Our ballots have been cast!

Robert and I went and voted early today at the nearby local mall. I like the early voting. You never know what could happen to you on election day – snowstorm, voter intimidation, long lines, underwear mishap. Knowing that our votes are cast is very reassuring.

The process was very easy. If you’d like to vote early in Illinois, you can check out the website here: Early Voting. We went to the mall, had to sign a document stating we wouldn’t vote again on election day, and then visited the electronic voting machines. I voted for Obama – and was happy to see his name was spelled correctly and he was listed first on the ballot. I’m happy that we got an “I Voted Today” sticker.

Read up on the issues in newspapers and on websites, it’s everyone’s responsibility. And then Vote Early! Or Vote on Election Day! Just VOTE!

We aren’t prone to paranoia, usually. We review all sides of the issue, and often come up with rational reasons of why things are happening, instead of using our vivid imaginations.

Except when it comes to the mail. I think our mailperson hates us.

It all started out when we moved into our new house. The first time our new mailbox was left open, in the rain, we figured it was just an accident – oops, the mail person left the mailbox open – too bad.

The second time it happened, again, left open during the rain, we began to get suspicious.

Now, like clockwork, if the clouds are emitting precipitation, if raindrops are falling, if there’s a dense fog surrounding the house that has moisture in it, if there’s a heavy snow falling, then the mailbox top will be left open and the mail will be soaking wet by the time we get home.

We figured – well, maybe there’s something wrong with the mailbox. But it’s NEVER left open on a day with no rain. Never.

Last week, we came home to this:

Neither rain, nor sleet, nor snow will prevent the mail from being delivered, but I guess the phrase doesn’t suggest what condition your mail will be in. We need to make friends with the mailperson. Maybe I can bribe with cookies.

At last, the basement is officially dry.

Robert supervised the installation of the drain tile on a fine Monday morning. The truck arrived with 7 folks to do the work, which they accomplished in just one day. When giant chunks of foundation concrete are removed from your home, that makes you feel like a real homeowner.

After much ruckus, the drain tile was installed and the sump pump operational. It’s strange to think that we’ve installed a system where the water is welcomed into the house, invited in to stay for a while, then sucked into pipes, and then thrown right out of the house. The new sump pump is like our house’s bouncer.

The post-sump-pump-and-drain-tile-installation-clean-up was significant, with much scrubbing of mud, removal of concrete dust, and mopping of floors. Don’t let anyone tell you that it’s not messy. It is. Messy and muddy, especially when it rains on the day of installation.

Happily, this weekend was the restore of the basement laundry room to a much prettier state:

Look how ice blue the new painted floor is! Such an improvement. My Mom and Dad (thanks Mom & Dad!) came up and helped us put the basement back together. We painted, installed wall paneling, and painted some more, with very exciting results. The laundry room is nice now! Now, we just need a huge rainfall to really test the system to verify that it won’t leak. I’ll go check the weather.

Tomorrow is the basement re-do. The Big Day. The Finish Line. The Super Time. The Event. Finally, the End of Basement Flooding (in capital letters, fingers crossed).

They are expected to arrive at around 8 AM, at which time jackhammers will be used, concrete will be broken up, workers will work, dust will fly, drainage systems will be installed, sump pump holes dug, yard destroyed, concrete poured, and hopefully signifying the end to all the water entering the basement. I hope those jackhammers don’t shake the whole house down.

We like to do things the hard way, so we’ve waited lo these many months to make a decision about our basement flooding, and then even more weeks to actually get them to come out here and do the work (8 weeks of waiting).

The past two weeks we’ve been busy with the setting up and preparations – our good friend Wes came over to help Robert uninstall and move the washer and dryer, and figure out what to do with the utility sink, and Robert and I have been busy wrapping everything we own in the basement with plastic (to prevent dusty items), removing baseboards, taking important items upstairs to prevent ruin. I got out of 4 days of work since I was on a show, but Robert has been doing a lot while I was away. It’s been quite a big prep work project, I’m a little frightened of what the post-clean up will be like.

But for now, fear not, because the time has come. Dry basement tomorrow!

My newest pet peeve is the question that every retail sales person asks me now, when completing a transaction at a store:

“Would you like your receipt with you or in the bag?”

Every salesperson asks. Could be at the grocery store, could be at the gas station, could be Target, could be anywhere where money is exchanged to receive goods.  Since when did this become an option that must be communicated every time we buy something? Are we really that attached to our receipts that we need to know where they are at all times?

It irritates me to no end. It’s like nails on a chalkboard to me. People don’t ask “How are you today?” or “Did you find everything you were looking for?” Instead, it’s “Would you like your receipt with you or in the bag?”   Can’t you just put the receipt in the bag, and if I’m that anxious to have it, I could actually reach into the bag and get it out?  Is this really the only thing we have to say to each other?

In the old days, oh, two or three years ago – only every once in a while were you asked this question. I’m fine with every once in a while. But every time? In every store? Maybe it’s just me, and the universe is trying to tell me something. See if you notice it and let’s compare notes.

I’ve decided I’m going to start replying with a smart alec comment in response to that question.  Like this:

Salesperson: “Would you like your receipt with you or in the bag?”

Me: “The bag feels lonely – put the receipt in the bag to keep it company.”

or

Me: “What’s a receipt?”

or

Me: “Yes.”

When you get off an airplane, if you’re anything like me, you’re hoping for a friendly, welcoming environment at your travel destination.

You don’t want to feel like you shouldn’t breathe the air in the airport. Or that unidentifiable, possibly toxic items will fall on you from the ceiling. Or to feel like you should maybe start running before the ceiling falls down on top of you.

