At 1:20 a.m., I woke up. I evidently had been snoozing quite nicely, but something was disturbing my sleep. Then it happened again - a bright light flashing against my closed eyelids. Then the distant rumble. A sweet summer thunder storm. I had to get up and go to the balcony to watch a bit of the light show.
At first it was too distant; the light was bright, but was not always accompanied by sound. None of the sharp flashes of eerie fingers pointing to the earth. The storm did slowly cross south, bringing all of the elements with it. I watched the light reflecting off the dozens of buildings at various angles making it hard to tell where it was coming from. The glass buildings seemed to refract the light even more, as though there were a huge maze of mirrors, each sending the light to further illuminate the city. I was too sleepy to watch for very long, so I returned to bed with the blinds wide open and kept my eyes open as long as I could. I love a good storm as long as there are no tornados threatening to hoist me away.
The other light show at 1:20 a.m. on a Sunday night (Monday morning) was the hundreds of cars weaving their way through town. I can't help but wonder who are all these people driving through Chicago, or riding in cabs driving through Chicago, in the middle of the night. I realize it's a holiday weekend, but weren't Friday and Saturday enough? Lacy reminded me that someone has to work in the bars and restaurants, so maybe they're all workers headed home. It's the country in me, I know, that is puzzled by the amount of activity at any time of the day or night. I'd really be torn up in New York City, I'm sure - it's Chicago multiplied by 100. If New York is the city that never sleeps, Chicago must be the city that only naps now and then.
I'm a little jealous of people that have the motivation to go out when I'm going to bed, and return home shortly before I'm waking up. What an exciting life, I'm sure. But how much of the day do they miss? Do they ever see the early morning sun rising over the lake? Or smell fresh baked pastries? Or see the runners and dog-walkers and think "this is going to be a glorious morning"? Their glorious morning is from midnight to 3 a.m. and I'm sure there are lots of wonderful things that can happen in that timeframe. My morning is quieter (except for the garbage trucks), slower, more conducive to serene thoughts than dreams. I guess I'm old but I've never been able to pass up a beautiful day, even if I'm inside looking out at it.
Instead of a light show bouncing off the disco ball, my light show is a steady stream of sunshine. Boring, maybe, but I'm okay with that. I can't do all night like I used to, and even if I could, I'm not sure I would want to very often. It's not the 3 a.m. that gets me - it's wasting the entire day following because I'm too tired or hungover to do anything at all. I'd rather miss the party and enjoy the morning
Monday, May 31, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Thanks to the followers
I'm tickled to have followers! If you have feedback or suggestions or criticisms or anything, please post your comments. I'd love to hear (good or bad) what you think, or if there's anything in particular you want to follow up on or know about.
thanks!!!
thanks!!!
Doormen
Another of my criteria for a place to live was security. Most of the condo buildings around town have a round-the-clock doorman (doorperson?) who guards the inhabitants from unwanted or uninvited visitors. Of course, it's not one person that is at the door 24/7, it's actually, in the case of my building, 5 people that have their own shifts - 3 full-time and 2 part-time. They're all very polite and helpful, some more personable, some less. I feel very secure having them there.
There's another doorman in the next block. He's a true doorman - he lives in the recessed doorway of the building. It's obviously not a currently functioning doorway; I think the building is in the process of becoming a condominium. So this guy has taken up residence in a pretty ritzy building on a pretty busy street in a pretty nice part of town.
I first noticed him a cold morning 3 or 4 weeks ago when he was rolled up in a sleeping bag trying to stay warm. It was just a lump of faded blue, and could have been anything under that fabric, but most likely a person, whether alive or not. In the next couple of weeks, the lump turned into an actual man of undeterminable age, as most homeless people tend to be. Actually he's not homeless, as he's established a home of sorts in the doorway. He has a bicycle that he chains to a nearby tree, and has somehow acquired a hodgepodge of possessions - a basket, a smoker grill, what appear to be clothes and at least one more blanket. I try not to look too closely when I pass; I don't want to become too familiar to the man, but I do pass there quite often.
It does amaze me that he's allowed to just take up residence in this public space of maybe 15 square feet. I expect to find this in alleyways or under overpasses - less visible locations. I'm sure if the building owner was aware, they would have him removed, but until then, I'm waiting for him to hang pictures and plant a garden.
Last weekend, when I had visitors, I pointed him out to them. Well, I didn't actually have to point him out; it was quite obvious as we walked by that he lived there. At lunch, Lacy had her leftovers put in a box with plans to drop it off to him. The intentions were good, but I guess there's a limit to our sense of benevolence. When she discovered she had left the box in the restroom at the Merchandise Mart, we didn't hike back to retrieve it. So, the doorman didn't have a gourmet dinner that day. And since he's managed to acquire quite a haul, I feel less charitable toward him. If he can manage to find all of that stuff and maintain a home in a doorway, it seems he has the capacity to manage a job of some sort.
Maybe he's training to become a real doorman.
There's another doorman in the next block. He's a true doorman - he lives in the recessed doorway of the building. It's obviously not a currently functioning doorway; I think the building is in the process of becoming a condominium. So this guy has taken up residence in a pretty ritzy building on a pretty busy street in a pretty nice part of town.
I first noticed him a cold morning 3 or 4 weeks ago when he was rolled up in a sleeping bag trying to stay warm. It was just a lump of faded blue, and could have been anything under that fabric, but most likely a person, whether alive or not. In the next couple of weeks, the lump turned into an actual man of undeterminable age, as most homeless people tend to be. Actually he's not homeless, as he's established a home of sorts in the doorway. He has a bicycle that he chains to a nearby tree, and has somehow acquired a hodgepodge of possessions - a basket, a smoker grill, what appear to be clothes and at least one more blanket. I try not to look too closely when I pass; I don't want to become too familiar to the man, but I do pass there quite often.
It does amaze me that he's allowed to just take up residence in this public space of maybe 15 square feet. I expect to find this in alleyways or under overpasses - less visible locations. I'm sure if the building owner was aware, they would have him removed, but until then, I'm waiting for him to hang pictures and plant a garden.
Last weekend, when I had visitors, I pointed him out to them. Well, I didn't actually have to point him out; it was quite obvious as we walked by that he lived there. At lunch, Lacy had her leftovers put in a box with plans to drop it off to him. The intentions were good, but I guess there's a limit to our sense of benevolence. When she discovered she had left the box in the restroom at the Merchandise Mart, we didn't hike back to retrieve it. So, the doorman didn't have a gourmet dinner that day. And since he's managed to acquire quite a haul, I feel less charitable toward him. If he can manage to find all of that stuff and maintain a home in a doorway, it seems he has the capacity to manage a job of some sort.
Maybe he's training to become a real doorman.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Visitors
Guess I'm catching up on putting my experiences to paper - rather, screen. But I've been occupied. Lacy and Jeff came to visit this past weekend, and I've spent the last couple of days recovering. We had a great time. At least I had a great time, and they either did or lied to make me feel good. I was just happy to be in their company, and to show them a little bit of my backyard. They had been here before and did most the touristy stuff then, so I tried to think of things to do that were a little more our style.
