Concert #3 ("Which one's yours?") and much, much more!
I wasn't kidding about the tome in last night's poem. For your convenience, I have provided cuts.
Also, I'm surprised I'm still able to rhyme while tired. It's a gift.
Oh, the joys of being a keyholder. At least this week I knew I was to get to work early. I was debating about going to the bank. About five years ago I was a swing keyholder, meaning when someone would go on vacation they'd give their key to me (hence, when I got my very own key, the "no more key whore" comment I believe I made). That's the last time I went to the bank for the store, and I wasn't looking forward to doing it again. It turns out the store took that choice away from me--oh, rats. When I got in at around 8:17, I found a note by the computer from I., the previous night's keyholder. It said something like, the new guy downstairs had big problems closing the kiosk, he didn't bring me all the closing stuff I needed, sorry we left so late. I went in the back to drop off my stuff and saw the time sheet--they'd signed out for 11:10. The mall closes at 10; they're scheduled until 10:30 for closing, but this time of year it's typical not to get out until quarter of eleven. Still...11:10? Damn. What in the world happened? There's a kiosk manual downstairs that spells out exactly what you have to do. I even wrote up an example--yes, I was that bored--going step by step with the closing procedures. Somehow the new guy, I'll call him An., must have forgotten that was there. And I. must not have walked him through it, or something. Why he didn't run downstairs to help out, I don't know. Or maybe he did. I left before I. got to work last night; I'm sure the bosses had questions for him. So, anyway, the note also said that there could be a problem with the base fund. Crap. (Did I neglect to mention that An. had never closed downstairs? Hmm, could be part of the problem.) I was told not to count the base fund--the kiosk opener has to do that--but I have to check the bag in case change is needed. Boy, was it needed. There were three $20s in there. Even if you've never worked retail, I hope you recognize that you can't start off the day with big bills. Your goal, when you open, is to have as much small stuff as possible so you can break a $10 or a $20 (or more). Three $20s? Not gonna fly. The change bag only had small bills, so I raided the deposit bag and found a TON of $5s and $10s. Jesus, I., what happened? (My guess is that he just wanted to get out of there and decided to leave the change stuff for the morning person. Gee, thanks.) That took a good five to ten minutes to do. Then, rolled coins. Pennies, need some; dimes, need some; nickels, okay; quarters, OH MY LORD! We keep the loose coins in plastic bags when they're not in the till. This poor, poor plastic bag was about to die. I had to use both hands to get them out to count them...as there was over $20 in quarters in there. Holy schnitzel on a stick. Did someone get bored and open a roll of quarters, or did a granny or little kid break the piggy bank? I fashioned a roll out of a different bag so that at least we wouldn't have to count those by hand for a while, but that still left more than another roll of quarters in the till. *sigh* By then it was 8:45, when the other newest coworker, O., was due to arrive. He's late. He's always late. And sure enough, I'd finished counting one upstairs till and had started the other when he tapped on the gate about ten minutes later than he should have. Thank God the kiosk bag was right on. (The second till was five cents over.) Okay, I sent O. on his way down, crisis averted, everything should be fine until the boss gets in. Hahaha, I should have known. So at 9:10 the phone rings and it's O. He put the base fund into the register, both physically and typing it in, and it asked him for "cash/checks/total." Crap. Crappity crap crap. You know why there wasn't any closing stuff from the kiosk, I.? Because An. DIDN'T ACTUALLY CLOSE THE KIOSK. That's right. That screen O. was in was for closing, not opening. This is how I figure I. didn't run down there; he would have known better. I hope. (But then, he is the only person who's even been robbed at the kiosk--and twice at that--in my eight seasons here. Clearly he's not the brightest bulb on the tree.) What's better, O. has never closed down there either. Luckily I had the pre-closing report upstairs and I talked him through it. However, the journal tape needed to be changed...something else O. hadn't done...and I had to talk him through it. That part took twice as long as the closing part. Even better, the phone has a disconnect button on it, so that if you're trying to use the phone hands-free, your chin will rub up against the button and click! No more phone call. You need both hands to deal with the journal tape. There was a lot of clicking going on. Luckily, the phone hung up just the first time and not each subsequent time, but then there was a lot of "Hello? Are you still there?" going on. The worst part of not closing at night is that the register has to go through a polling process. That's where it sends its info to home office. That can take a while, probably fifteen to twenty minutes. The register cannot be used during this time. Normally that's not a problem, as it happens when the store is closed. However, when the store is supposed to be open and customers can theoretically come in and try to purchase stuff and you can't ring sales, that's a big issue. Luckily the register finished polling before O. had a customer, so it ended up all right. Kiosk Support still called us and said, we didn't receive any polling info from your kiosk last night, but the boss talked to them and all ended up okay. What's better: The rest of the day went relatively smoothly.
