One Horse Town

The phrase "one horse town" (according to the internet) was an expression first used in the 1850's when there were more horses than people in some American towns. If a town had only one horse, it must have been really small with very little happening. Monmouth -- my one horse town. Not very little happening but you will see why I label it as such if you read on...

Here is some background on what you need to know about me if you do not already. I have this fear of childbirth. No, I am not pregnant now -- this is a fear that is always there. It's not your normal, nervous, scared to be pregnant fear -- this is a very real "I don't believe this is natural or possible" fear. In general, I really get nervous about illness and being where you need to be when you need care. So, when Josh asked me to move to the country with him -- well, all I could picture was giving birth in a straw pile in the barn with Melissa Gilbert (Laura Ingells Wilder) assisting me -- with no drugs. Or, even in other instances, having something happen to one of us (heart attack, seizure, etc) and taking forever to get to the hospital. Irrational -- probably? Real feeling -- definitely! But, I tried to calm myself and said it would be okay -- even if I ever do have a baby and then I have to camp out at a hotel (no joke) near the hospital when I am nearing my eventual due date some day (hospital being at least 15 miles away). 

The other thing you should know is that I love crime shows -- CSI; Criminal Minds; Law and Order: SVU. I watch them religiously. I love them. I study them. I learn about them. I live vicariously through some of these investigators. I also realized that most killers (specifically on Criminal Minds) are out in the woods, or the country, if you will. And due to this, I sometimes have to stop myself from watching this show at night when Josh is gone -- and I am not usually freaked out. But it happens now.

So...as you read on...remember those two items and perhaps you can understand my mind set as I engage in this conversation with my fiance.

Josh was telling me a story about something that happened at work and within the story he says..."...., and so we figured we should call the sheriff..."  I let the story complete, before I ask, "what does that mean?" He seemed confused so I expanded to ask what the difference was between the sheriff and the police -- fearing the answer but praying it was just another country term and they meant the same thing.

It didn't. My fears were realized. The police, as we know them, do not service the country. The sheriff meets our needs if we need something out where we live -- but since he services the whole county, he might take awhile to get to us. WHAT?! I have flashes of labor, heart attacks, and escaped prisioners breaking into our house...

How does one call the sheriff? I am so perplexed. I say "Can't I just call 911 to get help???"
Josh confirms that I can - but that they will forward me to the sheriff. Who apparently may be busy or too far away to help me. The police...will forward me to the sheriff. My future father-in-law confirms this -- that the sheriff might be busy and that I might be better off calling a neighbor for help. Oh my gosh!

As Josh tells me this, I sit in stunned silence in the car. Now do I think we are going to need the "sheriff" often? No. Are my fears over the top? Well sure. But that still does not mean that this is not a concern...getting help, any kind of medical or police help, when you need help seems critical to me. I advised Josh that he left these details out, and it is amazing when you live a life, you sometimes forget what other people may not know. It never occurred to him to mention the police will not come and there is a mysterious sheriff who may come to my aid if he is not drinking coffee in Roseville at the bowling alley.

Needless to say, my phone contacts are now filled with neighbors. And when asked, "So, how do I reach this sheriff should I need to call?" Josh said, "Just call 911..." Well, that is if my phone service works...

Oh Monmouth -- my one horse town...

Stranger Danger does not apply in Monmouth, IL

I'm in a new place, with a new job, and let's face it, with limited friends. This means lunches are a little quieter than they use to be. I often spend that time alone, which I am finding is good quiet or planning time in my day. Since I love to read, I am often found armed with my Kindle in hand for some down time over lunch.

Today I went to Subway for a quick bite to eat before running a few errands. First, when walking in, I see my future sister-in-law in the drive through (how does that happen?!), and we chat. Then I go inside and hear a familiar voice behind me, only to find Josh's friend and groomsmen, Sean Lee. Small world. Familiar faces. I just laugh at how small this town is if we are that limited in our lunch rotation locations.

I sit at a table, open my Kindle, and begin my lunch - my introvert side takes over and I am pleased to not have to talk to anyone and rather escape into the solititude of my most recent book. I hear someone UN-familiar now say "excuse me".

When I look up, it seems like a nice older man, and he is standing at my table. He begins to inquire about my Kindle. This is not foreign to me as this happens more often than you would think -- both in Monmouth and elsewhere. People always want to know if I like the Kindle, do I use it a lot, etc. In this case, this man is thinking of buying one for his wife for Christmas so wants the details. I am happy to smile and provide them, especially when he apologizes and says that he does not intend to take me away from my reading long.

