Is This Heaven? No, It’s Iowa!

Google Maps said it’s a 3 hour and 40 minute drive from Bloomington, Minnesota to Ankeny, Iowa. But if you factor in the weak bladder of a 50 year old woman and summer construction it was actually 3 hours and 10 minutes there, 3 hours and 30 minutes back.

I drive like a mofo. Were I younger with a stronger bladder and it were fall, past construction time, I’d get there before I left!

Interstate 35 is almost a totally straight drive from Bloomington to Des Moines. I could have almost closed my eyes and made it. Were there bumpers and no other drivers.

Ricky Nugget was going with me, until the last minute, when I told him to get out of the car and he did. You see, Ricky Nugget has been neglect in keeping his meds current and when one of his meds runs out, so does Ricky Nugget’s level of tolerance toward his wife. And when his level of tolerance toward his wife is low or gone, his wife’s level of willingness to take him along to Des Moines is also gone.

He figured out his meds while I was gone and I got a king-sized bed all to myself.

Couple of things about Iowa from the central north to the central center…

1) It’s very flat. You can see the corn growing a few counties away.

2) Those giant wind generator things are scary as hell.  One on it’s own is eerie. But a farm of 60 of them is downright creepy. On the way home, I passed three trucks hauling three of the whirlygig doohickies that spin and scare me. They’re even scarier when they’re detached and right next to you. I try to  make them less frightening by calling them whirlygig doohickies, which is probably how the durigible got it’s name, too. (just not from me)

Another thing about Iowa…

3) B-Bop’s has got to be the shittiest hamburger I have ever eaten. Also? They’ve got this weird drive-thru pay-window thing going on and I ended up following the guy in front of me and having to pay through the passenger-side window. And there was an arrow on the path that said we were going in the right direction. What the hell. That is not a question. That is a statement saying that that is some stupid stuff. And your hamburgers suck. Making Sonic’s burgers look juicy. Which they are not.

I took the back roads to Allison’s funeral. Got to go through Dan’s growing up hometown. That made me tear up. Reminded me of when Dan and I were in college and I stole his high school sweatshirt for a period of time to wear for my own, just because I wanted to, until one day he finally just gave the damn thing to me. Which was after he’d left college and his bassett hound, Otis, ate most of the sweatshirt.

What a perfect little Iowa small town. Big old grain elevator. Everyone driving 25 mph. Take a right and you’ll get to the next small town where they’ve got a very old Maid Rite store. Wish I would have stayed longer for a Maid Rite. I haven’t had a loose meat sandwich in a long time. (By the way, it wasn’t snowing when I was there. It’s July. Duh. But this is the actual store from an internet photo, so there you have it.)

Allison’s Visitation (which I call it as I was a Catholic) at the Lutheran church was packed. As was her funeral. Which is no surprise. Allison was nice. Which makes me realize that if this is the only gauge of number of attendees at a funeral, mine will be very not-attended. I should give that a little time to sink in before I open my mouth next time.

Oh hell. Nah. I can’t. Allison was sweet. I am feisty. Amen.

By the way? This is the first lutheran funeral I’ve gone to in a long time that didn’t include the pastor calling us sinners. What a frickin’ relief. I was starting to feel paranoid. That pastors used that just because I was in the audience. But there I was, in the pews today and he was a very nice pastor who just did nice funeral-type stuff without alienating the people who need to be there the most. I, being #1 on the Most Wanted at Church hit list.

Their oldest daughter eulogized Allison which had the congregation sobbing, sniffling and hiccuping (that was me. lost control while trying to not sob uncontrollably). What an incredible daughter. If I were nicer perhaps my children would also be this incredible. But I am not. Nor are they. Well, my kids are fine but the bar is forever raised about what children can aspire to be. Did I mention that their kids are also gorgeous? Whatever, good people. You just enjoy your lovely selves. As will I because you are in my life. Whether you volunteer or not.

Dan was incredible under all the stress of the loss of his wife. Of course he was. That’s Dan. I told you, I don’t have rotten friends. Anymore.

Allison would have been very proud of her own funeral. Even the part where her old daughter confessed that she didn’t like the jacket that Allison picked out for her last outfit.

“When she showed it to me, I said ‘No!’ but mom made that jacket look good” she said.

And they buried Allison with an empty box from Tiffany’s. “She told us that she liked the box better than the bracelet that came in it”.

I love that. And every time I walk past the Tiffany’s here, watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s or see a Tiffany’s box, I’ll think of Allison.

It makes you wonder about what you’d want buried with you (or in my case, fried up in the oven with me).

I’d want cake. And Ricky Nugget. If he were off his meds. And gouda. Plus some pinot grigio. And milk chocolate. Kettle corn. A good hamburger from not B-Bop.

I’m hungry.