One thing I had on my list was a visit to the place that inspired the "cheeburger cheeburger" skit on Saturday Night Live. I ran across it while looking for burger joints. I knew it was a bonified dive from the reviews, but it was also one of those places you just have to go to say that you've been. It certainly lived up to it's reputation as a dive, and while we were there, a few kids came in and we got to hear the "cheeburger" line that made it famous. Actually, the goat made it famous, but that's another story.
We also road the L up to Wrigleyville, mainly to see Wrigley Field. The Cubs weren't in town so nothing was really going on - we just got to see it. From the outside. As we strolled by. Then we found a bar. Actually, Wrigleyville is like a college town - there is little else besides bars and smoke shops. Much like Lincoln Park, except Lincoln Park is the Fraternity Row of college town - slightly more yuppie.
Lacy and Jeff were here for 2 and a half days, and we really did nothing to write home about. We ate a lot - and some really good food. We drank accordingly. We walked miles and miles. We watched the Blackhawks sweep the Sharks (on TV, not in person) and got to pretend we were huge Blackhawks fans with everyone else. Oh, and Lacy saw Ron Howard when we were eating breakfast one day. Jeff and I missed it. Nothing big, nothing fancy, nothing at all really, but everything to me. I got to spend time with people I love dearly and miss as much. With half of my offspring. And I got to show them that I'm okay here. I don't know if that is any consolation to them, but it makes me feel better.
The only downside to their visit is that for the first time, I feel a little homesick.
One thing I had on my list was a visit to the place that inspired the "cheeburger cheeburger" skit on Saturday Night Live. I ran across it while looking for burger joints. I knew it was a bonified dive from the reviews, but it was also one of those places you just have to go to say that you've been. It certainly lived up to it's reputation as a dive, and while we were there, a few kids came in and we got to hear the "cheeburger" line that made it famous. Actually, the goat made it famous, but that's another story.
We also road the L up to Wrigleyville, mainly to see Wrigley Field. The Cubs weren't in town so nothing was really going on - we just got to see it. From the outside. As we strolled by. Then we found a bar. Actually, Wrigleyville is like a college town - there is little else besides bars and smoke shops. Much like Lincoln Park, except Lincoln Park is the Fraternity Row of college town - slightly more yuppie.
Lacy and Jeff were here for 2 and a half days, and we really did nothing to write home about. We ate a lot - and some really good food. We drank accordingly. We walked miles and miles. We watched the Blackhawks sweep the Sharks (on TV, not in person) and got to pretend we were huge Blackhawks fans with everyone else. Oh, and Lacy saw Ron Howard when we were eating breakfast one day. Jeff and I missed it. Nothing big, nothing fancy, nothing at all really, but everything to me. I got to spend time with people I love dearly and miss as much. With half of my offspring. And I got to show them that I'm okay here. I don't know if that is any consolation to them, but it makes me feel better.
The only downside to their visit is that for the first time, I feel a little homesick.
Marshall's
Just got in from a "workout and tan" session which turned into a "spend $80 at Marshall's" session. I was actually trying to remember how far down Chipotle is (love love love) when suddenly, like a beacon from...below...was a Marshall's sign. Below, because you go down the escalator to get to it. Have to say not as good as the one back home, but I found just what I needed. And 2 dresses that I didn't need, but who cares?
I'm glad there are good stores and better stores and necessary stores (like Marshall's) nearby. Of course the "magnificent mile" is only 8 or 9 blocks, and I think Neiman-Marcus is on "my" corner, meaning it's a straight hike there and a straight hike back. Yay!
I only wish there were a bigger market nearby. Trader Joe's is about 7 blocks away - not too far, but once I get in there I want to buy more than I can easily carry back without ending up in a cab. And I refuse to take a cab 7 blocks. That would be like, well, like.......I can't think of anything to compare it to at home, because no one ever walks anywhere. Why walk when you can drive? And park? Without risking a cabbie running you over or being stuck in traffic for more time than you could have walked there anyway? Besides, it's just not as cool back home to walk around town as it is here. Unless you live in 5 points. :)
But, I digress. Marshall's. Marshall's is the kind of place that is completely low-class, in the way that people with money wouldn't DARE admit to shopping there, but do. Just a couple of steps above Wal-Mart - and you see some pretty good characters in Marshall's, too. But, you can put it in the middle of the city in the basement of a high-rise a block from Bloomingdales, and suddenly it becomes okay. Still messy, with tons of clothes from the Chadwick's catalog and the Wet Seal or whatever the teeny bopper store is, but location has brought it up out of the basement to a level of acceptable shopping.
After all, you can buy Cole Haan shoes there for only $99, and a Lucky purse for $80 (I know because I did it - the purse, not the shoes), or a completely trashy tee shirt for $7. And hell, to top it all off, you can pick up needed kitchen items or linens, along with simply irresistible knick-knacks that you're probably paying more for than you should, but it just looks so neat.
I am not ashamed to admit I shop at Marshall's. I've spent many a Saturday bonding with my daughter as we filtered through shirts and dresses and laughed at underwear and tried on shoes and spent a totally unreasonable amount of time (and money) perusing each aisle in the household goods section. Her husband will attest to that. Maybe it ain't Bloomingdale's, but it's a lot cheaper to bond at Marshall's - and a lot more fun.
I'm glad there are good stores and better stores and necessary stores (like Marshall's) nearby. Of course the "magnificent mile" is only 8 or 9 blocks, and I think Neiman-Marcus is on "my" corner, meaning it's a straight hike there and a straight hike back. Yay!
I only wish there were a bigger market nearby. Trader Joe's is about 7 blocks away - not too far, but once I get in there I want to buy more than I can easily carry back without ending up in a cab. And I refuse to take a cab 7 blocks. That would be like, well, like.......I can't think of anything to compare it to at home, because no one ever walks anywhere. Why walk when you can drive? And park? Without risking a cabbie running you over or being stuck in traffic for more time than you could have walked there anyway? Besides, it's just not as cool back home to walk around town as it is here. Unless you live in 5 points. :)
But, I digress. Marshall's. Marshall's is the kind of place that is completely low-class, in the way that people with money wouldn't DARE admit to shopping there, but do. Just a couple of steps above Wal-Mart - and you see some pretty good characters in Marshall's, too. But, you can put it in the middle of the city in the basement of a high-rise a block from Bloomingdales, and suddenly it becomes okay. Still messy, with tons of clothes from the Chadwick's catalog and the Wet Seal or whatever the teeny bopper store is, but location has brought it up out of the basement to a level of acceptable shopping.
After all, you can buy Cole Haan shoes there for only $99, and a Lucky purse for $80 (I know because I did it - the purse, not the shoes), or a completely trashy tee shirt for $7. And hell, to top it all off, you can pick up needed kitchen items or linens, along with simply irresistible knick-knacks that you're probably paying more for than you should, but it just looks so neat.
