I am VERY KEEN on the trend I keep hearing about, where various offices will have more and more online services available until we will all be able to make appointments online and so forth. That will be GREAT.

I am less keen on the steps our dentist and allergist have taken toward this goal: they’ve set up “online patient portals,” and now all their emails to us (appointment reminders and so forth) are posted online, and we get an email TELLING US that we have a new email online in our secure mailbox. So then I have to click through to the patient portal; then I have to remember my user name and password and sometimes the answer to a security question; then I have to click over to my inbox—and I open an email sent to all the patients, with the subject “Happy spring!” and then a general message about spring allergy season being here and how all patients should remember to request refills on allergy medication if needed. THIS IS NOT TOP-SECRET INFORMATION. THIS CAN SAFELY BE SENT THROUGH NON-PASSWORD-PROTECTED CHANNELS. WE ARE NOT EVEN PRESCRIBED ANY ALLERGY MEDICATION.

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I’ve noticed as I sign my kids up for summer programs that all of the programs have liability waivers: by signing on the line, I promise I will not hold the program or its employees liable for ANYTHING. ANYTHING AT ALL. Including, I see, any claims of negligence, even if they ARE negligent and it results in injury/death. With incredulity I see that the final item I agree to on this particular form is to PERSONALLY DEFEND THE ORGANIZATION (including compensating them for any damage or expense) if anyone ELSE tries to sue them on behalf of my child. Oh, yes, I can completely see myself standing up in court like Atticus Finch, delivering a scathing defense of the organization that hurt my child. That will definitely happen, and also I will write a check for the court fees on my way out, plus a few hundred thousand extra for their loss of reputation and hurt feelings. You can count on me, Youth Tennis Lesson Program.

I’d be surprised if that kind of liability was something I could in fact sign away. Like, you can ASK people to sign ANYTHING, and you can hope it’s enough to deter lawsuits, but that doesn’t mean it’s actually legally enforceable. I remember reading a long time ago that, for example, if a woman asks a guy-friend for a sperm donation and offers to sign away all her rights to his paternal responsibility, that’s not actually something she can sign away unless it goes through certain official channels; she can’t just write it up herself and sign her name. Still, I feel a little stupid every time I sign. “Sure, hurt my child on purpose! I agree my hands are tied and that nothing is ever your fault!”

There is an elderly man who walks a lot in our neighborhood; if we are outside at the same time, he will stop and talk. At first I thought he might be deaf, because it doesn’t seem to matter what my half of the conversation is; after repeated conversations, I’m pretty sure it’s not deafness—though he may ALSO be a bit hard of hearing. He tells me the same things again and again, and he can get at most two sentences into a topic before he trails off and seems to forget what he was saying. He calls out “I love you! I love all of you!” as he leaves. It’s sweet and upsetting.

One thing I’m wondering is what it FEELS like. He seems happy when we see him. He seems happily sentimental about seeing kids playing and people out biking/walking, and very pleased by the prettiness of the day. What do things feel like from his point of view? I remember reading a long time ago that the worst part of Alzheimer’s is when the person can feel something is wrong—but then the condition worsens-yet-improves when the person can no longer tell.

Well! That’s a discouraging potential future for us to contemplate first thing in the morning! “Good news: at some point you can’t TELL how bad you’ve gotten, so you feel MUCH BETTER!”

I also wonder a lot about what he was like before things went this way. For all I know he’s ALWAYS been like this, his whole life. When he tells us about his career, it could be imaginary. But my guess would be that no, this is something that descended on him late in life. It’s sad to think of his former self observing his current self. On the other hand, his current self seems very happy, and his former self ISN’T observing it. It’s hard to know HOW to feel, isn’t it!

I have three reasons to be thinking about this as much as I do:

1. One of the job possibilities in my future is something at the local nursing home. I’ve wondered if that’s something I’d even be good at, but I don’t think there’s a good way to know without trying it. (My plan is to do some volunteering there when the next school year starts up, to see.)

2. While thinking about those possibilities (the job and the volunteering), I realized that if I continue to live in this same town, I could VERY WELL end up living at that nursing home MYSELF. That was a very odd thought: picturing myself working there, and then perhaps retiring, and then perhaps returning.

