Don't laugh...well, okay, laugh then
Tomorrow we'll have been in Normal, IL for a month. I still giggle inside when I tell people I'm living in Normal. I've decided I simply must make a photo collage of pictures of signs around town that say "Normal" something-or-other on them. The centerpiece is definitely going to be a night shot of the huge neon sign at the Normal Theatre, the movie theatre downtown. I've discovered the reason why the town is named Normal, but I'm not sharing in this post.
A summation of what's been on my mind since we got here:
This house we rented is the opposite of Mary Poppins -- it's imperfect in practically every way. I spent the first two or three weeks in a constant bad mood as I cleaned things and fixed things and had lots of messages and phone calls with the owners about stuff that needed work. A list that is representative, but not complete: absolutely every surface in the house was covered with dust, the furnace hasn't been inspected in who knows how long and may be creating dust, the garage door is falling apart, the storm windows hadn't been taken off, the bathroom faucet had a leak before we arrived that I had to fix immediately at my own expense, two ceiling fans wobble so bad they can't be used (I've been working on re-balancing those), the phone company hadn't set us up in advance like we asked, the lawn hadn't been mowed for more than a week before we arrived, the flower beds around the house are full of weeds, every original window has a crack in it, every screw on every fixture and outlet cover was loose, if I want the bathroom painted I have to do it myself. Etcetera. Things are slowly shaping up to be more liveable. The thing that has irritated me the most in this process is that the whole point of renting is that the owners take care of maintenance, which clearly hasn't been done outside of major repairs (and some of them have not been done either) for years.
It's been so hot and sticky down here this month. My body totally forgot what Midwestern summers are like after wearing long sleeves all summer in Calgary. I had a collection of outfits that never came out of the closet in Calgary, which made me whine a bit, especially about that brown summer dress Andrew really loves with the halter top and swingy skirt and sequins. Now I'm whining about how even short-sleeved T-shirts are too much to wear, even at night.
Everyone I meet here is friendly. It was the same the last two times I visited Bloomington-Normal. It's been the same for a month. It's uncanny how warm of a welcome we're getting here. We got lucky on timing our arrival, as there was a neighborhood block party the second weekend we were in town. The neighbors are great, offering garden vegetables when they have a glut, stopping to chat when we see each other outside, offering to loan a bicycle for a trail ride, among other nice things. The shop owners are friendly and not just cordial. The bus drivers are friendly and helpful. The ISU undergrads getting drunk in their front yards are friendly. The folks I pass on the bike/walking trail actually wave and say good morning. I get the feeling there are a lot of people in this city who are happy with their lives. The mood makes it easier for a newcomer to get a positive first impression of the place.
Finding a niche in the local branch of the Society for Creative Anachronism isn't going to be really hard. I've already been asked to teach a class, contribute some calligraphy to the monthly newsletter, cook for the spring event, join a group going to an event, fill in a missing part in a dance band next month, and help paint scrolls. I'm excited to dive right in.
We were so upset that I was getting allergy attacks from dust before I cleaned from ceiling to floor everywhere inside the house, we were tempted to start looking to buy a house by Dec. 1, the deadline for getting the $8000 federal tax credit for new homebuyers, even though we have a lease on this place for a year. We've since backed off and decided to save more before diving into the housing market while still paying rent. I'm still looking wistfully at places with "for sale" signs out front. There are two on Normal Ave., the street that we usually walk or drive on to head east or to visit downtown. I just can't do it -- I can't live on Normal Ave. in Normal, IL. It's too silly.
A summation of what's been on my mind since we got here:
This house we rented is the opposite of Mary Poppins -- it's imperfect in practically every way. I spent the first two or three weeks in a constant bad mood as I cleaned things and fixed things and had lots of messages and phone calls with the owners about stuff that needed work. A list that is representative, but not complete: absolutely every surface in the house was covered with dust, the furnace hasn't been inspected in who knows how long and may be creating dust, the garage door is falling apart, the storm windows hadn't been taken off, the bathroom faucet had a leak before we arrived that I had to fix immediately at my own expense, two ceiling fans wobble so bad they can't be used (I've been working on re-balancing those), the phone company hadn't set us up in advance like we asked, the lawn hadn't been mowed for more than a week before we arrived, the flower beds around the house are full of weeds, every original window has a crack in it, every screw on every fixture and outlet cover was loose, if I want the bathroom painted I have to do it myself. Etcetera. Things are slowly shaping up to be more liveable. The thing that has irritated me the most in this process is that the whole point of renting is that the owners take care of maintenance, which clearly hasn't been done outside of major repairs (and some of them have not been done either) for years.
It's been so hot and sticky down here this month. My body totally forgot what Midwestern summers are like after wearing long sleeves all summer in Calgary. I had a collection of outfits that never came out of the closet in Calgary, which made me whine a bit, especially about that brown summer dress Andrew really loves with the halter top and swingy skirt and sequins. Now I'm whining about how even short-sleeved T-shirts are too much to wear, even at night.
Everyone I meet here is friendly. It was the same the last two times I visited Bloomington-Normal. It's been the same for a month. It's uncanny how warm of a welcome we're getting here. We got lucky on timing our arrival, as there was a neighborhood block party the second weekend we were in town. The neighbors are great, offering garden vegetables when they have a glut, stopping to chat when we see each other outside, offering to loan a bicycle for a trail ride, among other nice things. The shop owners are friendly and not just cordial. The bus drivers are friendly and helpful. The ISU undergrads getting drunk in their front yards are friendly. The folks I pass on the bike/walking trail actually wave and say good morning. I get the feeling there are a lot of people in this city who are happy with their lives. The mood makes it easier for a newcomer to get a positive first impression of the place.
Finding a niche in the local branch of the Society for Creative Anachronism isn't going to be really hard. I've already been asked to teach a class, contribute some calligraphy to the monthly newsletter, cook for the spring event, join a group going to an event, fill in a missing part in a dance band next month, and help paint scrolls. I'm excited to dive right in.
We were so upset that I was getting allergy attacks from dust before I cleaned from ceiling to floor everywhere inside the house, we were tempted to start looking to buy a house by Dec. 1, the deadline for getting the $8000 federal tax credit for new homebuyers, even though we have a lease on this place for a year. We've since backed off and decided to save more before diving into the housing market while still paying rent. I'm still looking wistfully at places with "for sale" signs out front. There are two on Normal Ave., the street that we usually walk or drive on to head east or to visit downtown. I just can't do it -- I can't live on Normal Ave. in Normal, IL. It's too silly.