I am not ashamed to admit I shop at Marshall's. I've spent many a Saturday bonding with my daughter as we filtered through shirts and dresses and laughed at underwear and tried on shoes and spent a totally unreasonable amount of time (and money) perusing each aisle in the household goods section. Her husband will attest to that. Maybe it ain't Bloomingdale's, but it's a lot cheaper to bond at Marshall's - and a lot more fun.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
the ultimate street festival
I still can't believe this is my view - from my windows, from my balcony. Tonight is warm enough to have a glass of wine on the balcony. The city sounds and lights and smells are all around me and I am loving it. For a pure-bred country girl, I sure am taking to this mighty well.
There's a chocolate factory somewhere near enough that, when they're cooking up the cocoa, the sweet chocolate fragrance fills the air and makes you crave hot chocolate from scratch. I don't know if it's the Hershey place or something else, but it smells good. All I need is to mix some bacon with that stuff. HA!
The city on a night like this is the ultimate street festival. It's not a party, not crazy like that. It's just people everywhere, doing what they do, going wherever they're going, but everyone is happy and light and full of the sweetness of the night. Even sitting up on my balcony, I feel I'm a part of it all.
I know that the city isn't always a festival. Last night, a young Chicago police officer was shot and killed outside his parent's home. Not in the line of duty, just visiting, recently back from a tour of duty in Iraq and returning to his job on the force. Tried to stop some guys stealing his bike and was killed for it. That kind of thing happens here every day and brings you back to reality even on a night like this.
Still, I love being here, I love that I'm able to just walk out the door and do pretty much anything that I could imagine. And that I feel perfectly safe doing it. It's a good place to be on a night like this - the ultimate street festival every night. Somehow it feels like home.
There's a chocolate factory somewhere near enough that, when they're cooking up the cocoa, the sweet chocolate fragrance fills the air and makes you crave hot chocolate from scratch. I don't know if it's the Hershey place or something else, but it smells good. All I need is to mix some bacon with that stuff. HA!
The city on a night like this is the ultimate street festival. It's not a party, not crazy like that. It's just people everywhere, doing what they do, going wherever they're going, but everyone is happy and light and full of the sweetness of the night. Even sitting up on my balcony, I feel I'm a part of it all.
I know that the city isn't always a festival. Last night, a young Chicago police officer was shot and killed outside his parent's home. Not in the line of duty, just visiting, recently back from a tour of duty in Iraq and returning to his job on the force. Tried to stop some guys stealing his bike and was killed for it. That kind of thing happens here every day and brings you back to reality even on a night like this.
Still, I love being here, I love that I'm able to just walk out the door and do pretty much anything that I could imagine. And that I feel perfectly safe doing it. It's a good place to be on a night like this - the ultimate street festival every night. Somehow it feels like home.
Monday, May 17, 2010
river rat
It was a nice, not too cool, sunny Sunday and for the first time in a week, I wasn't coughing every time I took a breath, so a walk along the river seemed in order. It worked out great because I needed to go to a drug store (right on the way) and I'd been wanting to try Steve's Deli (right next to the drug store). My idea was to go all the way to the lake and take a picture of the ferris wheel to send to Syd. That was a pretty tall order (no pun intended) but no pressure - if I made it that far, okay, if not, okay.
After dropping off the 'scrips at the CVS, I ventured through the very large, very long shadow of the famous Merchandise Mart. Yep, it's a big'un. Across the bridge at Wells and along the river for a few blocks. Up until now I had stayed on the side of town I was most familiar with, which is to say within 3-4 blocks of Ontario. I've only been on the other side of the river once, and that was in a car, and I was driving, so seeing anything was impossible. Here, I had a view of everything up close and personal. The Trump building, the old bridges and statues, and the river itself. Actually the river isn't much to look at, especially compared to, say, the Tennessee, but it's kinda neat to see this pathway of water running right through the mixture of old and new buildings, big and small, short and tall, shiny and...not.
It was so charming I decided to take the steps down to the "Riverwalk" which ran between each bridge. Odd that no one else was really going that way - everyone stayed up on the street with the traffic and noise. What a peaceful little treat, walking closer to the water with the traffic up above and to watch the cars and trains and people traveling across the bridges high over the water. Now, I'm not sure of the reason there were not many people venturing down the steps and back up again, but I do know the reason I only did it once. The somewhat obscured corner at the bottom of the stairs heading back up to the street obviously makes a great spot to relieve oneself, were one so inclined to need to do so. Granted I didn't actually witness any such acts, but believe me, I know a good puddle o' pee when I smell one. And this one was quite rank. In fact, it was one of those things that, once it gets stuck in the nose hairs, it likes to make itself at home for a while. It took me walking briskly for about 3 blocks before I was able to breathe normally again.
Luckily, I happened upon a wonderfully eclectic shop to distract my senses for a few minutes. It was closed, but I could have stood at the windows and stared (and drooled) for hours. Well, at least for many minutes. The natural wood items were definitely to drool over. Nothing fancy - rather it was the simplicity of everything that made it so beautiful. Tim would love it. :)
Nevertheless, I did not make it to the lake, nor did I take any pictures. I just made my way back to CVS, picked up some comfort food at Steve's, tucked my venturing tail and went home. Sad, the way a puddle o' pee can just ruin a good intention.
After dropping off the 'scrips at the CVS, I ventured through the very large, very long shadow of the famous Merchandise Mart. Yep, it's a big'un. Across the bridge at Wells and along the river for a few blocks. Up until now I had stayed on the side of town I was most familiar with, which is to say within 3-4 blocks of Ontario. I've only been on the other side of the river once, and that was in a car, and I was driving, so seeing anything was impossible. Here, I had a view of everything up close and personal. The Trump building, the old bridges and statues, and the river itself. Actually the river isn't much to look at, especially compared to, say, the Tennessee, but it's kinda neat to see this pathway of water running right through the mixture of old and new buildings, big and small, short and tall, shiny and...not.
It was so charming I decided to take the steps down to the "Riverwalk" which ran between each bridge. Odd that no one else was really going that way - everyone stayed up on the street with the traffic and noise. What a peaceful little treat, walking closer to the water with the traffic up above and to watch the cars and trains and people traveling across the bridges high over the water. Now, I'm not sure of the reason there were not many people venturing down the steps and back up again, but I do know the reason I only did it once. The somewhat obscured corner at the bottom of the stairs heading back up to the street obviously makes a great spot to relieve oneself, were one so inclined to need to do so. Granted I didn't actually witness any such acts, but believe me, I know a good puddle o' pee when I smell one. And this one was quite rank. In fact, it was one of those things that, once it gets stuck in the nose hairs, it likes to make itself at home for a while. It took me walking briskly for about 3 blocks before I was able to breathe normally again.
Luckily, I happened upon a wonderfully eclectic shop to distract my senses for a few minutes. It was closed, but I could have stood at the windows and stared (and drooled) for hours. Well, at least for many minutes. The natural wood items were definitely to drool over. Nothing fancy - rather it was the simplicity of everything that made it so beautiful. Tim would love it. :)
Nevertheless, I did not make it to the lake, nor did I take any pictures. I just made my way back to CVS, picked up some comfort food at Steve's, tucked my venturing tail and went home. Sad, the way a puddle o' pee can just ruin a good intention.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
When I'm 64
Lena Horne died last week, and Sunday Morning ran an interview she did when she was 64. She had lost her husband of many years, along with her dad, when she was about the age I am now. Of course the question was asked "will you marry again?". Her response was much like mine would be now - I'm spoiled, I am set in my ways and don't want to have to change, and I wouldn't want to inflict that on anyone. Fact is, I can't imagine having someone around all the time infringing on my life and what I want to do. It's a headache. Not to mention heartache if you let it get to you.
