Home again home again, jiggity jig.
. . . . something something something about a little fat pig.
That's what my Dad used to say when we arrived home. This is me not knowing what it means.
The drive from Des Moines to Chicago was thankfully short, and I had a lovely evening with The MacMac Family. Mrs. MacMac took pity on my truckstopped-up guts and made us the most tasty hearty homecooked meal. Mr. MacMac introduced me to his neighbor, who took us for a trip back in time in one of these. . .
and this. . . .
But my homecoming was so worth the long day's drive. After unhooking the PT Cruiser in the elementary school parking lot at the bottom of the hill, I drove it home to find a big-fat-little-boy-made POSTER on my garage door! Then coming in the door I got huge gratuitous hugs and loves from ALL the Hults boys. In between, and lingering long after, was the lady who missed me the most: Emily. AK gave smooches too. Hers were less sloppy and she smelled considerably better, but you just can't beat the enthusiasm of a standard poodle who's been missing her big, brain-scratching alpha male.
Monday found me and four members in good standing of The Mormon Mafia emptying the covered wagon into a storage facility. The whole affair took less than an hour. So I had NO excuse for driving away from the storage facility WITH THE DOOR WIDE OPEN SO AS TO SHARE ALL OF GRAMMAS BELONGINGS WITH ALL OF THE STORAGE PLACE'S FINE CLIENTS. They called the next day and we fixed it. And that reminded me that I'd left the keys for the storage lock and the trailer lock ON THE KEY RING WHICH WAS NOW SAFELY IN THE HANDS OF THE PENSKE TRUCK PEOPLE. Fixed that, and was happy to see many other truck keys with people's lock keys still on them. It would seem I was still a little shmoopy from the trip.
Gramma has been dealing with all the exciting/frustrating parts of moving, with mostly AK's help. I've been trying to get back to work and to get caught up. I've been trying to get back into a groove. As assurance that all is nearly back to normal, here is Max in his 25 cent Nittany Lions hat from this morning's garage sale down the street. . .
I told him he looked like Gilligan and showed him a picture of Gilligan. He promptly got on a red shirt and this particularly gilliganny expression for me.
That's what my Dad used to say when we arrived home. This is me not knowing what it means.
The drive from Des Moines to Chicago was thankfully short, and I had a lovely evening with The MacMac Family. Mrs. MacMac took pity on my truckstopped-up guts and made us the most tasty hearty homecooked meal. Mr. MacMac introduced me to his neighbor, who took us for a trip back in time in one of these. . .
Then there was Little MacMac who is not nearly as little as he was just last Summer and had a tremendously less-little voice and struck fear into the pit of my soul as he forced me to realize that this too was very likely to happen to my very own Number One Son.
The last day's drive was icky. Should have been just 12 hours, but was closer to 16 due to a truck blowing up right at the exit I was supposed to use to get off of the seemingly interminable I80. Only 8 miles from my exit, the one I'd been counting down to all day, I saw this. . .
and this. . . .
But my homecoming was so worth the long day's drive. After unhooking the PT Cruiser in the elementary school parking lot at the bottom of the hill, I drove it home to find a big-fat-little-boy-made POSTER on my garage door! Then coming in the door I got huge gratuitous hugs and loves from ALL the Hults boys. In between, and lingering long after, was the lady who missed me the most: Emily. AK gave smooches too. Hers were less sloppy and she smelled considerably better, but you just can't beat the enthusiasm of a standard poodle who's been missing her big, brain-scratching alpha male.
Monday found me and four members in good standing of The Mormon Mafia emptying the covered wagon into a storage facility. The whole affair took less than an hour. So I had NO excuse for driving away from the storage facility WITH THE DOOR WIDE OPEN SO AS TO SHARE ALL OF GRAMMAS BELONGINGS WITH ALL OF THE STORAGE PLACE'S FINE CLIENTS. They called the next day and we fixed it. And that reminded me that I'd left the keys for the storage lock and the trailer lock ON THE KEY RING WHICH WAS NOW SAFELY IN THE HANDS OF THE PENSKE TRUCK PEOPLE. Fixed that, and was happy to see many other truck keys with people's lock keys still on them. It would seem I was still a little shmoopy from the trip.
Gramma has been dealing with all the exciting/frustrating parts of moving, with mostly AK's help. I've been trying to get back to work and to get caught up. I've been trying to get back into a groove. As assurance that all is nearly back to normal, here is Max in his 25 cent Nittany Lions hat from this morning's garage sale down the street. . .
I told him he looked like Gilligan and showed him a picture of Gilligan. He promptly got on a red shirt and this particularly gilliganny expression for me.
posted by Chris at
9:10 PM
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