ChiKat

When I wrote yesterday's entry, I mentioned that the building was section-8, as if to suggest that because it was a section-8 building, the residents disliked us. I thought I should clarify that.

My husband and I, with our pearly white skin, represent something in this neighborhood. 10 years ago, condos were selling for $50,000. Now they are selling for $200,000. The neighborhood has changed. During the last five years, many owners of section-8 buildings evicted the renters and converted the buildings to condos. More and more low income families were priced out of this neighborhood.

The families in this neighborhood who own their homes have been pretty welcoming to us. Overall, they seem happy that their neighborhood is increasing in value. The streets are safer, there are fewer empty lots, and we might even get an actual restaurant or two next year.

But there are an equal if not greater amount of renters who are being priced out of this neighborhood, who are angry at the changes.

When my husband and I go to the park right outside their building, we represent the changing neighborhood. It doesn't matter if we love this neighborhood, if we want to improve it so everyone is welcome here. We represent the fact that more and more low income families are being priced out.

What I'm just starting to realize is that there are many middle-income black families moving into this neighborhood who are welcomed more than my husband and I. They have the same (if not higher) income level as me, but they don't represent the changing neighborhood in the same way.

Being white in a neighborhood that is 97% black means that my skin color screams gentrification.

Lots of students park on our street and walk to the nearby university. When we first moved in, many of our neighbors assumed we were students and didn't bother to say hello to us. We were just some more white kids parking in the neighborhood.

After a year of living here, our neighbors recognize us now and know that we actually live here. We're on a smile-how-are-you-today basis with most of them. I love walking down our street. It's comfortable; it feels like we are walking home.

One street away, there is a kiddie park. There is a ten-year-old in our family who stayed with us last weekend. My husband and I wanted to take him to the park, but we weren't sure it would work out. Often, a bunch of teenagers hang out at the park and it doesn't feel welcoming to little kids. But it was early in the day, so we figured we would at least walk by the park. If it was empty, we'd let the ten-year-old play on the swings.

It was empty, so we thought it would be perfect. But we slowly started to realize that we were attracting an audience. Across the street, there is an empty lot, then there is a section-8 building. When we got to the park, there was one guy hanging out on his back steps. After 10 minutes in the park, there were about 10 people, out on their back steps, watching us.

They weren't watching us in a threatening way, but I can't say they were watching us in the most warm and cozy way either. I felt like the general sentiment was, "What the hell are the white people doing in our park?"

I thought it was just me and I was being paranoid. But then my husband looked over at me and said, "Yeah, we're still just 3%".

Remember how I said I was going to solve the mysteries of getting pregnant because I bought an ovulation test kit? Well, I used the kit faithfully, and it said I didn't ovulate. Which freaked me out, until I went to the Dr. Google, who told me that if there was goo mid-month, there was ovulation. I had goo, so clearly, I should not have bought the cheapest kit possible.

Regardless, I was weirded out by the results. I had a doctor's appointment in two weeks, so I figured I would talk about it with the doctor at that time.

In the meantime, I waited for my cycle to start. On the day I normally get my period, I checked to see if my cycle had started. It hadn't. I tackled my sleeping husband with the news.

My groggy but ever-logical husband said, "Well, how do you feel?"
I said, "I feel like I'm getting my period, but that's not the POINT, is it? Because I HAVEN'T!"

Repeat for three more days. Because I am stubborn (read: cheap; see ovulation kit woes), I refused to buy a pregnancy test until I was three days late. I was convinced that buying the test would instantly trigger my period.

I finally came to terms with the fact that I was really and truly late and should take a home pregnancy test to find out what was going on.

I refused to go to the drugstore alone. I told my husband I wanted him with me so I didn't look like some trashy girl who got pregnant on a one-night-stand. Why I thought anyone would notice me, much less come to that conclusion, was beyond me. Luckily, my husband is used to these bizarre declarations of mine, so we went to the store together.

Because I never learn my lessons, I immediately began to price-compare.

"Oh. My. God. Are you seriously going to buy the cheapest pregnancy test on the market?"
"Shhhhhh!"
"Stop freaking out! No one is even looking at us! And stop picking up the generic pregnancy tests. We're buying a top of the line test and WE'RE GETTING TWO just to be sure."
"Fine! OK! I'm going out to the car! I don't want to wait in line with you to buy them."

I have no idea what my issue is with buying pregnancy tests. My husband bought the tests (along with some Red Bull in case he passed out hearing the news).

I was certain that as soon as I opened the test kit, I would get my period (I was also mumbling about how weird it was that all my bras shrunk in the dryer, proving that I'm not good at identifying early signs of pregnancy).

We had to wait five minutes for the test results. We waited together. My husband was nervous. I was braced for disappointment.

It was positive.

