Balancing Act...

...as a trip to the flat pack emporium always is, although perhaps not quite so literally. Armed with pages of printouts with dimensions and names like Grevbak and Pysslingar we resolutely headed up the escalator, followed the blue arrow for miles, attempted to make sure we were getting what we wanted, trudged downstairs (forgoing the meatballs for the time being) and followed the blue line for a few more miles until we finally found ourselves in the "self serve warehouse"

Forty five minutes later with only one large bruise and one bleeding cut, one wait in line to return something we just got because it didn't match the other things, a second wait in line (with the credit card this time) we emerged and loaded everything into the car hoping that a Pysslingar wouldn't launch itself through the windshield. Having had to drive from the loading dock all the way around Emeryville to get back to the loading dock to pick me up, Oilman decided that he had lost his appetite for meatballs and we beat a hasty retreat, hoping that we wouldn't have to return for a forgotten Grevbak

We think we have signed our last sets of documents for awhile. We visited our lawyer and signed papers so that she could transfer the new house to our family trust. Then we repaired to the title company where we signed all the seller's documents for the Berkeley house. Despite putting our thumbprints in two books and our signatures more piles of paper, it was all far less painful than the flat pack emporium. The closing date of Dec. 28 is firm.We had a glass of wine with our realtors, who accomplished miracles in record time, and hit the road for home.