheaper drug, so if my insurance doesn’t cover the drugs, at least I’ll be able to get a couple hundred dollars back. That makes it slightly less painful.

And that was that. I’m on hold. I was going to say in limbo, but that’s not really true. There’s less hope in limbo. And this does mean I can have wine with dinner when my brother and his family are here for Thanksgiving. And I can pop my traditional split of spumante when I reach 50,000 words this NaNo. That really makes me sound like a lush, but I’m not. I swear I don’t drink that much. I drink much more when I’m with my brother than any other time. He says the same thing about me. I don’t believe him. I think it’s him, not me. (Our Aunt Elizabeth would most definitely approve, though. My brother makes cocktails. Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Ed always did cocktails. I do have Kahlua for when I have cream leftover from cooking. And I do now and then make a gin and tonic in the summer. But mostly, I’m a pour-a-glass-of-wine girl. And that I rarely do more than once a week. Unless I’m visiting my brother.) I’m trying not to think too much about it. There’s nothing I can do. As overused as the statement has become, it is what it is.

As a reward, we went home via the library in Parchment. (Yeah, I really should get a Kalamazoo library card one of these years. I’ll get around to it eventually. The serious deficiency of Parchment’s Sarah Vowell collection will probably make it happen sooner than it otherwise might have.) I am in desperate need of fluff. I decided that because it’s NaNo, I would just try to finish the various books I have in progress. You know, the ones I own. I’ve realized there’s a reason they are all still in progress. None of them make for good silent sustained reading. They’re all better for reading a page here or a page there. You know, when you’re ready for work ten minutes too early or on hold with the phone company or in the bathroom. The one I found first while going through my boxes of books in search of those in progress is Sexual Life in England Past and Present, written by a German in the ’30s. It gets really old really fast. There is some unintentional humor to it. The author quotes himself multiple times, in the third person. Whoever translated it from the German left whole passages of quotes in their original French. (Yes, if I try I can usually read those parts. I’ve gotten tired of doing that, so I’ve taken to just skipping right over them.) He’s quite obsessed with the character of the English person. And then he spends 100 pages on S&M. How stereotypically German can you get? (And, yes, 50 of those pages have nothing to do with England. He quotes the Marquis de Sade frequently. When he’s not quoting himself.)

I brought home the perfect antidote: The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. It’s fast. It’s funny. I’ll have it read in less than a week. (Yes, I checked out a second book, too, the second in the Thursday Next series. I liked the first one, so I’m hoping the second is also to my taste.) And then I took my mom home. She has graciously loaned me the table lamp that matches the floor lamp she had already loaned me (with the express statement that she wants them back and soon so they do not get to live with me until I move again).

I cooked a little. I knit a little. I watched a little Hulu.

And then the pharmacy called. Or rather the pharmacy’s computer called. It was a bit like getting a call from prison. It said the call was for me and then asked if I wanted to take it. I said yes. It then asked if I wanted to speak to a customer service representative. (Seems like an odd question, but that’s what it asked.) I said yes. It then put me on hold. It then came back and told me to press one to continue. I was not on speakerphone, so I had to take the phone away from my ear and hit the “keypad” button before I could press one. By the time I had the phone back to my ear, the computer was reading off the pharmacy’s phone number. It then asked if I needed it to repeat the number. I already had the phone number, so I said no. The computer then said thank you and hung up. Yes, the pharmacy called me and then hung up on me.

So I called back. And I got a different computer telling me that due to high call volume, the wait would be longer than normal. It also said something about calls being recorded to “maintain their high level of customer satisfaction”. I wonder if they have a recording of the computer hanging up on me… Anyway, it’s not urgent, so I hung up. I’ll call them back tomorrow morning. I don’t need the drugs until December.

And that was today. I’m glad that I took the day off. I really enjoyed my quiet afternoon. It’s going to make going to work tomorrow difficult, but I just have to keep telling myself that it’s a short week next week. And maybe I’ll be able to focus at work now, at least for the next 25 days.


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Some Things I Forgot

November 12, 2012

I swear that it’s not pregnancy brain. It’s really prenatal vitamin brain. That’s got to explain it. And if not, then it’s vicarious pregnancy brain. Let’s see… Nancy is pregnant. I’ve caught pregnancy brain from her! (I can’t blame Courtney anymore. She had the baby two weeks ago.)

Anyway, there are some things that I forgot to mention in previous posts. (I know what you’re thinking. “Beth,” you’re thinking, “if you’re not going to post these until three months later anyway, then why don’t you just edit the posts in which this information belongs?” And you’re right. I could do that. But if the things I forgot had fit into the flow of the original posts, then I probably wouldn’t have forgotten to mention them. And besides, it’s still NaNoWriMo. This makes them add up to more words. Some people may call this cheating. I call it using my available assets.)