I was more shocked that all my instincts and worst-case scenarios were wrong than I was shocked at being pregnant. My husband turned a bit green and said, "TAKE THE OTHER TEST! JUST TO BE SURE! NOT BECAUSE I'M FREAKED OUT OR ANYTHING!"

I did. It was also positive. We've adjusted to the news and now we're both thrilled.

I'm due in April.

I've come to the embarrassing realization that I hate volunteering at the animal shelter. I'm vegan for cripes sake, shouldn't that make me genetically disposed to feeling all warm and fuzzy at the shelter?

Apparently not. I don't have a problem with the employees there. No one was super friendly (including most of the other volunteers), but everyone seemed pretty dedicated (and extremely over-worked). But there were three factors that really made the entire experience less than ideal.

1. The dogs don't wear collars, so you have to use a leash as a lasso and hope to trap the dog's neck in the noose while the dog is bolting out of the cage. It was stressful trying to lasso the dog without hurting it, especially when the dog had figured out the system and was determined to dodge the leash. In addition, right in front of the cage door is a trough for all the spilled water, urine and other fluids. Workers spray down the cages and push all the waste into the trough. I can't tell you how many times I triumphantly leased a dog, only to realize the rest of the lease was trailing in the trough. Gross.


2. The dogs aren't trained. Which means I spend several hours being pulled about by 50 pound dogs who have never heard of "heel", let alone this strange notion of "training". It's tough work. I think I would be more willing for the physical strain if it's weren't for…


3. The people trying to adopt the dogs are so poorly prepared for a new pet that I seriously want to kick them. Questions like, "Will he like my cat?", "Will he bark?" and "Will he bite me if I hit him?" made me want to say, "Seriously? Why are you adopting a dog? Get out!" and then I would commence kicking them.

Thankfully I refrained from kicking anyone, but I finally figured out that the stress the volunteering was causing me just wasn't worth it. I feel incredibly guilty about that, because I have time available to volunteer, and I really loved the idea of the shelter. I just hated the reality of the shelter. So I'm on a hunt for new volunteer opportunities.

We need to talk. We've been dating for 100 posts. I need to know where this relationship is going.

Writing that, I'm so thankful I never had to sit down and have a talk like that with anyone I dated. Sure, it probably would have cleared up a LOT of miscommunication, but STILL.

Anyway, this is my 100th post on this website. I'm shamelessly using this anniversary to get some feedback from you.

I've watched as readership has increased over the past few months. That's been a great experience for me. Knowing that people are out there reading this blog is great encouragement to keep writing.

To keep you coming back, I figure the 100th post is the perfect time to ask you who the heck you are and what you like/dislike about this blog.

How'd you find me?
Tell me something about yourself (City, State if you can't think of anything else).
What should I write more about?
What should I write less about?
What's one question you want me to I answer?

I wrote on Monday about being a hill away from Greece. Oddly, when the time came to leave Albania, my family didn't just walk over the hill into Greece.

My family left Albania right before World War II, right before the borders closed and Albania became a communist country. Rather than walk over the hill into Greece, my family made the long trek to the western border, then took a boat to Italy. Once they made it to Rome, they waited until they could take a steamer to America. They were one of the millions of immigrants who filtered through Ellis Island. They lost their last name in the process (I have a very common, American last name to replace the very ethnic Albania last name that the Ellis Island guard couldn't spell), but they gained a safe future for their family.

My grandparents who made the trek died years ago. I want to ask them why they didn't just walk over the hill into Greece. Did they feel Greece would not accept them? Did they feel like America offered better opportunities? I have no idea. The answer was lost between the generations.

I think about their immigration when I try to come to terms with my feelings for the current immigration debate going on in the country right now. Do we need a border fence? Do we need amnesty? How do we choose who we welcome into this country?

I can't say that I have the answers. I'm not even sure I know the right questions. But I do believe that immigration is a serious issue right now. I have a lot of complaints against Bush, but I do admire the fact that he tried to take a leadership role in this debate. I am incredibly disappointed with Congress for failing to follow Bush's lead and actually discuss the issue.

Instead, we are given random eight-second sound bites from the campaign trail and no real discussion. Perhaps the substantive discussion happens behind closed doors, but keeping that discussion from the American public makes me perceive Congress as useless power-hording puppets of the special interest groups with no motivation to take risks and lead this country in the correct direction.

I forgot to tell you my insurance news! Last week I wrote about Blue Cross dropping the last major hospital in the Chicago area.

I wanted to contact them and express my displeasure about their actions, but I didn’t want to vent to some poor customer service rep. Their website makes it very clear that they rarely answer email, but I decided to send an email explaining my frustration anyway.

One day later, Esmeralda from Blue Cross called me to let me know they had received my email. Frankly, I was delighted to get the phone call. I really didn't think that they would care enough to even acknowledge my email, let alone call me to discuss the situation.

