It’s five o’clock in the afternoon, and I’m sitting in the Maritime Hotel in New York City, marveling at how long it takes to get from St. Joseph, MI, to the Big Apple. Especially during football season.

I started from our house this morning at 8 AM to drive to O’Hare for a Noon flight East. In the first place, it seems inefficient to drive West to fly East; I much rather drive to South Bend and fly directly East from there.

But this weekend the SBN flights were either filled, scheduled for times that didn’t accommodate my schedule, or were twice as expensive as flying direct from O’Hare. I blame this on the University of Notre Dame, the same university that supposedly has a direct line to God.

The Fighting Irish played the Boston College Eagles yesterday afternoon, which means that the South Bend Regional Airport was filled with alumni and other dignitaries coming and going. Which means the rest of us got second class status. Which means I’m also paying Chicago prices instead of South Bend prices to park my car while I’m gone.

I thought of sending up my own comments to God regarding this matter, but I figured He was tired and was taking advantage of His day of rest. After all, He and the Notre Dame coach pulled off a win yesterday. I guess something had to give elsewhere.

Last Saturday Earl and I went to Best Buy to scout out flat panel TVs. They weren’t hard to scout; they were everywhere. Every model, every size, every style – and they were all turned to the same channel. How do they do that?

It was a most frustrating experience and we left empty-handed. (See Day Eighteen) But because today’s weather was uncooperative, we decided to forego attending the Notre Dame vs. Boston College football game in person and watch it at home instead. This meant there was time to return to Best Buy and attempt to purchase the new TVs.

Earl encouraged me to go alone since asking a myriad of questions, waiting around while one clerks asks another clerk for answers, and then checking every item on the bill has never been his thing. “You’re the detail person,” he said. “You go. I just want big and really clear.”

So off I went, having already had a home consultation and two other Best Buy representatives offer their opinions about what we should purchase. This time I met with Alex, the supervisor in the Home Theatre Department (There’s no such thing as a television department any more.) Alex and I poured over all the recommendations, and then he offered a few of his own. I guess all my previous homework paid off because it really didn’t take very long to reach the final decisions.

And, yet . . . I was at Best Buy for two hours. I said, TWO HOURS!

If I thought deciding what model and what accessories to purchase was harrowing, it was nothing when stacked against the experience of actually paying for them. Alex handed me off to Melissa at this point, claiming she was the one who actually created the order in the computer. I suspect this was only half-true; the other half was that Alex probably had shirked his supervisor duties and needed to assume them again.

Melissa and her computer did not seem to be friends; she had to run the totals more than once for the three computers and the wiring and the headsets I’d settled on. And every time she did, her computer stalled at the question: What country are you in? Wasn’t it obvious?

Then I wanted to discuss installation procedures, rebates I was entitled to, and possible extended warranties. But Melissa’s computer wouldn’t think of it until I had actually put the merchandise on my credit card. This led to a lengthy effort on her part to offer me a no-interest, 36 month loan if I would open a Best Buy credit card. I opted out. The computer wasn’t happy.

Finally, when all was finished, I said to Melissa, “Does it always take this long to buy a television here?” She looked sheepish, as if dreading the answer more than the question.Her eyes flickered as she debated the truth. “Yes,” she finally said. “It’s because we have outdated computers that are really hard to use. They often go down in the middle of a transaction too.” Then she said the ever-popular and always-annoying, “Sorry about that.”

I wasn’t as sorry for myself as I was for the four people waiting in line to meet Melissa and her computer. I hope they all had a lot of time on their hands.

Our closing on the new condo is scheduled for Monday, November 2, at 10 AM. Of course, this is always a moveable date up to November 2 at 9:59 AM. A Waldo can arise at any given moment.

Today, however, I choose to believe we will close on time. With that in mind, I’ve begun scheduling all the other installations, the ones the builder isn’t responsible for completing before he hands the keys over to us and we in turn hand over a large chunk of money to the mortgage lender.