As we chat for a minute, he seems to develop more questions and then says "Mind if I join you?"
Ummm...guess not...
What do I say? So he sits.
I think, no big deal, just wants to rest his weary feet while he asks me his plethora of questions on the Kindle vs. the Nook, how easy it is to set up, which version of Kindle to buy, what if she doesn't understand technology, etc., etc. So I give him the scoop -- freely and happily -- because I LOVE my Kindle.

Something odd happens while he sits though -- he begins to open his lunch on the table where my lunch is already opened -- and now I am having lunch with this perfect stranger -- talking about where I work, how long I have lived in Monmouth, where he lives, Western Illinois University (yes, he went to school there too, but as he commented "probably graduated well before me"), and his comments on what my transition from Chicago to Monmouth must be like.

This is very odd to me -- I do not feel in danger (oddly since I am practically providing my life information) but rather just kind of weirded out that no one thinks this is out of place but me. In the city, this does not often happen...or maybe ever. You don't really even make eye contact sometimes, sadly. Maybe that's a problem in many ways. Not as open and friendly, I get that. Do people ask people questions, sure...as I said, people in airports or elsewhere have inquired about my Kindle...but no one has ever done it over lunch!

We never exchange names and I soon pack my lunch up to leave, with little of my book read. He apologizes for tearing me away from my reading but thanks me for the advice. He sells insurance, that's all I know. I hope his wife gets a Kindle for Christmas, and told him so.

I texted Josh immediately telling him that no way did a stranger just join me for lunch...only in Monmouth!

In Chicago we learned about strangers -- "Stranger Danger" -- don't talk to strangers. In Monmouth, I think they have different rules. As Mr. Outgoing (Josh) says, "I have never met a stranger". I, on the other hand, know plenty...and met another one today...WILD!

Visions of Ratatouille

I had this great heating pad...I loved it. It's not your normal heating pad...the old school kind with a cord that you plug in. No. This thing was high tech -- small, padded rectangle, with something inside (never knew what was inside), you put it in the microwave, warm it up and ahhh....relaxation. What a treat! I used it over the years and quite appreciated the ease of using it.

Mr. Country Mouse apparently also enjoys my heating pad --- and was happy to show me what was inside...corn! Yes, about two weeks ago, I opened a drawer to look for something and saw my heating pad. It was ripped open with corn all over. I knew immediately what this meant, despite being a city girl. I knew it didn't just get a hole and spill out corn. Nope, this was an animal. It had to be. I showed Josh and he said "I think I know what caused that." Really? So do I, country boy. I remain calm...for a few minutes...then I lose it a bit. I mean, come on! I don't want to share my space with these creatures. Josh is sorry, but it's not really his fault.

So with all my strength, I get it together, I smile, and I throw away my heating pad, simply saying that if I knew corn was inside, I could have probably made my own...or will now make my own, as I am sewing again, and we clearly have access to corn... but alas, this is not the end.

I know it's just a mouse. A small field mouse, likely. He can't do much harm. But I begin having visions of this mouse being out and about as I walk into the bathroom, now afraid I will step on him in the dark. Is he watching me at night? I imagine he is -- at the end of the bed -- like Ratatouille (even though that was a rat). Twitching his little whiskers, getting the last laugh on this city girl. Rationally, I have no clear thoughts on this mouse. All I see is this creature in my space.

And, he is. Because then I pull out some clothes...and yes, remenants of him nesting in my tshirts! AGH! I call Josh into the room, and he sighs. I know he is afraid I am about to lose it again. I am not about to lose it emotionally,  but I have a bad gag reflex, so I am literally about to lose it. I have to leave as I am gagging over this experience. Josh sadly tells me that it would be best if we wash all the clothes that were involved in this vicinity, which leads to 3 more loads of laundry. But I don't want to wear tshirts with mouse poop on them so, after my bitterness fades, I am okay doing this laundry. 

Now what? This is my big question, over and over. NOW WHAT?! I hope he's gone. But how do we know? And, even better yet, how do we keep him out again? Don't say it...I have already heard it at least five times in the last few weeks -- "get a cat", "get a dog". How does getting more animals solve my problems when I do not want the ones we have??? Two points I will make to counter this argument -- #1, our dog would stay outside so that does not help me if the mouse is already inside; and #2, if the mouse is not yet inside, I hear the dog can catch it -- and then shows up at the door with the mouse in his mouth. Not a sight I need in my life anymore than knowing I stepped on or saw a mouse in the dark. There are certain images in life you don't need.