More than one person made a comment about me going to the big city and finding a man. Okay, there are times that I think it would be nice to have someone around now and then, mainly to go to dinner with or a movie or share a thought or two. It concerns me, however, that some of my friends and family feel that I need someone to...what, complete me? take care of me? keep me from being lonely? to inflict my weirdness upon??
Certainly there are thousands upon thousands of single, straight, middle-aged men in a city like this - heck there were at least hundreds in Huntsville. That doesn't make it easy to find one that you just don't want to live without. Or that one that you don't mind living with. Until fate drops him in my lap or at my door, I'll continue to enjoy just doing whatever I want whenever I want without checking in with anyone else. I don't mind being the third or fifth or seventh wheel (or the oneth). I don't mind making myself complete. And if I'm fortunate enough to live to be 92 like Lena, and still have some part of my mind and body active, it will be okay if I'm still single and surrounded by a loving family of kids and grandkids and maybe even great grandkids and nieces and nephews and on and on. And if, in the meantime, some guy who is able to make me even more whole and complete than I already am shows up and sticks around, what the heck? That will be okay too.
More than one person made a comment about me going to the big city and finding a man. Okay, there are times that I think it would be nice to have someone around now and then, mainly to go to dinner with or a movie or share a thought or two. It concerns me, however, that some of my friends and family feel that I need someone to...what, complete me? take care of me? keep me from being lonely? to inflict my weirdness upon??
Certainly there are thousands upon thousands of single, straight, middle-aged men in a city like this - heck there were at least hundreds in Huntsville. That doesn't make it easy to find one that you just don't want to live without. Or that one that you don't mind living with. Until fate drops him in my lap or at my door, I'll continue to enjoy just doing whatever I want whenever I want without checking in with anyone else. I don't mind being the third or fifth or seventh wheel (or the oneth). I don't mind making myself complete. And if I'm fortunate enough to live to be 92 like Lena, and still have some part of my mind and body active, it will be okay if I'm still single and surrounded by a loving family of kids and grandkids and maybe even great grandkids and nieces and nephews and on and on. And if, in the meantime, some guy who is able to make me even more whole and complete than I already am shows up and sticks around, what the heck? That will be okay too.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
neighbors
When you live in a city of millions, you get some pretty odd neighbors. I don't mean the lady from New York who lives next door, or the couple with the big dog, or the guy who is hardly ever here, but is on the owner's board of directors. They're the normal neighbors - the folks you find anywhere, the ones you expect.
There are others, not entirely unexpected, but no less neighbors, like it or not. This weekend I decided to walk down to the "magnificent mile" of Michigan Ave to buy some shoes so I could walk some more and maybe do my booty some good at the same time. The goal was to find those trendy exercising-while-you-walk tennis shoes that look like someone stumped their toe while pouring the sole and overdid it a bit. What I ended up with was a pair of the more-than-twice-as-expensive specialty brand of the same type shoe which I found on sale at a bargain, which means I paid as much as I would have for the cheaper brand not on sale.
At any rate, the good thing about being able to walk to Michigan Ave is, well, being able to walk there. And home again. While enjoying the many sights and sounds and people and buildings and smells all along the way. The bad thing about it is the guy on the corner saying "don't you think you could help me with some breakfast", or the one walking up and down the sidewalk talking to himself (no, there was no bluetooth - I checked). Or the guy wrapped up in a sleeping bag in a recessed doorway which was on the north side of the street so he was in the sun (it was a bit cool). Homeless or vagrants, or beggars, or whatever they may be, they're not completely new to me, but I don't know that I will ever be able to comfortably ignore them. There's a sad repulsiveness about them so that I don't know whether I want to help them or kick them. And yes, they can be a little unnerving. Not really scary, but you just never know. And the guy in the sleeping bag? Could have been a zombie. I mean, it was just a shape - there was nothing human visible. Who knows?
The other neighbors, the ones that I didn't really expect, have wings. Anyone mentions city, you automatically think pigeons, but I've yet to see a pigeon in Chicago. Instead, I have a constant reminder of the gulf coast. At first I thought "what the heck is a seagull doing here?????", but then the duh moment happened and I remembered we actually are right next to a lake - actually more like a sea. In my life, however, seagulls have always meant sand, sun, waves, jellyfish, and Hawaiian Tropic.
I think it's neat, having seagulls instead of pigeons. Seagulls have personality and are graceful and slender. Pigeons strut around looking lost and fat and stupid. Not that I'm biased. I mean in a perfect world the city birds would be lovely songbirds or colorful toucans or magnificent eagles. Since this isn't a perfect world, I'll make do with the seagulls. As long as they keep their droppings out of my hair.
I guess the best I can do is learn to coexist peaceably with all neighbors, while keeping a slight guard up against droppings or crazies or zombies grabbing my ankles as I walk around the city in my new expensive even on sale booty shaping shoes.
There are others, not entirely unexpected, but no less neighbors, like it or not. This weekend I decided to walk down to the "magnificent mile" of Michigan Ave to buy some shoes so I could walk some more and maybe do my booty some good at the same time. The goal was to find those trendy exercising-while-you-walk tennis shoes that look like someone stumped their toe while pouring the sole and overdid it a bit. What I ended up with was a pair of the more-than-twice-as-expensive specialty brand of the same type shoe which I found on sale at a bargain, which means I paid as much as I would have for the cheaper brand not on sale.
At any rate, the good thing about being able to walk to Michigan Ave is, well, being able to walk there. And home again. While enjoying the many sights and sounds and people and buildings and smells all along the way. The bad thing about it is the guy on the corner saying "don't you think you could help me with some breakfast", or the one walking up and down the sidewalk talking to himself (no, there was no bluetooth - I checked). Or the guy wrapped up in a sleeping bag in a recessed doorway which was on the north side of the street so he was in the sun (it was a bit cool). Homeless or vagrants, or beggars, or whatever they may be, they're not completely new to me, but I don't know that I will ever be able to comfortably ignore them. There's a sad repulsiveness about them so that I don't know whether I want to help them or kick them. And yes, they can be a little unnerving. Not really scary, but you just never know. And the guy in the sleeping bag? Could have been a zombie. I mean, it was just a shape - there was nothing human visible. Who knows?
The other neighbors, the ones that I didn't really expect, have wings. Anyone mentions city, you automatically think pigeons, but I've yet to see a pigeon in Chicago. Instead, I have a constant reminder of the gulf coast. At first I thought "what the heck is a seagull doing here?????", but then the duh moment happened and I remembered we actually are right next to a lake - actually more like a sea. In my life, however, seagulls have always meant sand, sun, waves, jellyfish, and Hawaiian Tropic.