3. Thinking about my parents, and the various possible paths of THEIR futures. If I think it’s hard to know how to feel about a guy in our neighborhood, I’ll bet there are TONS of mental treats ahead! I am attempting the very smart “Wait to see what happens so you can think about just THAT path rather than ALL THE PATHS” method, but I don’t find that method compatible with my factory settings.

Plus, I ALSO think it’s sensible to be aware of the possibilities, to avoid making an assumption without realizing it and then being SHOCKED when things don’t go that way. I noticed it had never occurred to me that the nursing home I frequently drive past could be MY PERSONAL NURSING HOME one day; that seems like a fairly big Awareness Gap. I don’t want to fret to the point of overfretfullness about things that might never even happen, but if it’s an interesting thing to think about and it helps keep us realistic and empathetic, the other method suddenly seems a bit “La la la, I’ll worry about it tomorrow!”

There. Factory settings rationalized.

It took me until now to realize that to avoid the frustration of the string pulling out of the staple of the teabag, I can pinch the staple as I pull the string.

Writing that sentence was not easy. It’s like that elementary school assignment where you have to write how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and then the teacher does exactly what you said and hilarity ensues. And if you don’t drink tea, or if you drink tea but you don’t use teabags, or if you don’t use the kind of teabag where the string has to be pulled out of a notch before it’s long enough to use, then you’ll be even more baffled. You will just have to trust me that this is one of those discoveries that is life-changing in a slightly sheepish way.

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The school has sent home the Next Year’s School Supplies list, which would be so extremely considerate if the list were accurate. I have pre-rage about it as I remember other years. One year we were very hard-up for money but I conscientiously bought every single item on the list; then when we brought it all in, the teacher said, “Oh, I don’t use those—I just have them use classroom supplies. I mean, if you want to donate it you can, but I have plenty.” So the next year I didn’t buy anything, and the teacher had her own list which she sent home the first day, completely different than the office’s list, and by then I’d missed all the school supply sales and in fact had quite a hard time even finding some of the things on the list. Another year, a teacher sent home a note on the first day asking parents to PLEASE (bold, double-underlined) not send in x, y, or z—all of which were items on the list the school had sent home. The teacher’s tone was aggrieved, as if she could NOT understand why parents kept INSISTING on sending in these TOTALLY UNNECESSARY ITEMS.

I think the problem is that the office staff makes the list based on a sort of classroom-average of what the teachers want. Some individual teachers then go by what the list says; most don’t. Some teachers use a system with a lot of folders, or a lot of binders, or a lot of notebooks; some teachers use individual white boards and need white-board markers; some teachers combine everyone’s supplies (this drives me crazy unless I know about it ahead of time) and some want everything down to the last pencil labeled so they’ll stay separate. I am just going to do what I do every year, which is to buy everything on the list during the summer when it’s available and on sale—and if that particular teacher doesn’t want those particular items and wants different items instead, I will breathe deeply and put the unwanted items aside for another year, and I will clench my teeth as I search store after store for the now-unavailable/full-price wanted items, and I will not have angry thoughts, because no one is TRYING to Do Wrong here.

I dreamed last night that a friend told me she was leaving her husband, which got me thinking on that topic this morning as I was doing all the boring getting-ready things. Specifically, I was thinking about how much of marital success is based on luck.

First, there’s the luck of choosing someone. The Love Feelings are classically difficult to THINK around.

Second, there’s the luck of time: it’s hard to know how someone might change over the next ten or twenty or forty years, or how YOU might change, and whether those changes can be made compatible. If one of you wants to ditch everything and move to another country to be a missionary, this may or may not be something the other one can change with. If one of you wants to start seeing other people, that may or may not be something the other one can change with. If one of you changes religion, if one of you wants a sex change, if one of you wants to quit a job unexpectedly and embark on a new career of smoking pot and playing video games, if one of you gambles away the house and the kids’ college funds, if one of you gets addicted to something, if one of you can’t be happy unless there’s a move to a place the other one won’t live—all of these things can be times that “grow TOGETHER” might not be useful advice. We can talk about being REALLY COMMITTED to a marriage, but that applies within a certain segment of the spectrum of possible changes.

Third, there’s the luck of opportunity. If I never meet someone who makes me feel like leaving Paul, I’m much more likely to stay; that sounds kind of icky, but it’s true. If Paul has a crush on someone at work but she doesn’t return it, or if the crush fades quickly because it wasn’t based on anything serious, he’s much more likely to stay than if he meets someone amazing who would actually be a better fit with him than I am AND she feels the same way about him.