We are not moving for another week after we close; in this time, I want the new flat panel televisions we are purchasing installed. But that can’t be done until the people from Comcast come out and deliver those ugly boxes that work with the TVs. And protocol requires that can’t happen until the utilities (a sure sign of ownership) are in our name. Then there are the window treatments which I want installed before we actually sleep there, because there isn’t a lot of distance between our windows and our neighbor’s. (This alone may require Earl and me to rethink our minimalist sleeping attire.) The washer, dryer, and glass shower door must be installed; otherwise we’ll have cleanliness issues. The telephone company must make an appearance; otherwise there’ll be communication issues.

And, while it isn’t absolutely necessary I’m having a couple hundred tulip bulbs planted and our birdbath (which was once part of Wacker Drive in Chicago) put in place.
Finally, the movers will bring the furniture – that we didn’t send to auction – and set it in the various rooms.

I leave for New York on business this Sunday and return just before Halloween Weekend. If I’ve calculated correctly that will be Day 56, and we’ll have exactly two weeks to go in our moving countdown. So let the final organization begin . . .

I decided I just had to have a fried donut. So today, after weight training at the local gym, I visited Martin’s Supermarket for a latte and a fried donut. The latte is a regular tradition, while I can’t say how many years it’s been since I yearned for a fried donut.

Nevertheless, Martin’s had them and I chose one with a sugar glaze. Plopped it into a bag while the barista made my latte and then took both items to my car. Before starting up, I picked off a piece of the donut and savored it, followed by a big gulp of my usual morning beverage. Some people might not want to go to heaven unless there are cookies there, but me? I want fried donuts.

Spent the rest of the day working and planning. This is the busiest season at work, because we are a retail company that depends on end-of-the-year holiday sales to achieve our final goals. The fact that I’m moving at this time adds stress – although it certainly wasn’t planned this way – so I’m prioritizing away. Here’s what I’ve decided.

In the grand scheme of things – work, moving, personal enjoyment – the most important thing is to do payroll on time. Otherwise, I could be tarred and feathered – or at least, fired – if our staff doesn’t have beer money every other Friday. Next, is that we absolutely must be out of our house on Friday, November 13. It doesn’t matter where we are, as long as we are not here. Everything else is negotiable.

I can hire more help to move. I can worry about changing addresses and telephone numbers after the fact. I can wrap Christmas gifts later. And, I can cut back on the things I really enjoy, like playing piano and swimming. This last is a final resort, but I can do it if necessary. I may have to eat more fried donuts during this time, but I can do that too.

This blog could be titled “Random Thoughts on Waking Up.”

Nobody has ever written the Moby Dick story from the whale’s point of view.

Earl is taking his bird feeders with us when we move; I asked if he was giving the birds our forwarding address. He said yes.

I’m going to miss the gopher who lives in a hole in our yard; I can’t say the same for the rabbits.

My great-aunt Celia made the best fried donuts in the world, and – at age five – I ate them without a side serving of guilt. She played a mean game of Chinese checkers too.

I think some people consider me a contrarian. But what do they know?

The builder of our new condo has called me so often that I recognize his number on my Caller ID.

I’ve taken to carrying my new cellphone with me wherever I go. Earl says the next step is to turn it on. I really plan to get better at this when my old land line number disappears in about two weeks.

I really crave a fried donut.

When you consider that we put our home on the market eighteen months ago, it’s been a long haul. In that time, the real estate market tanked, the mortgage market tanked, and the economy in general tanked. Yet, in the end, we managed to sell our home.

No, we didn’t sell it at the price we’d hoped. Yes, we will have a mortgage at the new place, something we’d hoped to avoid had we sold at top dollar. No, we have no regrets. Yes, we’re eager to move on.

Given our ages (65 and 74) this new home could be the last one we have complete control over, determining the flooring and the paint on the walls and the appliances. Choosing the cabinet styles and the countertops. With this in mind, I’ve taken extra care to make wise decisions. And, so far, everything has met our expectations.

Isn’t it wonderful? Given the hassle we had with the process of selling our current residence, it’s so enjoyable to have a positive experience on the other end.

In spite of our moving project, this was such a glorious day that I had to take time to celebrate it. Summer and, to date, Autumn have not been particularly memorable what with colder than seasonal weather and rain and gloom on a regular basis. But today was inspiring.

I started it in a fretful mood, driving to the health club to swim. I fumed about the fact that the buyer of our current home wants to visit tomorrow with her friend from California, this while we’re in the process of packing and the house certainly doesn’t look like it did when she first toured it.

