Making Progress on Domer’s Move

I’ve just returned from The Land of the North, where My Favorite Domer will be moving later this summer.

Our journey was necessitated because Domer rather likes — and needs — a place to call Home, yet he obviously didn’t have one since he’s never lived North.

(Other than four years in South Bend, which often felt like “North”!)

We packed the car on Sunday and took off, Google maps in hand, prepared for an eight-hour road trip. Domer took the wheel first, giving me a chance to file my fingernails, place some phone calls, and read.

Some time after lunch, we found ourselves in the Podunk region of a neighboring state, watching as farm after farm flashed by, enjoying the bucolic scenery of cows and hay, corn and trees.

But we were on a two-lane state highway, and Domer was “lucky” enough to have several slowpokes in front of him — with no easy way of getting around them.

“Can’t we go any faster than 50?” he wondered aloud.

Not really, I said. The road is twisting and turning, you’ve got hills and No Passing signs.

“I can’t stand this! The idiot in front of me is just far enough behind the guy in front of him that I’d have to go around the whole lot of them, and there’s no time.”

Poor Domer.

Want me to take over, I asked.

“What more could you do?”

He had a point.

Eventually, we landed in The Land of the North, checked into a hotel, and decided to look around.

How can one city have so many confusing road signs, I wondered.

Normally, I have a great sense of direction. Sure, the compass inside my rear view mirror helps, but still.

These streets felt as if they were going north when they were going south, east when they were actually west, and I felt much like somebody had blindfolded me, spun me in circles, then instructed me to walk a straight line.

We learned it was easier for Domer to play navigator and me to drive.

Fewer angry words, too!

Because it was after-hours for leasing offices, we opted to eat dinner and get an early start the next day.


Armed with a map and a list of addresses, Domer and I set out in hopeful spirits.

The first couple of places we checked felt a little sketchy.

Nice enough, I suppose, and certainly reasonable in price, but nothing to write home about.

“Remember,” my sister had advised me, “Shacks are cheap for a reason.”

She knows this, having helped lease apartments for her two kids several times now, and I’ve never felt the need to experience everything for myself when I can learn from others!

Finally, I sensed Domer’s growing frustration and suggested we look at something on the pricier end of his list.

“I can’t afford that,” he whined.

(Yep, by that time both of us were whiny!)

We’ll just look, I said. You can’t compare if you don’t have anything to compare to.

(Where had I heard that before??)

Long story short, we both fell in love with the “fancy” place, and if all works out, that’s where Domer will live.

A place that’s safe. And clean.

One that fits his budget and has amenities (like snow-removal and private entrances).

A place I wouldn’t mind living myself.

If it weren’t in The Land of the North!