The Twilight Zone

Listening to the local public radio out of Kentucky, I learned Friday that Rod Serling graduated from Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio. Evidentally, there is some anniversary surrounding he and his alma mater. I took it as just another piece of synchronicity. In the last two weeks, I've begun a regular life in parallel universes and life has gone from frenetic to warp speed -- common fare for the twisted talents of the Twilight Zone creator.

At last writing, the family fortress was a shell and I was lingering in limbo waiting for US Bank to call the latest step in a dance that would determine if there was Muchmore in my future. All my worldly belongings save my children sat captive in the conscious hands of James, my Arpin driver, and I played peek-a-boo with Enterprise car rental. One day I'd call ready to get the cargo van to move my plants and items from which I could not be parted, the next day I'd be canceling it. After letting US Bank look at everything but my fillings, Monday night I finally said I'd had enough. My banker, Jeff, sensed that my good nature was dangerously close to morphing into something unpleasant.

Luckily, cousin Mary Buhrmann came down to help and distract me. Her strategy? Bacon burgers and chocolate malts. I stepped out on a limb and finally committed to the cargo van. It wasn't pretty but Mary kept me from completely losing my perspective.

I don't know what it was I thought I could do by telling my banker I was done doing the jig. I'd gotten so good at jumping to Plan B, that it never occurred to me I might lose the house. In the end, the important thing was knowing I could lose it and be OK. Given Jeff's concern over my pronouncement, it occurred to me that I probably should have pulled the "I'm done card" more often in the course of my life. Sometimes people thoughtlessly call the jumps with no real understanding of what they're asking. At any rate, Monday night Mary asked my intentions--and I told her I was proceeding as if I was closing on Tuesday. I sacked out on the floor of the Lexington living room one more time and Mary crashed on the couch. Thomas walked through the field of bodies on his way through after work and Leinie cozied in by my feet. At 6am after another fitful night's sleep, I got up and Mary and I loaded the van in a light rain working around the guys who'd shown up to begin work on the fire damage. At 8:05 I called Jeff for word. At 8:15am he called back trying to make a joke which failed badly. The gist was that I was indeed closing on the house at 5:30pm in Cincinnati. I had, of course, been through the worst case scenario on closing and knew that 8:30am was my drop dead time for making the 5:30 deadline. Hell, 15 minutes slop--no sweat.

If I had any doubt about the presence of angels before this move, I became a true believer when Mary showed up Magellan GPS in hand.

Mary and I are women of excess and make no bones about it. Why else would we have chosen to move the same week. Mary's move was more and less traumatic than mine. She's moved a couple times in the last few years and so had already survived purging the family accumulation--but, in true Van Bogaert fashion she boldly packed up this time in anticipation of rather than response to a new job. I tried to entice her to forget her life for a few days and join me in my panic--but uncharacteristically, she chose to be sensible over the adventure. Feeling bad about sending me off alone, however,

she sent "Merrill"--her GPS as my first housewarming gift. It was love at first site. Little did I know I would pathetically come to look forward to her familiar voice as the reality of my "folly" settled in . . . to be continued . . .