On the other hand, I relished the late sunrise and the colors that streaked the sky. I reveled in Handel’s music as I drove to the club. In addition, I noticed that whatever I put my mind on was what my mood became. So I determined to think lovely thoughts, as Mary Poppins would have encouraged years ago. I finished a freelance assignment, met with our gardener, and went to dinner with a couple friends. Now, at the end of the day, it’s all worked out, and I’m off to read the paper and think even lovelier thoughts.

The buyer comes tomorrow and I really don’t care. How’s that for mind over matter?

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. I’m referring to Charles Dickens’ opening line for A Tale of Two Cities, but I’m most definitely not referring to his classic novel. Rather, I’m describing our visit to Best Buy this afternoon.

We had a couple hours to kill between the time Earl returned from church and the time we were to attend a potluck social. So I suggested we visit the local Best Buy to begin studying what TVs we wanted in our new home. While I personally didn’t want any, I knew my roommate would have a different opinion. And, because I know defeat when I see it, I thought we should get this exercise behind us.

A few weeks ago we had the Geek Squad come to our new place and make recommendations. The young man answered questions and said he’d put together a proposal with everything we need and email it to me. The worst of times was that we didn’t know what those recommendations were because the PDF describing them got lost in the ether.

Instead, we strode into Best Buy and attached ourselves, barnacle-like, to the first salesperson we met in the home theater section. Truthfully, he could have been my son’s son in terms of age. He spouted manufacturers and TV sizes and hertzs with great skill, but we couldn’t understand a word. We told him there were recommendations lurking around somewhere, but he kept on reinventing the wheel until I was on overload while Earl watched the early Sunday afternoon football game on the most giant TV he could find.

Finally, Aaron the Youthful passed me off to Frank the Attentive. I went through the entire story again, reiterating that someone had come to our home to make personal recommendations. Frank took my name and went off to hunt for the company’s copy of said recommendations in the files.

It took a while, but suddenly it was the best of times. Frank found the missing PDF with its precise information. I poured over it and was relieved. My life had suddenly become that much easier. I knew what televisions to buy, what cords and cables; and I was duly relieved that the proposal recommended wireless headsets for every room. This way Earl can listen to any program to his heart’s content, while I can enjoy the silence that is my favorite noise.

Yes, let the best times roll . . .

I am lackadaisical. Should have gotten out of bed and gone to the health club to swim. But didn’t. Should have played an hour of piano to keep my fingers nimble. But didn’t. Should have packed some boxes for our pending move. But didn’t do that either.

Regardless of what’s going on in one’s life, there are times when it’s appropriate to take a day off. Sometimes you can plan it, but other times it forces itself on you unbidden. For today, for instance, I had high hopes, as described in my first paragraph. But when I stayed in bed after 8 AM, I knew things would have to adjust. I didn’t work out, practice piano, or pack a single box. Instead, I puttered, enjoyed a latte at the local Starbuck’s, got a flu shot, and spent much of the evening staring at the fire in our fireplace. After all, I won’t get to do that much longer.

So which is more productive? The day where you meet all your goals? Or the day where you lounge, still accomplish, and go to bed early? I can’t decide between the two since I think both are equally important.

It’s the usual Thursday mish-mash of exercising in the morning and working in the afternoon. Only today Earl and I have decided we’ll go out to dinner instead of waiting for our traditional Friday night date. I’m not sure why agreed to this, but I think it has to do with the stimulus package Tosi’s offers during the week. Supposedly the restaurant advertises various meals at discount prices, so we can eat for less. Which is not to be construed as being able to drink for less.

Regardless, we headed to Tosi’s to enjoy an early weekend date. After cocktails were served, much of our conversation over dinner revolved around our new home. I proposed closet arrangements; he offered ideas about the loft above the garage. I mentioned ceiling fans; he described flat panel TVs. I find this enjoyable, because it’s a project we’re both engaged in.

We elaborated and devised, planned and counter-planned, as he consumed eggplant and I enjoyed tilapia. Both were on the stimulus menu, so if our check still seemed high I suspect it was because of the cocktails involved. No matter. It was the ambience, conversation, and flavorful food that I’ll remember long after we pay the Visa bill.