Strangest of all: In counting the first upstairs till, I came across something odd in the pennies. Getting a Canadian penny isn't too unusual. However, I found something that I wasn't even sure was a coin. I thought it was a token. I'd picked it up upside down and it had long words following the curve of the coin. On the front of it was a woman and a word I didn't recognize. On the back...when I flipped it right side up, I saw that it was a one-cent piece...from Panama. Freaky. I have a mini coin collection at home, so I grabbed my wallet to take the coin out of the till. Thank goodness I had a regular penny in there. Most of the coins I've found in the tills. There was an Irish coin that was also mistaken for a penny; two Mercury-head dimes (yes, in circulation!); and a Euro from someone who just gave it to me. The Panamanian penny is the same size as one of ours, so I could see how it could get into circulation.
The concert, like all the others, wasn't until 7. I got off work at 4:45. I hung out in the back until 5:30 and then left. I still got to the school 20 minutes early (but still beat some of the kids there). This school has bleachers to sit in, not chairs, so I climbed up to the very back so I could have a backrest (the wall). I sat there for a good ten minutes or so. The kids kind of wandered into the set-up. The first one out for Senior Band was a Junior Band kid from last year. This was the school that had just six kids in the Junior Band at the end of last year. I liked them a lot, and they worked so hard. There's not much you can do with three clarinets and a trumpet, alto sax, and drum. Anyway, this girl was the trumpet player, and she saw me, smiled, and waved. A second person out was a flute player who kept saying excitedly, "Miss *Me* is here! Miss *Me* is here!" She even went over and told the directors. Right after that the rest of the Senior Band came out, and word spread quickly. They all looked up at me and waved. Very cute. :) After about ten minutes in the stands, this woman came up and sat near me, then came up to the back row so she could rest against the wall too. She began small talk and asked, "Which one's yours?" I'd wondered if anyone would ask me that, and I suppose it's possible for me, at 27, to have a child in the fourth grade (Junior Band age), but most of these parents are significantly older than me--at least forties, and some of them are my parents' ages (fifties). I paused before I answered and said, well, I was their band director last year, so in a way they all are. She gave me a kind of funny look, and then she placed me and kind of went, oh yeah. I asked which one was hers, and her daughter was the excitable flute player. Ah, yes, I remember her well. Kind of a pain in the ass, but not unlike me at that age. Plus, she's a flute player, so I'm always fond of those kids. :) The concert almost began without programs. The principal, Maureen, realized this and ran to grab them from the office. (This was also the school where he had no photocopying access at all, so it's not like we could have done them in the band room.) She handed them out personally and recognized me and said hello. She was always really nice. So, anyway, the concert went okay. I've come to the realization that all the schools are doing virtually the same program. The little kids, well, there's only so much they know at this point, so they're stuck with the same nursery rhymes. Still, when four of six big kid songs are the same at each school, well, I'm starting to hum along practically. It was nice to see a big Junior Band, though; they're bigger than the Senior Band. (And the Junior trumpets tossed in a decent version of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," too. Larry--Mr. D--said they did the best on the song in lessons so they got to do it at the concert.) The Seniors, though, they're pretty much the same. I was saddened when I saw who dropped out. Only one person graduated, and with six Juniors moving up, you'd think the band would have grown. No. They lost one flute, two clarinets (a third was too sick to make the concert), the little sax player, a trumpet, and a baritone. They still did the best they could. This school is a rarity as there's a trombone player, and she's very good. She and the remaining sax player are 8th graders and they play like mad. Seriously, the sax player blows away the band. After the show I got to talk to the directors and some of the kids. I also found out the sax player has a solo for solo contest with more black on the page than he's probably ever seen. While it's probably pretty hard, I know he probably drooled when he got it--he begged for good sax parts last year. The one song I brought for the band that had a great sax part wasn't feasible for the band, but toward the end of the year I'd let him pull out that song in his lessons. I left a little after 8.
When I was teaching, I was driving around a good portion of the west and north parts of the Chicago metro area (three or four of the now seven counties). Most of the time I would take specific roads, like Route 59 to Dundee (Rt. 68), and for a couple schools I'd make my way up to Lake-Cook Road. Those are the quickest roads to where I needed to go; anything further east or south was too congested. However, when I'd come home from my farthest schools, I'd sometimes feel the need for adventure. I was blessed with my father's sense of direction, so no matter which road I took, I knew I'd eventually make my way home. Yes, even if it took me two hours. So, anyway, last night I took the regular way to school, and the scenic route home. I was disappointed on the ride home; these are some tony towns that I drove through, but I didn't hit any nice private or civic light displays until Palatine. Anyway. If you're in the area, you may want to check these out:
Wheeling, NE corner of Dundee (IL 68) and Milwaukee (US 45/IL 21). Very cool. I almost wanted to go back up that way just to see it again. I think it's like their town square, and that corner had lights and trees and lighted reindeer and a sleigh that moved. It's also on the edge of a forest preserve, just west of the Des Plaines River, so to go from darkness to that if you're headed west on Dundee must be pretty stunning.