I think it's neat, having seagulls instead of pigeons. Seagulls have personality and are graceful and slender. Pigeons strut around looking lost and fat and stupid. Not that I'm biased. I mean in a perfect world the city birds would be lovely songbirds or colorful toucans or magnificent eagles. Since this isn't a perfect world, I'll make do with the seagulls. As long as they keep their droppings out of my hair.
I guess the best I can do is learn to coexist peaceably with all neighbors, while keeping a slight guard up against droppings or crazies or zombies grabbing my ankles as I walk around the city in my new expensive even on sale booty shaping shoes.
the snow globe
When I was here for a meeting in January, I bought my niece Sydney a snow globe for her birthday. It has a miniature abbreviated downtown with a few landmark buildings, and a ferris wheel representing Navy Pier. She loved it which made me happy. That's also when I told them that I might be moving to that place inside the snow globe.
Yesterday I told my sister-in-law, Vickie, that I wanted them to come up and she said Syd was ready to go. Syd told her that she wanted to go see Aunt Lynn because Aunt Lynn would know where that big ferris wheel is and would take her. Of course I would, and I would ride it with her (while her dad is on the ground tossing his cookies at the thought of being that up that high).
Syd is a hoot. She's always been pretty quick with the comeback, even though she's just turned 5. Vickie was washing her car and Syd said "mama, you're hot!!". Vickie said why thank you, Syd! "No mama, not hot like when a boy whistles at you, I mean you're SWEATING!"
I love the way kids brains work - my own two had some good one-liners when growing up. Come to think of it, they still do. Some day I need to write down the good ones that we always talk about - just in case someone would forget. The sad thing is that people lose that ability to be spontaneous and off-the-cuff and just say whatever comes out. The ones that hang onto it become Robin Williams. The rest of us have to bite our tongues lest we be thought completely off in the head. I never quite thought that would be a bad place to be, but we can't all become millionaires by saying whatever comes to mind. Still, not losing that ability entirely is partly why Syd and I can have so much fun together, and why my kids will never totally lose that kid inside of them. They really didn't stand an chance anyway; their dad is more off in the head than the rest of us put together. And not completely in a bad way.
Yesterday I told my sister-in-law, Vickie, that I wanted them to come up and she said Syd was ready to go. Syd told her that she wanted to go see Aunt Lynn because Aunt Lynn would know where that big ferris wheel is and would take her. Of course I would, and I would ride it with her (while her dad is on the ground tossing his cookies at the thought of being that up that high).
Syd is a hoot. She's always been pretty quick with the comeback, even though she's just turned 5. Vickie was washing her car and Syd said "mama, you're hot!!". Vickie said why thank you, Syd! "No mama, not hot like when a boy whistles at you, I mean you're SWEATING!"
I love the way kids brains work - my own two had some good one-liners when growing up. Come to think of it, they still do. Some day I need to write down the good ones that we always talk about - just in case someone would forget. The sad thing is that people lose that ability to be spontaneous and off-the-cuff and just say whatever comes out. The ones that hang onto it become Robin Williams. The rest of us have to bite our tongues lest we be thought completely off in the head. I never quite thought that would be a bad place to be, but we can't all become millionaires by saying whatever comes to mind. Still, not losing that ability entirely is partly why Syd and I can have so much fun together, and why my kids will never totally lose that kid inside of them. They really didn't stand an chance anyway; their dad is more off in the head than the rest of us put together. And not completely in a bad way.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
unexpected niceties
I've been sick. Got a nasty cough and lots of snot. Not to mention the muffin feet of last week. Finally got to go to the doctor but I knew it was going to cost me. It's hard enough to get a doctor's appointment with no insurance, but you sure aren't likely to get out cheap. At least not to my experience.
The doctor's office was quiet and the doctor was prompt. He wrote me several prescriptions to cover what I was missing (had not been able to refill anything due to insurance change) as well as to cover my current ills, along with an order for some blood tests, and sent me on my way. As I checked out, I asked what I needed to pay, and the response was "oh, just fax us a copy of your insurance card when you do get it". Wow. So, did they at least want the co-pay? No, just wait and I can call them with a credit card number. No problem. Wow again. They did not know me from Adam's housecat, and they let me walk with a handful of prescriptions and all my money intact. Pretty sweet.
The next day I went to the hospital to have the blood drawn for the tests. Explained once again that I did not yet have my insurance card and was prepared to pay out of pocket. "Oh, don't worry about that, just call this number when you do get insurance and give them the information and they can just file it then". What? Okay - doctor's office was one thing, but getting out of a hospital without paying a dime??? What's wrong with these yankees? They're supposed to be rude and untrusting. Am I on candid camera? Is this "mess with a southerner" day?
Honestly, I don't think I could walk out of my Huntsville doctor's office - where I'd been a patient for almost 10 years - without paying anything. Maybe people around here tend to pay their bills. Or at least people in Elmhurst, which admittedly is a pretty high-end part of town. An unexpected graciousness that was much appreciated - something I really did not expect.
I had already noticed that people here are not "yankees" the way that, say, New Yorkers or Philly-ers are yankees. In my experience the people in Chicago had always been pretty nice, in some ways moreso than southerners. I guess Chicago, being "mid-west" rather than "up north" is a little different. Take the traffic, for instance. There is constantly heavy traffic here. Back home, if you try to change lanes in front of someone, they're more likely to speed up than to let you in. Here, probably because they deal with this traffic every day, it's expected that people are going to need to change lanes and cut in front of you. And it's fine.
People in stores speak to you, people say excuse me, and hold doors, and do all the things that I'm accustomed to, but that I've heard aren't common outside of the south. Maybe that's one reason I feel fairly at home here - if I could just add some crickets and a "y'all" now and then, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference. Well, except for the size of the buildings. And the traffic.
The doctor's office was quiet and the doctor was prompt. He wrote me several prescriptions to cover what I was missing (had not been able to refill anything due to insurance change) as well as to cover my current ills, along with an order for some blood tests, and sent me on my way. As I checked out, I asked what I needed to pay, and the response was "oh, just fax us a copy of your insurance card when you do get it". Wow. So, did they at least want the co-pay? No, just wait and I can call them with a credit card number. No problem. Wow again. They did not know me from Adam's housecat, and they let me walk with a handful of prescriptions and all my money intact. Pretty sweet.
The next day I went to the hospital to have the blood drawn for the tests. Explained once again that I did not yet have my insurance card and was prepared to pay out of pocket. "Oh, don't worry about that, just call this number when you do get insurance and give them the information and they can just file it then". What? Okay - doctor's office was one thing, but getting out of a hospital without paying a dime??? What's wrong with these yankees? They're supposed to be rude and untrusting. Am I on candid camera? Is this "mess with a southerner" day?
Honestly, I don't think I could walk out of my Huntsville doctor's office - where I'd been a patient for almost 10 years - without paying anything. Maybe people around here tend to pay their bills. Or at least people in Elmhurst, which admittedly is a pretty high-end part of town. An unexpected graciousness that was much appreciated - something I really did not expect.
