Moving Day

Eric and I successfully packed up our moving truck and began our caravan to Indiana. My brave husband impressively handled a 26-foot truck all day Saturday, a feat at which I would have failed. After twelve hours (or a baker's dozen if you include the time change), almost to the minute, we pulled up into the driveway of our home.

I made several observations along the route:

• As I followed the truck all day, it didn't take me long to become conscious of every detail on the rear of that truck; needless to say, the scenery didn't change much for me. The license plate consisted of six digits, and they were the same as the last six digits of Eric's social security number, with only one digit actually out of place...by one spot.

• One driver passing us felt so comfortable he was driving with his left foot hanging out the window.

• I can't say that, as a woman, I would feel comfortable living in Ogle County, Wisconsin.

• Eric almost stole $67 dollars of diesel. He swiped his card, filled up the truck, and then was told to park and proceed to a cashier. He circled over five minutes since all the truck spots were taken, and finally drove to supper nearby. Thinking he paid, but not wanting to be negligent, he took my car back. Fortunately, there were no open transactions.

• When you're driving a large truck, you have a vantage point others miss. A Camry passed me and I thought nothing of it, while Eric was craning his head to examine it; the roof was caved in, as if a boulder had fallen squarely in the center. As the sides were still intact, this occurrence was only visible to those higher up.

• A home without internet is not a home to us; we're still waiting for installation, so the library is our friend.