Thing #1: Remember how Carla suggested that if I waited until today to get my blood test, my period might start over the weekend and then we’d know I wasn’t pregnant and I wouldn’t have to deal with the needle? I swear she jinxed me. My period wasn’t supposed to start until today or tomorrow. It started on Saturday. (Okay, Sunday by the clinic’s count, but it was really Saturday.) Since I have an appointment tomorrow, I don’t feel the need to call them. It’s not going to make a difference at this stage.

Thing #2: One of the things Deborah Tannen writes about in You’re Wearing That?: Understanding Mothers and Daughters in Conversation is that mothers are frequently the clearinghouse for family communications. Daughter talks to mom; mom shares that information with dad. And, honestly, this is fairly true in my family. This is not to say that my brother and I don’t talk to our dad. We just talk to him about different things than we talk to our mom about (or than we talk to each other about, for that matter). Now, for the most part, my family has a pretty good relationship, so there isn’t much of a filter. Unless we specifically say, “don’t tell X”, communication is open. How did I learn that Cathy died on Friday? My mom got the news from my brother and passed it along to me. But, of course, this does mean that there still is a filter. And because my mom is the one who’s been going with me to my appointments in Grand Rapids, my dad has been getting most of the information through her, which is fine, but not the same as hearing it from me. So while we were driving down I-94 on Saturday, he asked. I told him that I’ll definitely try one cycle with the FSH, and that the rest depends on cost and insurance. And then he asked the question that no one else in my family has asked me yet (although it is something I’ve talked about albeit vaguely with friends). He asked, “If this doesn’t work, in three or four years, if a three-year-old or five-year-old were available for adoption, would you consider that?” And the answer is that I absolutely would consider that. If I do get pregnant and have a baby and someday decide that child needs a sibling, I’d adopt. If I were married and my husband and I decided we wanted a second child, I’d push for us to adopt. And (back to Tannen’s theory of mom-as-clearinghouse) my mom tells me that my dad feels much more comfortable (not that he was uncomfortable before but it’s still the best word) with the current state of things.

Thing #3: As promised, I did email Jenny on Friday to tell her that I’m not pregnant. And I added in parentheses about Cathy. She emailed back to say that she was sorry, and didn’t that put things in perspective. And what I love about Jenny is that she’s so grounded. Whereas so many of my friends are all sunshine and rainbows (of course you’re going to get pregnant this month!), Jenny is incredibly practical. She went on to say that she thinks I’m supposed to have a September baby, so I’m not going to get pregnant in November. It will be another month. (Okay, I know that doesn’t sound practical, but I think you get what I mean. Circumspect might have been a better choice of words.)

And now that you read the things I forgot, I think you’ll agree with me that they really didn’t fit in the posts for the days on which they happened. Okay, maybe Thing #1 would have, but other than that.

And now I must digress. The work newsletter after Halloween had the usual photo spread of Halloween costumes. I’m not sure which department did this (maybe Peds), but they dressed as the Cat in the Hat and Thing 1, Thing 2, Thing 3, Thing 4, etc. And, yes, each “Thing” had a different number. Brilliant! My favorite work Halloween costume is still this: One of my colleagues was undergoing chemo. She was Uncle Fester. (She was a remarkably good Uncle Fester, too.) It was both a fantastic costume and incredibly inspiring. And that was when several people at work learned she had cancer. My boss thought she’d shaved her head because she was just that committed to the costume. I said then, and I’ll say it again, I hope I can have that much chutzpah should it ever be required.

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Makita! I’ve Just Met a Drill Named Makita!

November 11, 2012

No, not really. Makita was the drill of choice when I was doing youth theatre. (And by youth theatre, I mean theatre by youth for youth, not something I did as an adult. Although I must add that I still adore doing children’s theatre because they are the most honest and appreciative audiences.) Makita, like “Ikea”, just fits so well as a replacement for “Maria”. And my dad has one. He brought it with to assemble my furniture today. And, while we did make use of the various wrenches provided by Ikea (all of which are now in my toolbox), the Makita made some of the assembly go a lot faster. My mom just sat on my chaise and giggled. She described it on Facebook as “nerd husband and nerd daughter assembling furniture”. If we’d been thinking, we would have regaled her with the entire score of The Mikado while we were working. We could have gotten so much nerdier for her.

I did put my mom to work, too. I wanted to swap a couple of shelves on one of my bookcases, so I let her do that. And then, while she was there, she dusted it. And since she was dusting that bookcase, she dusted the other two as well. And while my dad and I were putting my chairs together, I let her put my cookbooks on the shelves of my sideboard. And I let her put my stemware away, too. I’d already planned on buying a sideboard, but the stemware was part of the deciding factor of which one. When I was unpacking my kitchen, I discovered that half of my stemware is too tall for any of the shelves in my kitchen cabinets. I have to say that it feels fabulous to finally have that box out of my dining room. My mom tried to take it another time she was over. I couldn’t blame her; it looked like it was full of newsprint. It was full of newsprint. That newsprint just happened to be the wrapping for all of my too-tall wine glasses.