I had already noticed that people here are not "yankees" the way that, say, New Yorkers or Philly-ers are yankees. In my experience the people in Chicago had always been pretty nice, in some ways moreso than southerners. I guess Chicago, being "mid-west" rather than "up north" is a little different. Take the traffic, for instance. There is constantly heavy traffic here. Back home, if you try to change lanes in front of someone, they're more likely to speed up than to let you in. Here, probably because they deal with this traffic every day, it's expected that people are going to need to change lanes and cut in front of you. And it's fine.
People in stores speak to you, people say excuse me, and hold doors, and do all the things that I'm accustomed to, but that I've heard aren't common outside of the south. Maybe that's one reason I feel fairly at home here - if I could just add some crickets and a "y'all" now and then, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference. Well, except for the size of the buildings. And the traffic.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Trains in the Night
Seems I've been some sort of sick since I moved, and today the stuffiness from my head (and maybe the swelling in my feet) decided to take up residence in my lungs. I haven't coughed like this in years, and the hi-test Robitusin I bought on the way home is obviously not the night-time kind.
As I lay here not sleeping, I find myself listening to the Brown Line which runs about a block and a half away. Funny I hadn't noticed how often a train goes by until now. I've found that in most circumstances you learn to shut out certain sounds, like when working in a cubicle farm, you learn to not hear what goes on around you. It's not that you ignore it, you actually don't hear it. Unless it's quiet, like now, I don't hear the city noises. I thought sirens would be distracting, but frankly I don't hear any more here than I did living near Hwy 72.
I was thinking how for much of my life I've lived near railroad tracks. I grew up in a town where 2 railways converged - I'm not sure now, but I think it was the Southern and the Santa Fe - so the railroad was just part of life. We would spit on trains from the viaduct and put pennies on the tracks. At the little farmhouse in Fackler (where the kids grew up) we lived about a quarter mile from the tracks, and it took a few weeks not to hear every train that went by. They tended to be generous with the whistle; the crossing didn't have lights or barriers. One morning shortly after we moved there, I woke up with the realization that something was different. A train was on the track but it was stopped. Odd. It was later in the morning that I learned that someone had been fishing from the railroad bridge a short distance away, and didn't hear the train in time to make it to safety. He was the husband of a co-worker, and a guy I knew from high school. A funeral director once told me that you never want to go up against a train - 'cause you ain't gonna win.
I'm glad the trains here don't have whistles. I don't think that's something I could learn to not hear. And I'm glad they're either up in the air or underground. But mostly I'm just glad they're here. Gives me some sense of normalcy in the middle of the night.
As I lay here not sleeping, I find myself listening to the Brown Line which runs about a block and a half away. Funny I hadn't noticed how often a train goes by until now. I've found that in most circumstances you learn to shut out certain sounds, like when working in a cubicle farm, you learn to not hear what goes on around you. It's not that you ignore it, you actually don't hear it. Unless it's quiet, like now, I don't hear the city noises. I thought sirens would be distracting, but frankly I don't hear any more here than I did living near Hwy 72.
I was thinking how for much of my life I've lived near railroad tracks. I grew up in a town where 2 railways converged - I'm not sure now, but I think it was the Southern and the Santa Fe - so the railroad was just part of life. We would spit on trains from the viaduct and put pennies on the tracks. At the little farmhouse in Fackler (where the kids grew up) we lived about a quarter mile from the tracks, and it took a few weeks not to hear every train that went by. They tended to be generous with the whistle; the crossing didn't have lights or barriers. One morning shortly after we moved there, I woke up with the realization that something was different. A train was on the track but it was stopped. Odd. It was later in the morning that I learned that someone had been fishing from the railroad bridge a short distance away, and didn't hear the train in time to make it to safety. He was the husband of a co-worker, and a guy I knew from high school. A funeral director once told me that you never want to go up against a train - 'cause you ain't gonna win.
I'm glad the trains here don't have whistles. I don't think that's something I could learn to not hear. And I'm glad they're either up in the air or underground. But mostly I'm just glad they're here. Gives me some sense of normalcy in the middle of the night.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
grits ain't groceries
Woke up to a glorious morning - not a cloud to be seen - and the sign on the bank that gives time/temp says it's a balmy 42 at 6:30 a.m. I've been invited to breakfast at Yolk, which is a fabulous, and fabulously popular, restaurant a couple of blocks over. They have omelets that hang off the plate on both ends - and it's a big plate! It's Mother's Day, and probably the first ever that I won't spend some time with at least one of my birthed. But I have no doubt I'll hear from both - they're the bestest.
My first trip to a grocery store in Chicago - Jewel Osco is the "Kroger" of this fair city. Seems there's one on every other corner, and there is luckily one a few blocks away that has......drumroll please.......a PARKING LOT in front! Parking being at a premium in a city, this is a real find.
I loaded up on all the things one normally buys - milk, juice, frozen PF Changs Beef n Brocolli - and after paying $90 for around 6-7 plastic bags of necessities, drove back home. I knew to expect higher prices, and yes, most things were around 20% more than in Alabama. Happy cow milk was about the same price though. Maybe the cows are price-fixing.
Having garage parking was one of the 2 (washer/dryer in unit being the other) requirements I demanded when looking for a house. Okay, it's a condo, but if you can own it, I think it qualifies as a house. Even a single-wide hand-me-down trailer qualifies as a house in some cultures, like Alabama. So I have garage parking - heated, no less. Living in an 18-story building means toting whatever you have from the 4th floor parking space to the elevator, and from the elevator into the "house". I'm sure someone sells some sort of collapsible wheeled cart for this purpose that I could just store in my parking spot. As soon as I find one, it's mine.
Life in the city is an adjustment - but for some odd reason, not so much of one. I'm surprised at how I'm just falling right into it - traffic and all.
Time for Yolk - later!
My first trip to a grocery store in Chicago - Jewel Osco is the "Kroger" of this fair city. Seems there's one on every other corner, and there is luckily one a few blocks away that has......drumroll please.......a PARKING LOT in front! Parking being at a premium in a city, this is a real find.
I loaded up on all the things one normally buys - milk, juice, frozen PF Changs Beef n Brocolli - and after paying $90 for around 6-7 plastic bags of necessities, drove back home. I knew to expect higher prices, and yes, most things were around 20% more than in Alabama. Happy cow milk was about the same price though. Maybe the cows are price-fixing.
Having garage parking was one of the 2 (washer/dryer in unit being the other) requirements I demanded when looking for a house. Okay, it's a condo, but if you can own it, I think it qualifies as a house. Even a single-wide hand-me-down trailer qualifies as a house in some cultures, like Alabama. So I have garage parking - heated, no less. Living in an 18-story building means toting whatever you have from the 4th floor parking space to the elevator, and from the elevator into the "house". I'm sure someone sells some sort of collapsible wheeled cart for this purpose that I could just store in my parking spot. As soon as I find one, it's mine.
Life in the city is an adjustment - but for some odd reason, not so much of one. I'm surprised at how I'm just falling right into it - traffic and all.
Time for Yolk - later!
Saturday, May 8, 2010
is a good day in hell better than a bad day in the city?
I'm not sure you can call this an adventure, but it certainly has been an experience so far.