My future in laws give me some "mice advice" -- my future mother-in-law states that sometimes the mice eat the poison, go into the walls, die between the walls, and then it will smell for about two weeks...and you can't do anything about it. Josh screams "Mom! Don't tell her that..."  But, she says, "It's true and she must know the truth." Only two weeks...could be worse...

So, we bait the house -- or we talk about baiting it a lot -- and then I push my fiance on the urgency of this situation. Since we have no dog/cat or even other yard animals that we care about (see story on raccoons), Josh puts poison around the house to help keep the animals out. Yay! Now on to traps...I saw them when I moved in -- the black box traps. Where are those? Josh says, "do you know how expensive those are?" Um...first of all, no (why would I have any clue about this?); second of all, I don't want to spend a lot of money for this so I don't disagree, but; third of all, weren't we just talking about paying an exterminator to take care of a snake? Priorities...

I don't care really so I will settle for any trap that gets us 1-0 over this mouse. Josh is working on traps that he says will have peanut butter or cheese on them and trap the little guy. I said, "In my closet? So basically, I will open the closet and see him dead there?" Josh says, "Um, no, you will open your closet, hear some squeaking, and then call me and say get this mouse out of here." He won't be dead. Just trapped. Special. I celebrate animal rights everywhere.

We are still on the hunt for this mouse, and I still creep into the bathroom at night. He won't get one up on me. We will battle and I will win...because after all, Mr. Mouse, you don't mess with a girl's heating pad!

Pranks are only funny if they are really pranks!

We live in an older farm house that we are updating as we go. We have a stubborn storm door. It's not in the best shape and it does not seal well. It has been known to blow open with a strong wind, leaves and other debris can sometimes be found in the mud room, which leads to our door to go into the house (up four stairs), and the door makes noise a lot. Josh is always saying "we need to get a new door". However, in the big picture of life, a door is not your priority really.

The other thing you should know is my fiance and those in the "neighborhood", have been known to play pranks on each other from time to time. They warned me about these pranks, as I am not necessarily a fan of pranks. But boys will be boys out on the farm.

Yesterday, I came home from work. I was distracted, talking to my sister on the phone, juggling my work bag, our mail, grocceries, including milk, and I threw the door open, ready to tackle the stairs, barely glancing downward. I saw it though...out of the corner of my eye. A snake. Laying there on the second step.

I didn't scream or even react. As I said I was on the phone with my sister. In my head, I said "Oh, that's not a good prank." Josh, my fearless fiance, is not scared of much, but he did tell me about his fear of snakes. They give him the creeps, as they do for most of us, but they REALLY freak him out. They did for my grandpa too -- you couldn't even talk about them. So I understood. So when I see this "snake" laying there, I assume his buddies have played a prank and put a rubber snake there for him to find. I decide (all in my head as I am talking to my sister) that I need to get it out of there before he gets home, as he will not think it is funny, and that's just the kind of helpful fiance I am. Plus, he's working late hours so he would come home in the dark and see it, which would only make it worse.

I stumble into the house, put the bags down, still talking to my sister and open the door leading back to the steps and the mud room to get this stupid rubber snake out of there. As I step downward towards it though, it moves. Maybe? Just a little. Did that just really happen? Surely I am now freaking myself out. So I stomp my foot a little harder on the next step, and the snake moves for real...and now I scream and gasp...and my sister wonders what is going on. Oh crap. That's a real snake...practically in our house!

Now I don't love snakes, but I am still thinking it is my responsibility to get rid of this thing before Josh gets home. But I tell my sister, I don't have a clue how to get a snake out of your house. She helps me brainstorm, but with our city ways, we really don't have a clue. So I stand there staring at it, while it peacefully lays near the door of our house. How did this darn thing get in here? All I know is that I can't just put it right outside the door as it will be back.

I hang up with my sister and I make the dreaded call to my fiance. He's in a tractor, I can hear it, and I sweetly say "I hate to bother you..." I know he will not want to hear this news. I don't need him to take care of it, as I know this is his worst nightmare (one he is not afraid to claim, even in his most manly moments), but I need advice. You see, in the city, we don't find snakes in our house often, and I don't know what to do or who to get to help me. This is not welcomed news to my fiance. He wants to know where it is, how big it is, and I can tell from his voice that this is not going to be a good situation. I offer to take care of it, I offer to call his dad, I basically offer to do anything I can to help...but he says he is on his way there, and I should just "keep an eye on that little bugger". So I wait and I watch him.