And fourth, there’s the luck of circumstances. If I meet someone flirty when things are going well with Paul and me, I might have an invigorating conversation and then go on with my regular life feeling a bit cuter than before, but that’s it. If I meet someone right when I’m in one of those 3 percent times, I might start daydreaming about a different life, and that’s the kind of seed it’s best not to water. If it’s someone I see every day at work, and if the not-so-great time with Paul is more of a stage than a moment, things could get dicey. Commitment looks easy when it IS easy, which is unfortunately right around the time we’re making that commitment. It’s like signing up for a diet right after eating way too much.

Three things I like:

1. The BBQ Ranch Chicken Salad at Wendy’s. I would NEVER have tried this salad on my own. The new Asian Cashew Chicken Salad appealed to me so I tried that one, but both the BBQ-sauce-and-salad combination and the BBQ-sauce-and-ranch combination sounded icky to me. But my mother’s friend made HER try it, and then my mother made ME try it, and now I daydream about the next time I might drive past a Wendy’s at a legitimate mealtime. The Asian Cashew one is good TOO, but I don’t know how many times in a row I’ll have to eat the BBQ Ranch one before I get tired of it and want a change.

2. Tales of the City.

(photo from Amazon.com)

This is too early to declare a liking of something, because I’m only 150 pages into the first book of a nine-book series. I’d accidentally chosen the NINTH book from the New Books section, not realizing it was part of a series; I commented to Paul that I really liked this book but felt like I couldn’t figure out what was going on. Derp. So I stopped reading that one and checked out the FIRST book instead, and now I am much happier. I hope I DO like it, because it would be so happy to have eight more books ahead of me!

3. Forest Friends Book of Stickers, bought after seeing the bookplates in a post by Definitely RA.

(photo from Amazon.com)

I bought these impulsively while drinking wine. FIVE DOLLARS for STICKERS!! But I love them. I bought them a month ago and I still have the book on my desk so I can leaf through the pages. I haven’t used a single sticker yet. The fox sticker is a candidate for tattooing on my arm. Maybe with the rabbit. And the raccoon. And the bee.

Six things I don’t like:

1. The occasional mysterious mildew smell in the [top-loading] washing machine. I have looked online about this, and I have tried various things, and still there will sometimes SUDDENLY be a load of wash that smells SUPER-MILDEWY despite not sitting there very long. I am resigned to it, yet also resentful.

2. Monday dinner. It takes me by surprise every week and I never know what to make. On Mondays you can find me irritably trying to cram together a box of past-date instant scalloped potatoes, a packet of Ramen soup, and a package of ground turkey. You’d think I’d learn, but no. I think what I need to do is come up with something I make EVERY Monday. Though perhaps this would just push the problem onto Tuesdays.

3. Signing the kids up for summer activities. I always do it wrong, and what’s especially exasperating is that I always THINK I’m doing it RIGHT. I get out my calendar, I carefully mark everything so there’s no overlap. It’s a tremendous pain in the butt. And then there we are on the first day of summer vacation, with me saying, “…Wait. How did I set it up so that we had to be two different places, both at 9:00? And then one of you needs to be picked up at 10:00, but that’s when I’ll be at a third location with a third child?”

4. MAGAZINE AVAILABILITY. I am quoted in the June issue of Pregnancy & Newborn, so naturally I would like to buy multiple copies and leave them casually open to the correct page. Can I do so? CAN I HELL. I first looked at Target, because that’s where I bought copies last time. Nothing! I looked in two more Targets. Nothing! I looked at Barnes & Noble. Nothing! On the way home I stopped at a large baby-supply superstore. Nothing! I went to my local independent book store. Nothing—with a side of attitude (“We don’t have room for magazines. Sorry”—in a tone that DID NOT SOUND AT ALL SORRY.) Tomorrow I am going to try WALMART, I guess. Also, I took a copy from the waiting room of the mammogram place, so I’m not DESPERATE, just FRUSTRATED. (You can read the article online if you want: click this link and you’ll see a copy of the cover of the magazine; click “Find the perfect name for your babe” on the cover and it’ll take you right to it.)