Week 1:
Got to the new job where my new boss who is also new in the job wasn't expecting me because the guy who initiated the move forgot I was coming. Good thing I had brought my laptop from Huntsville so I could at least keep up with emails from there. Most of the first week was answering questions from the Huntsville office and trying to figure out what the hell I was supposed to be doing here. Learned not to order the canolli from the delivery pizza place - diarrhea from hell.
Had decided on a condo to lease, and had a friend drop off 2 checks (deposit and May rent) along with the lease to the realtor who had helped me find a place. Got a call from her the next day - "Lynn, I got the lease, but where are the checks??" They were in the envelope - which left my hands sealed - with the lease. They had disappeared. I had almost 5 grand in checks floating around Chicago somewhere.
Drove to the realtor's office to drop off two new checks after stopping payment on the lost ones. On the way back to the airport to fly home, had my first actual wreck ever (not counting the 360 on the icy bridge when the kids were preschoolers). Totally totaled the rental car, and learned that you don't glance away from whatever is in front of you for 1/2 a second in this town, not even to check an exit sign or look in the rearview.
Just glad to make it to the airport in time to get on a plane home with nothing more than a few bruises and a determination that this move was NOT going to beat me, dammit.
Week 2:
Back to the city and the new job - still with no good clue as to what I'm doing. Feel like I'm in a foreign country and I don't speak the language. The only good thing is that there are so many other people in new positions, that we're all a little lost.
At least the move got scheduled, and things seem to be coming together. Oh, and the lost checks that magically weren't in the envelope? Someone found one of them on the street and turned it into the building manager where I'm renting the condo. I had put the address in the "For" line of the check. I was right! The checks were there - the realtor evidently just dropped them and didn't want to own up to it...? That dinner I promised her at Japonai? Forget it - the stop payment fee just took care of that.
One good thing about this week - nothing horribly bad happened. Found Chipotle in Elmhurst, didn't wreck the rental, and the hotel had my phone charger that I had left. Except that I left it again.
Week 3:
The move. Had a good yard sale, got rid of a lot of the things that needed to go and put some cash in pocket. Sold the truck last week, but still no home for Rockie Horror kitty. Got to spend some time with younger bro while the movers packed stuff up. Had yet another (and final) farewell at West End Grill, home of the most awesome Brian, nachos, and chicken fingers (not to mention Jagerschnizel). Spent my last night in Huntsville actually in Madison with Seth and Tine. Stopped by the plant for one last "see ya" before hitting the road North.
The movers were a good bunch - my stuff actually made it here and in good condition. The drive up was mostly uneventful and I managed to miss any traffic issues. The only problem was when I actually got near Chicago - the GPS wanted me to go on a route that was closed, and it didn't really like me exiting when it was telling me not to. "Make a legal u-turn at the first opportunity" is actually a GPS standard command. Me yelling "I WOULD IF I COULD YOU DIM WITTED BITCH" is not understood by the GPS. Being in an industrial section somewhere southeast of Chicago at dusk is not fun, but I do have to admit I would not have gotten out of there without my new friend, GyPSy.
Managed to get most everything unpacked and somewhat organized while working the last 2 days of the week. And Rockie has a home thanks to my optometrists' assistant. Things are looking up.....
Then we get to Week 4:
Woke up Sunday with swollen feet, hands and eyes. Figuring it's an allergic reaction to something that doesn't exist in the South since I did walk around town a bit. By Monday, I had a hard time finding shoes I could wear to work, and the rest of the week followed suit. Swollen feet and ankles in the morning, stuff them into whatever shoes I could, and by afternoon, the swelling was doubled and my cankles went from knee to toes with muffin-top feet rising out of the shoes like yeast bread. Would go to the doctor, but I have no insurance due to the transfer. How can HR cut your insurance off without activating at least the most basic coverage in the new plan??????? I think I'm now on the HR hit list because I've royally pissed them off this week (in return for being pissed off myself).
On top of the HR fiasco, I'm having trouble getting any response from the relocation counselor assigned to me, and I haven't received my "Area Differential" adjustment which I'm counting on to help offset the increase from mortgage payment to rent. I've had all manner of inspectors, realtors, assessors, etc., parading through my house in Alabama and the feedback I'm getting is not what I was hoping for. The house is appraising for a good bit less than I hoped, and the repairs are more than I hoped, so breaking even is becoming a greater probability than making anything from the sale. Renting is an option, but that leaves me still with the liability for mortgage and repairs, which I had not planned for.
By the end of the week, the swelling is subsiding, the thought of breaking even is more acceptable, and I'm excited to know that my daughter and son-in-law will be visiting in 2 weeks, and my son in 3. Work is coming together finally, and I think I might be on the verge of making it in the city after all. At least instead of feeling like I'm in a foreign country, I now feel like I'm in an English-speaking country, but maybe the words don't always mean the same thing. :)
Week 1:
Got to the new job where my new boss who is also new in the job wasn't expecting me because the guy who initiated the move forgot I was coming. Good thing I had brought my laptop from Huntsville so I could at least keep up with emails from there. Most of the first week was answering questions from the Huntsville office and trying to figure out what the hell I was supposed to be doing here. Learned not to order the canolli from the delivery pizza place - diarrhea from hell.
Had decided on a condo to lease, and had a friend drop off 2 checks (deposit and May rent) along with the lease to the realtor who had helped me find a place. Got a call from her the next day - "Lynn, I got the lease, but where are the checks??" They were in the envelope - which left my hands sealed - with the lease. They had disappeared. I had almost 5 grand in checks floating around Chicago somewhere.
Drove to the realtor's office to drop off two new checks after stopping payment on the lost ones. On the way back to the airport to fly home, had my first actual wreck ever (not counting the 360 on the icy bridge when the kids were preschoolers). Totally totaled the rental car, and learned that you don't glance away from whatever is in front of you for 1/2 a second in this town, not even to check an exit sign or look in the rearview.
Just glad to make it to the airport in time to get on a plane home with nothing more than a few bruises and a determination that this move was NOT going to beat me, dammit.
Week 2:
Back to the city and the new job - still with no good clue as to what I'm doing. Feel like I'm in a foreign country and I don't speak the language. The only good thing is that there are so many other people in new positions, that we're all a little lost.
At least the move got scheduled, and things seem to be coming together. Oh, and the lost checks that magically weren't in the envelope? Someone found one of them on the street and turned it into the building manager where I'm renting the condo. I had put the address in the "For" line of the check. I was right! The checks were there - the realtor evidently just dropped them and didn't want to own up to it...? That dinner I promised her at Japonai? Forget it - the stop payment fee just took care of that.
One good thing about this week - nothing horribly bad happened. Found Chipotle in Elmhurst, didn't wreck the rental, and the hotel had my phone charger that I had left. Except that I left it again.
Week 3:
The move. Had a good yard sale, got rid of a lot of the things that needed to go and put some cash in pocket. Sold the truck last week, but still no home for Rockie Horror kitty. Got to spend some time with younger bro while the movers packed stuff up. Had yet another (and final) farewell at West End Grill, home of the most awesome Brian, nachos, and chicken fingers (not to mention Jagerschnizel). Spent my last night in Huntsville actually in Madison with Seth and Tine. Stopped by the plant for one last "see ya" before hitting the road North.