As Josh arrives home, he cautiously pushes the door open to peek in at this snake. A snake I have been close to many times already (and am so thankful was off to the right hand side or in my distraction of getting into the house, I would have found said snake under my foot! Then I might have been the one who needed counseling instead of my fiance). He calls his friend, Sean, to come help. He is surprised how close I will get to the snake, so I try to help with the process as best we can, as Sean is 20 minutes out and this is a crisis.

If you don't know Josh, you won't know that he opposite of me in many ways. He's the calm one. He's the laid back one. He's the one with patience. He teases me about my lack of these traits sometimes, especially patience. My friends, I want you to know what I saw in that moment was none of those traits -- and it was glorious! He was not calm and he was not patient. He couldn't wait for Sean, or come up with a plan with me. We paid the price. He got brave and went after the snake, with much struggle and much swearing. We got the snake outside, which was good, but the snake got pissed. And as we struggled to get it into a container to dispose of it, the snake slithered away -- yes, slithered so quickly in the blink of an eye. My fiance did not like this -- he got pissed right back. He went after the snake, calling him a lot of names, and stepped on his tail with full force. And that is when I had to look away and cringe. Yuck.

So I thought we were done, except for another animal carcuss. But apparently stepping on a snake does not kill him, and Josh moved his foot...and the snake left. But by leaving, I mean he slithered alongside the crack in the foundation by the house, getting away or at least burrowing himself into a new location. This did not make Josh happy at all. (I wasn't thrilled either). He said he did not want that snake getting into our house, into the basement, and I could finally agree with this thought process. But he was gone. We couldn't do anything.

I suggested we spray Raid in the crack. This is often my solution for unwanted pests, as my K-State staff will recall a certain gecco getting into my apartment and my mad Raid skills taking care of him. But, apparently this is not the solution for snakes in the country. He is very concerned about this snake, when Sean finally arrives. They hatch plans but none of them work because, as I get down on my hands and knees near the foundation crack, with a flashlight, I inform them that the snake is gone. Nothing there.

Josh says he now has to hire an exterminator. (I want to laugh but I don't). Um...okay. I understand this fear. I really do. Because I don't want a snake in our house, nor do I want many other things, like mice. I remind him though that I have seen a dead mouse in the basement, and no one seems concerned about that. He said "Dead mice I can handle. Live mice I can handle. Not a snake." Okay. I get it. But when I don't want the mice, I hope we get as urgent about the exterminator as we are in this moment -- and if not, I will show him this blog as a reminder.

It gave me the creeps. I almost reached out and grabbed that snake thinking it was a prank. I would have been traumatized. As a loved one told me, "With the bird and now the snake, I would be OUT of there!" Farm life. Although Josh says that is not it -- he says he has never seen a snake there before. Well, it does stay in your mind, although we were not allowed to discuss it anymore. The snake, similiar to Voldemort in the Harry Potter series, is he-who-shall-not-be-named in our household. When I left this morning, I did look down at my feet through my journey in the mud room and out the door.

And, after much chaos, drama, swearing, fear, and panic...Josh says we are getting a new door THIS weekend!

There once was a bird...

Last week, Thursday, I was driving on the country road. I approached three birds. I didn't worry or slow down much, as birds "get it" and they fly away. I approached them and sure enough, they flew... except one wasn't so fast. No spring chicken, this bird! So, I hit him.

All I hear is this noise -- "whoomp" -- and I cringe. Realizing I hit the bird because he couldn't follow his friends fast enough. Bummer. I don't think much about it. I figure he is dead on the road and it's the result of living in the country. We all have to face those!

Friday, I am running some errands, and I go around the front of my car (who ever does that?)...and there, stuck in the grill of my car, is the bird mentioned above. Oh my gosh -- a bird stuck in my car! How is this happening to me?! I can handle it though, I figure...so I try to get the bird unstuck and out of my grill, but it's stubborn, apparently. (I only tried so hard before I decided it was gross).