When I stepped off the plane, I wasn’t prepared for something that looks like this:

When I was traveling to Orlando for my job, I visited the Orlando International Airport last week, and this is what greeted me as I disembarked the plane. The entire American Airlines terminal has no drop ceiling. Nothing covering up the gack above it. No pretty facade. No circulating air. Just gross reality of construction, for all the weary travelers to see:

As my friend Stephen says, I don’t like the way it makes me feel.

Today was the primary election here in Illinois, and the first time that we have had the opportunity to vote in our new town. We’ve been accustomed to voting in the city of Chicago – voting in the western suburbs seemed very different than voting in Cook County. We’re used to long lines, indifferent election officials, red tape and bureaucracy, and being in the democratic majority. Here in our new suburb, we’re in the minority – our town is very republican – which is true of most of Illinois outside of Chicago.

The first, and most important, key to voting was finding our voter registration cards. After much looking, blaming each other, and retracing our steps, we found them. We read up on the Tax Referendums facing our town, learned about who was running locally, and made our plan to vote early today.

We voted in a small elementary school just down the street from us, at around 6:50 AM this morning.

The magic of voting took place in a very narrow multi-purpose room, with desks stacked against a wall, and tiny collapsible voting booths erected in a line. I think the election officials were surprised we asked for a democratic ballot. I don’t think they see many democrats in these here parts. I tried to share with them that it was our first time voting in our new town, and that we were new around here, but they were all business and uninterested in my story. And a little annoyed that I tried to be social with them.

We both voted, and were not challenged by any officials and didn’t even need to show our newly found voter ID cards or personal IDs. We didn’t even have to wait in line. I was hoping for a more scandalous story, but that’s really all that happened. Oh, and it was cold and wet. And early. And I’m sick, so I cough a lot. And we got our “I Voted Today” stickers, and I wore my sticker proudly to my client meeting, all day.

I voted for Obama.

Seems like quite a few people who visit this tiny blog review the “It’s Electric” post that we wrote about our experience in the new house with the power company.

I just realized we never posted a picture of the shiny new meter, so here it is, in all it’s powerful, electricty-giving glory:

Isn’t it nice? And it gives us electricity in the new house that we pay for! I like shiny things.

Can you tell Nablopomo is almost over? Just One Day Left!

We have been struggling with a few post-office related mail woes at our new house.

First, it started with not receiving our forwarded mail from our old house. We solved that problem with the help of our old landlord who continued to forward our mail, and then after 4 phone calls and 2 complaints to the complaint department, the post office caught up.

Second, our mailman seems to enjoy leaving our mailbox open, but only when it’s raining. Wet mail = angry postal customers.

Now, the issue is the junk mail. Seriously, we have at least 2 feet of mail every week. Two feet! And that’s not exaggerating. With the move, somehow, we got placed on several catalog lists, and were getting up to 5 catalogs a day. I’ve never bought anything from a catalog. If I buy something outside of the store, it’s from a website, not a catalog.

And the stress of going through that stack of mail every week was causing serious problems, by adding to the clutter of our new house.

I’ve tried solving the problem at the source. When I called Pottery Barn to be removed from their catalog list, it took 15 minutes on the phone. If you multiply that time it took to call one catalog by the sheer numbers of catalogs we receive, I’ll be on the phone for 40 days and nights and will be tearing my hair out in frustration.

But the internet is our friend. On the Nablopomo page, I spied an ad for Green Dimes , a service that reduces your junk mail like credit card offers, insurance offers, coupon mialers, sweepstakes, and catalogs.

We’re giving Green Dimes a try. For $15, they will stop all the junk mail at your address (no matter what name it’s addressed to) and then will plant trees on your behalf – instead of cutting them down to make the stupid junk mail.

We’re excited to see a difference in the amount of junk mail we receive, and we can feel good about doing something for the environment – something simple and easy to accomplish with a few clicks of the mouse.

Hopefully the two feet of junk mail a week will be greatly reduced! Yay No More Junk Mail!

Last night, we did something I’ve been wanting to do for a long, long time. Well, at least as long as we’ve lived here, which is exactly 51 days.

When I was a kid, living in a small town in Central Illinois, nothing made me happier than going to the library to get a stack of books to read. That’s how I spent my spring breaks, and summer vacations throughout my childhood, sitting in my red vinyl bean bag, reading library books.

Our new town library is A TOP TEN LIBRARY, a fact that they are very proud of. There are banners announcing it in the streets, and in the library, and on the library brochures, in the parades, and on the website. But I don’t know what TOP TEN LIBRARY means, and they don’t tell you. Does it mean that they made David Letterman’s top ten list? Or that they are one of the Top Ten Libraries in the City? State? Country? In the whole World? Hard to say, because there’s no qualifiers, anywhere.

We went to the library and got our official library cards last night. We were assisted by a kind and friendly librarian, who Robert thought looked like one of my cousins. She helped us with the procedure of getting a card. It was very easy. I thought maybe because they are a TOP TEN LIBRARY that we would have to go through a lot of red tape hurdles to get our official cards. But we didn’t, and we were all set in about ten minutes.

Our new library card allows us to go to any neighboring suburb, or even back to the Chicago Public Library, to check out books. Any book we want! Even if it’s not a Top Ten Library!

We looked around, and I scooped up books like a kid in a candy store, and ran out, laughing. AND THERE’S NO LIMIT TO THE NUMBER OF BOOKS YOU CAN CHECK OUT!

That makes it a NUMBER ONE LIBRARY in my book.