5. There is a BIRD outside my WINDOW that is driving me CRAZY. Actually, TWO birds. One of them has a strident single chirp: “CHIRP!!……………. CHIRP!!………………… CHIRP!!” He alternates this with a weird scrapey/growl sound in the back of his throat. The other one, Paul says it sounds like a dog begging for a treat: little short whining sounds, very high pitched. “Somebody give that puppy a BISCUIT,” says Paul.

6. I need to go through every single post on my old Blogger blogs and take out the photos and transfer them to this blog. The pictures from all those old posts LOOK like they’re here, but the transferring process means the photos are still hosted THERE—so if I delete the Blogger posts, the photos disappear here as well. And I have to delete the old posts because there’s this new search engine thing that means sites with duplicate content get skipped; those old posts, because they also appear on this new blog, are duplicate content. This is going to be a long and tedious task, and as with the mildew smell I am feeling resigned but resentful.

There. I finally got the mammogram done. I don’t mind them. There is some briefly-uncomfortable SQUEEZING, yes, but it’s okay. I HATE gyn exams, more for the embarrassment than for the discomfort, but I don’t mind vertical chestal nakedness much.

(photo from Amazon.com)

I finished reading The Headmaster’s Wife. First of all, I am so tired of The _____’s Wife/Daughter titles. Why so many? It reminds me of that test: “What’s wrong with this sentence: He shot his neighbor’s wife,” and the answer is that his neighbor’s wife is ALSO his neighbor, so it should just be “He shot his neighbor.” (Another thing wrong with that sentence is that you shouldn’t shoot your neighbor.) There can of course be REASONS for phrasing things that way, GOOD reasons, but the GIST is supposed to be that there can be things in our language that reflect unconscious or outdated attitudes, and that is the sort of thing that comes to mind when I see too many “The Man’s Woman” titles.

Secondly, the plot made me very, very uncomfortable, and then even more uncomfortable, until I decided I wasn’t going to read any more of it. Then I took it back out of the library bag and read a little more—and no, I’m NOT reading this. Then I started skimming—and things took a turn for the different, and I finished the whole thing and found it quite mesmerizing. I don’t even know if I RECOMMEND it or not, because I found the first part so unpleasant to read, and the second part is not exactly uplifting or happy. But I was very interested in it.

I’m so HAPPY to be blogging again. I don’t think it would have taken long under the new frantic schedule before I would have figured something out. I remember managing to blog when Henry was a newborn, for example, and that was when the twins weren’t even 2 years old yet. Blogging only got dropped this time because I wasn’t physically near to a computer; if it had gone on much longer, I would have figured out the whole blogging-remotely system.

I’m also so happy because I made TWO hard phone calls this morning. It’s surprising to me that I still have to go through the math: “The phone call has to be made no matter what. So I can feel upset and scared about it for either a SHORT time or a LONG time. Short is less painful than long.” After doing the math, why do I so often choose MORE suffering? It is an enduring mystery.

Anyway, I had to call an investment company, because I had two accounts with them: one a custodial account with Rob, and one my own. And they were going to charge me $20/year unless I switched to paperless statements—which I was happy to do, but I couldn’t set up an online account for the second account because I already had one for the first account, and it was by Social Security number so it kept saying I already had an account. When I talked to the company the last time, the representative INSISTED that in order to merge the two accounts, I would need the manager of my bank to sign and notarize a document certifying my name change, because one account had my middle initials and the other did not. She INSISTED. I expressed doubts that a bank manager would be willing to sign such a form, considering I hadn’t changed my name. She continued to insist. She said that claiming “Swistle Thistle” and “Swistle R. W. Thistle” were the same person was exactly the same dicey situation as claiming “Swistle Margaret Thistle” and “Swistle Eloise Thistle” were the same person. She hinted that I might be trying to take over the account of someone else with the same first and last name who lived at my house. She sent me the form, which was five pages long and required, among other things, a copy of my birth certificate and a copy of the court forms for the name change. It was so maddening and frustrating, I decided to pay the $20/year: it’s only until Rob goes to college, and I would rather pay the fee than add ANOTHER horrible phone call to my Lie Awake catalog.

But then we got another letter saying we would now have to pay TWO charges of $20/year, because there is an accessory account to the main account, used for I don’t know what—I think for holding the money that doesn’t come to enough to buy another bond, something like that. It has $60 in it. It can’t be closed until the main account is closed. I would have to pay an additional $20/year on THAT account. So I called. THIS time I got someone who said, “Oh, no problem, we have a procedure for that. Let me just get some information from you on our recorded line. Do you want both accounts as Swistle Thistle, or both as Swistle R.W. Thistle? Okay, that will take 2-3 business days and I’ll call you when it’s complete.”