Next best thing is to send Josh a text: "I might have hit a bird, and it might have gotten stuck in the grill on my car. If that is the case, can you help me get it out?" I knew he would laugh at me but this was serious. A bird was all up in my grill!!! He agreed to help because I was cute in asking and he felt sorry for me...and he's a country man, so I figured he had more experience with animals (remember the raccoons?!).

When I got home, I didn't want to park my car in the garage -- I had no idea if dead birds would smell (remember the skunk?!). We didn't have time to deal with dead bird before getting out of town and we were taking Josh's car anyway. He offered to put the car away but I felt like a dead bird in the garage was not a good idea.

Sunday, we come home, and as we are pulling into the farm, Josh says he will get the bird taken care of, as we both almost forgot. We pull alongside my car. I look. No bird. Gone. Nothing.

He laughs -- says an animal must have taken care of it. I am stunned, just staring at the car (and he knows it was there because he saw it on Friday). What? An animal...came close to our car (which is near the house), pulled dead bird out of the grill, and took it away for us? No way. This is not even possible. I said, "Surely not. I am sure your Dad saw it and just helped us out." Josh said "Maybe, but I don't think so. I think it was an animal." I just keep saying "Are you kidding?" Even as we are walking into the house, I am in disbelief about an animal coming to take this bird carcuss off my hands.

We saw Jimmy, my future father in law, that night. I ask him about said bird...he says no. Never saw it. Oh my gosh... seriously?! This is crazy...

You just never know...

You never know what you will see or hear in the country.

Let's start what you will see. As the saying goes, "Toto, I'm not in Kansas anymore". I have lived in Kansas but in this case, I thought to myself "Toto, I am not in Chicago anymore"! I am driving to work this morning, cruising along on the backroads, jamming to the radio, when I see movement up ahead. I slow down, figuring it is a dog (see a previous blog on my feelings on this concept). I am near an area where they leave their dog out and said dog has been known to be in the middle of the road, or alongside the road, which is still a scary place to be, if you ask me. But as I approach (this all happening in seconds), I see it seems bigger. I should have had my glasses on and then I might have reacted sooner. But, my mind says "what IS that?" knowing now it is NOT a dog. Then I say, out loud in my car, (excuse my language), "Holy Shit, those are cows!"

Yep, loose cows alongside and on the road. (I have never seen this!) This, I find, is a much bigger problem than the dog. What the heck do I do? I slow down, of course. I roll down my window -- why? I have no idea. To talk to the cow? To reason with the cow? It seemed like a good idea at the time. As the first cow looks me right in the eye, I decide that maybe the window should be closed, and I seal her up! I slowly drive as the cows are inching along the side of the road, and some from the middle of the road are deciding if they want to move or not. About six cows...loose! I am literally laughing out loud.

First, I take out my phone to take a photo...because this is clearly blog worthy...then I call Josh, and in my laughter, I simply say "I am on the road and there are cows loose. Cows! In the middle of the road." I don't know what to do ... I don't want to hit them, and I certainly don't want them to get mad and ram at my car. Josh says they have not been known to charge at a car, but you never know. It would be my luck that I would be the first. So I slowly ease past them, looking, laughing and not believing this. Josh asks me where they are, and says he will call someone. Um...okay... that's so wild to me. How do you know who they belong to? And, you just call, and say what... your cows are loose and they are freakin' out my city girlfriend? Maybe he found another way to express it. When I get to work, now late, I explain to my assistant why I am late. While she chuckles, and seems to show empathy towards my plight, this seems to be a reasonable explanation for being late around here.

 Other times, you never know what you will hear. Sometimes I feel like there is a language that I have not learned, and I am trying to keep up with the interchangeable terminology. Sometimes it is simple, sometimes it is complex. Sometimes it makes sense, and other times...!

Josh and I are talking last week about a piece of furniture in our house. I am talking about moving it, and he is explaining why moving it might not work. In the middle of the discussion, free flowing about said piece of furniture, he says "hall tree". I stop him and say "what did you say?" He says, 'The hall tree." Um... okay... where I come from, we call that a "coat rack"! But, to his logical credit, it is normally located in a hall, and I guess it looks like a tree... so hall tree. Got it. Who knew?!

Other examples I am learning about... (there are more every day but I can't recall them all now)
Should we meet for supper? (This actually means dinner...the evening hour...)
Should we meet for dinner? (This actually means lunch...the afternoon meal)
Are your folks coming to town? (This means parents)
We need to get fuel. (This means we are going to the gas station for gas)

And the crick means the creek... that one I will never get...