As a thank you, I took my parents out to lunch. We now know that Sophia’s is about a half-mile from my new place and Gallagher’s is a quarter-mile. So… Yep. If I ever feel the need to track those walks in Daily Mile. Because I go out to eat soooo often. Pardon my giggles. I may think about the fact that there are restaurants within walking distance and that there are restaurants that would deliver food to me, but then I usually decide I don’t want to spend the money and eat the leftovers I’d already planned to have for dinner that evening.

Anyway. After my parents went home, I sat on my new loveseat and looked at the wonderful space that is my new apartment. And it is good. And more importantly, it no longer looks like I’m a squatter. There was a certain transience about my previous furnishings. It looks like a grown-up lives in my apartment now. Well, as long as I close the door to the guest room. We’ll see how many more months it takes for me to get that room squared away. Of course, part of that depends on what happens on the baby front. Ideally, it will become the nursery. If baby is really not meant to be, then I’m buying lots of bookshelves on my next Ikea trip.

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Retail Therapy

November 10, 2012

I thought about calling this post “Ikea, I’ve Just Met a Store Called Ikea”, but that implies that I’m new to Ikea. True, before today I had only been there once, but I regularly read my brother’s Ikea catalogues when he lived in England. It’s just that I have a hard time thinking about Ikea without thinking about West Side Story. Ikea / I’ve just spent mon-ey at Ikea. (You have to emphasize both syllables of “money” in order for it to fit the meter correctly.)

Today, my daddy and I went on a date to the Ikea in Bolingbroke. And then we wound up also going to the Ikea in Schaumburg. My mother was sad about not getting to come, but none of us wanted to squeeze together in the front of my dad’s pick-up for that long of a drive. We don’t even do that to drive across town. She got over it pretty quickly. You should ask her about her pantries. Trust me. It will make her very happy to tell you about it.

Our original plan was to go to the Ikea in Canton, but last night we discovered that Canton doesn’t have everything I was looking for. Bolingbroke, however, did. Except that when we got there, we discovered they were out of the loveseat I thought I wanted. (And after sitting on the model, I definitely wanted it.) They did have my sideboard and the two dining chairs I was looking at. My dining table is very nice, but it is a hand-me-down and only has two chairs. Instead of trying to find something that matches, I’ve gone in the completely opposite direction. I bought two chairs that don’t match each other or my old chairs at all. They aren’t even the same color. My old chairs are natural wood. One of my new chairs is painted white, and the other is painted black. And I just have to say that I’ve fallen in love with Stefan. He is the most comfortable dining chair I think I have ever sat upon. If I were starting my dining room furniture from scratch, I would be designing it around Stefan. And he’s the cheaper of the two!

But I digress. (Okay, I’m still digressing. How brilliant is it that my new beloved chair has a people name? I can totally confuse people by talking about how much I love Stefan.)

Okay, I’m done digressing now.

I also bought a sideboard for the dining room. I liked the design of this sideboard on the website, but I wasn’t sure how I really felt about the finish. It looked much better in person. So we picked up the sideboard (which is comprised of two boxes that each weigh a ton) and the two chairs. A very friendly and helpful clerk called Schaumberg and reserved a loveseat for us. We then drove from Bolingbroke to Schaumberg, where we had lunch and picked up the loveseat. To make it even more perfect, the Schaumberg Ikea was having a “get lunch free with a purchase of $100 or more” special. My loveseat cost more than a little more than $100, so lunch was free. (Yeah… I gave Ikea a lot of money today. To quote a friend, “I bought so many Ikeas today!”)

We then had great fun trying to convince Thomasina (my parents’ Tom Tom has a female voice, so we call her Thomasina) that we were NOT going to take the Ike home. She really wanted us to get off of 294 and onto 290. We kept telling her we were not going to drive back through the city to get home. She eventually gave up and told us to take 294 until it turned into 94 and to get off at Kalamazoo. (Except, of course, we got off at Oshtemo, at which point she tried to get us to go back onto 94. She got over that deviation, too.)

In the whole scheme of things, we made really good time. We had the truck and trailer completely unloaded before six.

Oh, there is one part of the drive there that I forgot to share. We stopped at the Indiana tourist center near the Illinois border. OMG. This place is so… Indiana. It’s… Well, you know that it’s just “it’s” when the mural outside of the bathrooms is entitled “What Were We Thinking?” and then goes on to explain the symbolism of the architecture. See, that part represents sand dunes, and that part rivers, and that’s agriculture, and that’s industry. Oh. Now I get it. I got the agriculture part, and I figured another part was waves. (I was wrong. That other part was apparently sand dunes. A different part was waves.) The fact that it was already decorated for Christmas made it absolutely perfect.

So it was a very expensive day, but I’m very happy with my purchases. Daddy comes back tomorrow with his Makita. I’m looking forward to having my new furniture not be in boxes. And I’m really looking forward to having a loveseat. My chaise is a lovely piece of furniture, but it’s not the same as a loveseat. And then I’ll be able to have company because there will be someplace for people to sit.


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