On its way home

It has arrived at my husband's school. It is on its way home RIGHT NOW.

Excitement is the name of the game.

*** Added later ***

And now, for the rest of the story....

My phone rang at 10:30 this morning, and the caller ID showed it was my husband's school. I am always happy to talk to my husband, so I answered. His voice was filled with doom, and he announced that he was terrible, that he had done something awful. After my wild imagination attempted to conjure up what horrible thing could possibly be the problem, including the random and diabolical thought that he had been fired, he told me that it was about our daughter's harp. Excuse me?

Some context before I continue. We have all had a terrible cold and cough for days adding up to weeks. My husband even lost his voice, but it was the loss of energy that had him slinking to his car each afternoon without so much as a "howdy do" to the front office.

Or a "my daughter has a harp that is going to be delivered to our school" to the front office.

He found out this morning that the harp had actually come to his school last week without his name on it. Because he had not alerted the front office of its imminent arrival, and because the seller neglected to put my husband's name on the box, the front office had no idea what to do. Try they did. They called the music teacher, the local music store, asked everyone in and around the office. No clues. So, they refused to accept it and sent the freight guy away. Sent our daughter's harp away.

My husband felt like a total loser. My initial response was relief that he hadn't been fired, and then my heart sank. Do you have any idea how much it costs to ship a harp from North Carolina to California? Let's just say it is not a fee that one would want to pay twice.

So, I got on the phone and talked with the shipping service in North Carolina, the North Carolina freight company they had used, and finally got on the line with their Sacramento office. Telling my story for the third time, I started in about the harp. She stopped me as soon as I said "harp." "Oh, honey, I know all about that harp. They are going to try again to deliver it. Sometime today." I have never been so happy to have someone call me "honey." Even with the contact name May Simpson on the box (do I even want to know how they came up with that name?), the harp was delivered to its rightful owner this afternoon.

Why is it that our lives are full of these stories? Stories of mishaps and near mishaps, dread that turns to glee? I don't know, but they sure make great campfire stories each summer. We'll add this one to our repertoire, and perhaps we can have some musical accompaniment with the tale.