DEAR LORD.

The other call was for a medical billing thing, and all I could do was leave a message—but for this one, it’s enough to just get things going. Plus, I love leaving a message: I can say what I want to say without feeling like I need to hurry up. And then they have the information BEFORE they call me back, so theoretically they can be ready to discuss it and/or look into the issue FIRST. Theoretically.

Oh! They just called back, right after I hit publish! It was settled not entirely satisfactorily (a $35 copay when it should have been $20, with a workaround that makes no sense), but I WILL TAKE IT. And I was so high on victory, I also called to make the cat’s annual vet appointment! *dances like Elaine*

Well! We have had some excitement around here! Paul was sick and I would personally have diagnosed him with Acute Bigbabyitis, but then he got sicker and ended up spending three days in the hospital. He’s fine and back home now, tutting over how quickly the garden got out of hand, asking me do we have a multi-alarm pillbox for his antibiotics. (“Oh, yes, Honey, I keep a stack of those in the pantry!”)

The few days he was in the hospital were so busy; I don’t think I’ve felt like that since the twins were newborns. I’d intended to go into more detail here about how busy I was, but then I got a couple paragraphs into it and couldn’t BELIEVE how boring it was. In short, the hospital is half an hour away, and I was also preparing for the twins’ birthdays, and also there are five children, and anyway it was a busy time—the kind where you can’t figure out how you’re going to eat because even stopping at a drive-through takes too much time. I have a FitBit, and I was coming close to the daily goal of 10,000 steps without doing any exercise at all, just moving from thing to thing.

It was interesting to me to see what things got dropped and what things didn’t, and how such things were decided (importance to me + importance to someone else + timing + possibility/impossibility). Candy Crush: dropped. Blogging: dropped. (The URGE to blog: NOT DROPPED.) Cooking: dropped. Shopping didn’t get dropped entirely, but turned into “figuring out when I’d be driving past the store anyway and buying only the one item we had to have.” Reminding the kids about their homework, or in fact worrying about their homework/grades at all: dropped. The kids’ karate class: dropped. Daily walk: dropped. Emailing the teachers about the situation: not dropped. Child’s annual physical: not dropped. Classroom birthday treats: not dropped. Stopping to buy more kid soap: dropped. Noticing library book due dates: dropped.

It was interesting to see where there were caches of available time. Normally in the morning I don’t try to get anything done before the kids go to school, except for the regular morning routines. It turns out there’s enough time in there to also bake a batch of cupcakes and two batches of cookies, if I am fueled by the weird Emergency Mode adrenaline. I could have stopped at the store and purchased those things, and in fact that was my original plan. (Baking: dropped. Caring about the cost of doing things an easier/faster way: dropped.) But there I was, trapped ANYWAY in the house until the bus came, and itching to get to some of the things on the list.

I found it fun to visit Paul in the hospital. It was odd to spend time with him like that: sitting in a hospital room and chatting and playing card games. I also LOVED the cafeteria. Do you remember me rhapsodizing about the food in the maternity ward? THAT WAS AVAILABLE TO ME AGAIN. I had a chicken caesar salad wrap! A fruit cup! Chocolate chip cookies!

I remembered three of the things I haven’t updated about:

1. A long time ago when I wrote about getting the HPV vaccine for Rob, I was very alarmed by a couple of the comments that said their insurance didn’t cover it for boys, and that the shots cost hundreds of dollars. First I confirmed the price: I asked the receptionist to look up the price without insurance, and it was $250 for each of the three doses—so, $750. I’d already had the first shot given to Rob, so at that point I was potentially out $250, and it’s not like I was going to skip the next two doses, so I had to do a little breathing and resign myself to the possibility of $750.

My hope, however, was that our insurance WOULD cover it—or that if they didn’t, they would do so by the time the next three boys were ready for the vaccine. It’s ridiculous for them NOT to cover it, since it’s the boys who are doing most of the transmitting of the virus from woman to woman, but as Paul says, “You’re making the mistake of assuming these things are based on logic.” Happily, our insurance covered it completely, and even sent us letters urging us to remember the second and third shots in the series.