Maybe On Star Can Save Me?!

I am sure, no matter where you are from, when you give directions to an "outsider", it makes sense to you. I try to remind myself of this. I mean, I am from Chicago...so how does it sound to people when we say "Take I-55 North until you get to the 294 junction, then merge right and you will pay a toll..."? Sounds easy enough... but maybe not to someone who comes from the country.

So...when I decide to embark on a road trip to Burlington, IA (to go to Kohl's), I assume it should be easy. I casually say to Josh, "To get to Burlington, I head towards Macomb..." and he immediately chuckles (only slightly) and tells me "No. You don't go towards Macomb." Okay. Hmmm. How do I get there? Josh proceeds to say bits and pieces like this... "Go down the road, past Mike's house, past Jayden's house, take the first gravel road to the right. Take it and follow it straight when it turns to black top." Through the conversation, I get other directions like, "When you see the big yellow building, make a left."

The thing is -- most of the time, I can follow that, which is very odd to me. That's how people give directions around here. There's not a lot of streets being used, and it's more about landmarks. Landmarks, I am not really familiar with but seem second nature to others. Needless to say, I do my best to keep up. I followed his directions, despite being nervous, despite the rain, and I doubted myself at one point -- I called him, only to have him reassure me that yes, I was going the right way. Okay! (He checked on me four hours later to make sure I made it... a little delayed but the Bears were playing...)

I got to Burlington. Eventually found Kohl's. Started to travel home. I had lost my way so I had to use some GPS guidance on the way home. The GPS does not know the same directions as Josh, so I am routed home a different way -- I don't care. Probably not the shortest, best way, but gets the job done. Alas, when I get close to town, I see the exit off the highway -- one way to Monmouth...one way to Macomb! I confront my lovely fiance later, again stating that you can obviously get to Burlington by heading towards the direction of Macomb (just as I thought), to prove I am not totally losing my sense of direction in the country. He conceeds...yes, you can, but not really from our house... But, it can be done. Again, not the best or shortest way, but a way nonetheless. I wonder if I will ever learn? It's hard on me, as an independent person, to not be able to find my way around. I have never had this much trouble - it's really hard when it all looks the same...and now it is really confusing because harvest has started so corn is missing every day when I drive around -- so much for my self made landmarks!

But, I am a determined girl and I am not prone to giving up -- so when I decide to try to take a Zumba class in Kirkwood, I figure I can find my way. I didn't get a chance to ask for directions this time -- but I have mapquest, my phone, and a GPS...and Kirkwood is suppose to be small and just 15 minutes away. Piece of cake! Not so much. The streets on the mapquest directions did not exsist in the country -- where they may be calling it Kirk Rd. or North St., it might have been Rt. 165. Who knows? All I know, is those directions were thrown out and I was beginning to panic. The phone let me down, with the map showing me completely off course, but the nice red push pin highlighting where I was SUPPOSE to be in Kirkwood. Just as I am about to give up, I see a sign: "Kirkwood" with an arrow to the right -- I swing a right. I figure, once I get to town, I can surely find the Kirkwood Gym.

Funny thing happens in the country vs. the city. When you grow up in a certain atmosphere, you have images in your mind of things -- so when you hear them in a different enviornment, you still get a visual of what to expect. I am here to tell you, that visual is wrong 90% of the time. Kirkwood Gym for Zumba class. For my city friends, I picture a smaller version of Bally's Gym or Gold's Gym -- something along those lines. I wasn't naive enough to think it would be that big, especially in such a small town...but "gym", makes me think of that vision.

Driving through Kirkwood, I had plugged in the GPS. It squaks at me "You have arrived". I pause. "I have arrived?" Where? I look around. I don't see a gym, and I fear the GPS has also led me astray. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see something...could it be...ahhh, yes... the Kirkwood gym...

Yep. A small red brick building, with a small white sign above it, hidden in the trees. I park (no idea where to park) by a church, cross the road, enter in a nervous fashion, only to find a gym...literally...where I later learned my sweetness use to play basketball growing up. A gym. What else would I have expected? Why was I surprised? Simply stated - a gym is just that, a gym, where one plays basketball and there are bleachers. Again, gets the job done for Zumba class, but not what I was expecting.

More lessons learned. I need to alter my visions and expect the unexpected. And, as we look at new cars, I need the Chevy vehicle with the On Star version programmed for the country roads please...