The movers were a good bunch - my stuff actually made it here and in good condition. The drive up was mostly uneventful and I managed to miss any traffic issues. The only problem was when I actually got near Chicago - the GPS wanted me to go on a route that was closed, and it didn't really like me exiting when it was telling me not to. "Make a legal u-turn at the first opportunity" is actually a GPS standard command. Me yelling "I WOULD IF I COULD YOU DIM WITTED BITCH" is not understood by the GPS. Being in an industrial section somewhere southeast of Chicago at dusk is not fun, but I do have to admit I would not have gotten out of there without my new friend, GyPSy.
Managed to get most everything unpacked and somewhat organized while working the last 2 days of the week. And Rockie has a home thanks to my optometrists' assistant. Things are looking up.....
Then we get to Week 4:
Woke up Sunday with swollen feet, hands and eyes. Figuring it's an allergic reaction to something that doesn't exist in the South since I did walk around town a bit. By Monday, I had a hard time finding shoes I could wear to work, and the rest of the week followed suit. Swollen feet and ankles in the morning, stuff them into whatever shoes I could, and by afternoon, the swelling was doubled and my cankles went from knee to toes with muffin-top feet rising out of the shoes like yeast bread. Would go to the doctor, but I have no insurance due to the transfer. How can HR cut your insurance off without activating at least the most basic coverage in the new plan??????? I think I'm now on the HR hit list because I've royally pissed them off this week (in return for being pissed off myself).
On top of the HR fiasco, I'm having trouble getting any response from the relocation counselor assigned to me, and I haven't received my "Area Differential" adjustment which I'm counting on to help offset the increase from mortgage payment to rent. I've had all manner of inspectors, realtors, assessors, etc., parading through my house in Alabama and the feedback I'm getting is not what I was hoping for. The house is appraising for a good bit less than I hoped, and the repairs are more than I hoped, so breaking even is becoming a greater probability than making anything from the sale. Renting is an option, but that leaves me still with the liability for mortgage and repairs, which I had not planned for.
By the end of the week, the swelling is subsiding, the thought of breaking even is more acceptable, and I'm excited to know that my daughter and son-in-law will be visiting in 2 weeks, and my son in 3. Work is coming together finally, and I think I might be on the verge of making it in the city after all. At least instead of feeling like I'm in a foreign country, I now feel like I'm in an English-speaking country, but maybe the words don't always mean the same thing. :)
the beginning
Well, I'm here with lots to do, but just ain't up to anything more than sitting right now. Thought I'd put my adventure to "print" and share (if only with myself) the ins, outs, ups and downs of leaving all that is near and dear to me.
This all started with a conversation, or rather an idea that fell out of my mouth and was heard before I could stuff it back in. Maybe subconciously I had been itching for a change. I simply stated that it would be beneficial for our company to have someone with plant experience (as in manufacturing plant) work at the Division office, and vice versa. I have no doubt that as the idea was forming, it was intended to be me that was the "plant experience". At any rate, the upside was that the person who heard it agreed, and had the power to make it happen. The downside is as of yet to be determined.
So that is, in a nutshell, how I got here - the big city, the windy big city, the currently noisy windy big city (sirens to be heard below). My decision to live "downtown" vs. some place with a less lengthy and traffic-laden drive to the office was based on the whole adventure concept. How the hell could I justify moving to Chicago, and not living IN Chicago? What's the fun in a 30-minute train ride in order to experience anything in the city? Why not just walk out the front door and have it at your fingertips?
Now I've leased a condo with the view you see above - literally walking distance to most anything (if you're not opposed to walking a few city blocks). I could have paid much, MUCH less to live someplace less handy or nice or safe or roomy, but if you're going to adventure, adventure all the way....right? I've moved most of my belongings, leaving my prized kitchen cabinets and the house I worked and sweated and bled to fix up, leaving my kitty cat who was just starting to warm up to me, leaving my newly planted special variety dogwood, my long-desired redbuds, and my beautiful pampered Japanese maple, along with the rest of the hard work I put into landscaping that place. But more difficult, leaving my family - my kids, who are everything to me and who, if either had said "don't do it" would have been the reason to stay; their chosen mates, who I also love dearly because they love my kids dearly and because they are both beautiful, talented people who are actually deserving of my offspring; and my neice who is my practice granddaughter and a complete joy to be with and who I can't wait to share the city with; and nephew who excels at everything he does and will graduate high school while I'm here and hopefully will be playing some sort of sport at some great university when I return; and brothers and sisters-in-law, who are rooted in the town where we grew up and who keep me rooted there also. Not to mention surrogate kids, friends, co-workers, who I love and will miss. But what is a great adventure without some sacrifice? Thus begins the new life of old Lynn, party of one, lost in transplantation, dixie chick and the city...the adventure of a lifetime.
This all started with a conversation, or rather an idea that fell out of my mouth and was heard before I could stuff it back in. Maybe subconciously I had been itching for a change. I simply stated that it would be beneficial for our company to have someone with plant experience (as in manufacturing plant) work at the Division office, and vice versa. I have no doubt that as the idea was forming, it was intended to be me that was the "plant experience". At any rate, the upside was that the person who heard it agreed, and had the power to make it happen. The downside is as of yet to be determined.
So that is, in a nutshell, how I got here - the big city, the windy big city, the currently noisy windy big city (sirens to be heard below). My decision to live "downtown" vs. some place with a less lengthy and traffic-laden drive to the office was based on the whole adventure concept. How the hell could I justify moving to Chicago, and not living IN Chicago? What's the fun in a 30-minute train ride in order to experience anything in the city? Why not just walk out the front door and have it at your fingertips?
Now I've leased a condo with the view you see above - literally walking distance to most anything (if you're not opposed to walking a few city blocks). I could have paid much, MUCH less to live someplace less handy or nice or safe or roomy, but if you're going to adventure, adventure all the way....right? I've moved most of my belongings, leaving my prized kitchen cabinets and the house I worked and sweated and bled to fix up, leaving my kitty cat who was just starting to warm up to me, leaving my newly planted special variety dogwood, my long-desired redbuds, and my beautiful pampered Japanese maple, along with the rest of the hard work I put into landscaping that place. But more difficult, leaving my family - my kids, who are everything to me and who, if either had said "don't do it" would have been the reason to stay; their chosen mates, who I also love dearly because they love my kids dearly and because they are both beautiful, talented people who are actually deserving of my offspring; and my neice who is my practice granddaughter and a complete joy to be with and who I can't wait to share the city with; and nephew who excels at everything he does and will graduate high school while I'm here and hopefully will be playing some sort of sport at some great university when I return; and brothers and sisters-in-law, who are rooted in the town where we grew up and who keep me rooted there also. Not to mention surrogate kids, friends, co-workers, who I love and will miss. But what is a great adventure without some sacrifice? Thus begins the new life of old Lynn, party of one, lost in transplantation, dixie chick and the city...the adventure of a lifetime.
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