Since then, the recommended age for the vaccine has decreased AND we’ve changed insurance companies, so William has now completed his series of three shots; his shots too were covered completely by the new insurance company. (In fact, he’d had one shot under the old insurance and two under the new, which worried me—but we never heard anything about it, so apparently it was fine.)

2. The opinions on what to do about a graduation gift for the girl I took care of when she was an infant were ALL OVER THE SPECTRUM. I mean, they ranged from “You absolutely have to get her something, and it should be BIG” to “It would be a weird to get her something, and might make the mom feel really uncomfortable.” As Carla put it, “So the responses on this are SO WIDE RANGING you can feel free to do whatever!” Putting the possible outcomes on the balance scale, I was more afraid to make the mom feel awkward about sending the announcement than I was afraid of making the child feel like I didn’t care because I didn’t send money, so I sent a card (no check) in which I wrote how fondly I remember her babyhood and how amazing it was to me that so much time had passed; I closed with my continuing fond wishes for her happy future. I loved the idea of including a picture of me holding her, and if I’d had one I definitely would have done that. (Oh I wish I had one!!)

My second favorite idea was the one about giving a check for $20.14: it seemed to me that the FUNness of the amount made it seem less like Giving Money and more like “This is what I do for all graduates, no big deal and no reason to feel awkward.” After I mailed the card, I even had second thoughts and considered mailing the check with a little note about forgetting to put it in the card, but then I thought no, I would stick with the plan.

I also agreed with everyone who said $25 seemed like a lot more than $20 somehow; I’m going to keep that in mind for the future. I’m also filing away the idea of getting gift cards to a coffee shop or restaurant near the graduate’s future college, or a gift certificate for the college gift shop.

3. Rob’s school trip went FINE. And by “fine” I mean it went just as many of you comfortingly predicted: full of problems, but everyone handled it and everything was okay. He came home and said it went GREAT, and then he was enthusiastically telling me the whole story and I was pale and wide-eyed as he related one alarming thing after another, with him saying “Ug, it was FINE, Mom!” after each one. (Me: “THAT DOES NOT REALLY SOUND FINE!” Rob: “IT WAS FINE.”)

This morning I was thinking, “Oh little neighbor girl! I wonder if you could sing ‘Let It Go’ INDOORS for awhile!”—and then I realized that might be the very reason she ended up outside. Okay, neighbor parent, I see your point of view and can take one for the team.

Also outside my window is a bird that is making me nervous. It stands on a branch with a small worm or bug in its beak, chirping a weird bark-like single chirp, over and over, turning back and forth as it seems to listen for a reply. I wonder if her nest was pillaged by a cat, and she is still trying to find/feed her babies. I got quite worked up and sad about this, and then I remembered a funny section of one of Augusten Burroughs’s books that addresses this sort of thing. He has us imagine that we drive past the scene of a car crash, and we’re haunted by the sight of a doll in the wreckage, and the sad fate of the little girl we assume must have been in no condition to bring the doll with her. Then he has us imagine an alternate scene in which no one has been hurt in the crash and the doll was an antique-store find and so on. He points out that since we’d never have known the real story, there we’d be in a therapist’s office, probably being instructed by the therapist to write a letter to the poor little girl. I imagined myself in the therapist’s office, writing a letter to the poor mother bird who lost her young, when it’s quite possible the bird is just loud and dim and maybe HAS no babies and is kind of a sloppy eater.

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I am getting frustrated because the mammography center keeps sending me scolding letters about how it’s time for a mammogram, but then when I call them to make an appointment, I get an answering machine and then they don’t return my call. Then I get another letter in the mail. Pretty soon I am going to write back, since that is evidently their preferred method of communication. “Dear Mammography Center, I am writing to make an appointment. Do you have anything on Thursday morning? Write back soon! Love, Swistle”

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Yesterday seemed like the perfect day to go to an antique store and look through boxes of postcards. But I’d misjudged it: instead of having a pleasant quiet-hobby feeling, I accidentally hit that mood of “This used to be someone’s treasured collection, and now here it is being pawed over (and rejected) by strangers.” Everything I looked at seemed pointless to acquire: Why, when soon we will all be dead and our possessions will only burden our children? Or perhaps I should buy EVERYTHING IN THE WHOLE STORE AND GIVE THESE POOR UNLOVED THINGS A HOME.