Esmeralda couldn't really help me, but it was nice to be able to politely vent (I had said everything nasty in the email, so I could be polite on the telephone). Then the funniest thing happened:

CK: "I've built a relationship with my rheumatologist, and now I have to switch, which is really frustrating."
Esme: "I know, but please be assured that we'll give you plenty of notice before we finally end the coverage."
CK: "What does 'plenty of notice' mean? A week? A month? Because most rheumatologists have a four month wait for appointments."
Esme: "Well…uh…hey, could you hang on a second."
[bad music plays]
Esme: "Hi! I'm back! My supervisor just told me that Rush just signed a new contract for five years! So you don't have to worry!"
CK: "Wow! Your job just got much easier, didn't it?"
Esme: "You have no idea. I was supposed to spend my entire shift responding to emails just like yours."

I'm taking full credit for the Rush/Blue Cross renewed contract. I'm sure it was my letter that pushed them back into negotiations.

Someone asked me the other day if I was Greek. I'm not, by a hill. My father's family is from a small southern village in Albania. By small, I mean there are about 10 homes in the village. It's tiny. The homes are nestled between lush, green rolling hills. On the other side of the hill is Greece.

In the morning, the women in the village climb the hilltops, look down on the village and sing. I'm told their voices reverberate through the village.

Many of my family members have made the journey to America, but there are just as many family members that stayed. They are poor in Albania. There is no infrastructure in the country to improve their economic straits. But they wake up to women singing from the hills. I can see the romance in that.

I woke up to my neighbor screaming at her kid. Possibly she hit him. My husband and I had a quiet conversation about when it was appropriate to call the police when you overhear something like that. We were undecided. We are two floors away. It is hard to tell if she is just noisy, or if the child was in danger. It's so difficult to know when it's time to interfere with a domestic situation.

I'm a little sick of all the Chicagoans wailing in agony about Macy's taking over Field's. Usually the comments go like this: "I mean, I hardly ever shopped there, but it's a CHICAGO ICON."

You can't be iconic if everyone ignores you and shops elsewhere.

Field's has an awesome history. The building itself is stunning. Inside, its layout is one of the best I've ever seen. The glass center that allows you a glimpse of ever tantalizing floor is always breath-taking (for an avid shopper like myself).

I love Field's. I stop by to see the latest fashions at least twice a month. I never have to wait in line. Because no one is shopping there. There is a slight rush at lunchtime from the office workers, but otherwise I often have entire departments to myself.

I'm interested to see what Macy's plans to do to increase traffic.

I was in Seattle when the iconic Bon Marche was bought by Macy's. There was the same screaming in the streets about the name change. There was the same demand to respect Seattle's history with "The Bon". Macy's had the same reaction to the Bon as they did to Fields: "We're keeping it's unique place in the city in mind…we're considering keeping the name…we understand how people feel…yeah, we're totally changing the name."

Afterwards, the sales were a bit better, the credit card deals were better (with a Field's credit card, you get 15% off during Field's days, plus an occasional coupon; with a Macy's card, you're inundated with special offers all the time and often the discounts amount to a great deal of savings) and employees said the benefits were better.

I'm hoping Field's has the same experience that the Bon did. I loving having the store to myself, but it would be nice to occasionally run into another shopper at such an iconic Chicago landmark.

It rained really heavily last Wednesday. We now have several water spots on our ceiling. It's days like this that I really wish we still rented.

Our condo was rehabbed five years ago. We moved in a year ago. Since then, each month we stumble across something else that the rehabbers did that should have been done so much better. Big things: the windows leak; the electric wiring isn't up to code. Small things: the knobs on the closets are on the wrong side; the gate in the back is the cheapest electronic gate on the market.

Now we have this problem with water spots on the ceiling. Which means we have a problem with the roof. Which means the association has a problem with the roof.

One of the things that annoys me most about condo living is that we can't just fix things. We have to go to the association and negotiate how we are going to fix the problem. I know the unit across from us will care about the roof, because they are on the top floor also. But the other four units? Their ceiling won't be leaking, so we will have to convince them that we should still dip into our savings to make this fix.

I can envision this meeting perfectly. Of the four units, one of the owners won't show up. One of the owners will agree, as long as the savings will cover the problem and she won't have to pony up any special assessment money. One of the units will agree because he's our friend even if really, he thinks we are complaining about nothing. And the final unit will bring up her concern that the front door is ugly and that is hurting the market value of our building.

What? The front door seems like a tangent? It is, but it's a condo association meeting. People NEVER talk about the problem of the day. They want to talk about what happened last year, what might happen next year, and when they can sell and make a huge profit.

I'm trying to decide if I can just live with water spots.