Palatine, Palatine Road just west of the train tracks. Their parkway trees are just lovely. The trunks are red, the branches are white, and they really took time on them. It's not like Naperville where they just kind of wrap the lights around the tops of the trees in any which way; it looks like they were very careful to make it look beautiful.
(From Monday) Also in Palatine, Dundee Road west of Quentin Road (near the fire station, I think...have to check that next Monday). There is this house that backs to Dundee that does more with their backyard than most people do with their front yards. Talk about a winter wonderland. It's very bright and colorful, and it's seen through a wooded area, so as you're driving along it has a very ethereal feel to it. Hopefully there's no one in front of you or behind you--you'll want to slow a bit to take it in.
***Intermission***
I'm just always amazed at Palatine Road, particularly near Palwaukee Airport in Wheeling. You may be more familiar with it as Willow Road, as it's known around the Edens (I-94). (It switches over into Palatine just east of the airport.) It's a regular street, but it has express lanes and local lanes. It really freaked me out the first couple times I encountered it, but it's cool right by Palwaukee because it's probably the only non-highway this close to Chicago that has a 55 MPH speed limit. The express lanes are in the middle, as you might expect. By the airport it is more like a highway than a street; you have to exit to the locals to get to the cross streets. But go a little west and you're stopped by stoplights. However, if you're in the express lanes, you can only go straight. If you want to make a turn, even a right turn, you must be in the locals. And the traffic pattern is unusual. The cross streets are normal. But when Palatine gets the light, first one local lane goes, with the cars able to turn left or right, or go straight. Then the two express lanes get to go. Finally the other local lane gets its turn. It's very curious. I wonder how the engineers came up with that one? It's also innovative--we could use something like that around in my area, say with Kirk and Randall Roads.
Also, I've learned to do some jogging toward the end of Palatine Road. It doesn't get to 59; it dead-ends at Algonquin Road (IL 62), which heads in a northwest direction...completely opposite of my house. I head south on Barrington Road when I get there. If I'm feeling adventurous, I'll take Barrington to Algonquin--yes, the same street I want to avoid (Palatine dead-ends a couple miles down the road)--but I make a left at the first light, Penny Road. I once knew someone who lived off Penny. We went to camp together back when I lived in the city. When I started teaching, I got curious as to where all my camp friends lived, and I started making detours. Penny turned out to be a nice country road, and I would take it when I was in the mood. I was in the mood last night. It's in South Barrington, which is another tony suburb (heck, any of the Barringtons fit the bill), so I figured I'd see some good displays. Well, #1, it was starting to get foggy in the area, and #2, about a mile down the road a deer ran in front of my car. There goes my idea of looking at houses; instead, I looked where I was going. Just before you hit 59, there's a street called Bartlett Road. It's more rural and far less congested than 59, and the speed limit's the same, so you end up going faster. However, I only got to take it to its end point once before construction started last spring. I was delighted to discover that the construction is finished and, lo and behold, not only could I go over I-90 just fine, I could get to its end at Lake Street (US 20) easily. Yippee! And the fog was only in South Barrington, so I didn't have to deal with that, either. Remember: With me, it's the very little things.
***End Intermission***
Unfortunately, there really wasn't anything between Palatine and the Tri-Cities worth mentioning. C'mon, people, where's your holiday spirit? At least in St. Charles there was a nice little display in a park at Routes 25 and 64, and downtown Geneva along Route 38 is really cute. (I'm still confused as to why there are large numbers all over the street signs in St. Charles--at 25 and 64, there's a large 10 attached to the sign, and I believe by the mall there's a 4 and a 5. Leftovers from the Christmas parade, perhaps?) Also in Geneva is a house I first heard about from my dad, but it also ended up on the news this morning. It's on Cheever Avenue. That's off Third Street, between the railroad tracks and Route 31. Head west on Cheever and keep an eye out for it--it's down a little way, and past a slight hill, but trust me you can't miss it. The guy synchronizes his lights to a local radio station (FM 88.5, which is advertised on the lawn in case you forget), and the lights dance. There were three cars parked across the street watching when I drove past. No, I didn't tune in; I'll have to drive past again.
There's a house in my subdivision that usually decorates the trees in their backyard. Each tree is a different color, lending me to name it the Crayola Tree House. However, they've been doing it later and later each year, which worried me that either they moved out or they weren't going to do it...but then, one day, the trees would be all lit up. The lights haven't come on yet this year, but I hope they do it. It always brings a smile to my face.
I've mentioned dad's shingles. Have I also mentioned that it's uncomfortable for him to wear pants? He wears jeans to work, but they must chafe his sores, so he puts on sweatpants when he gets home. However, the band of the sweatpants ends up right on the shingles...so he ends up pulling the waistband up to his breastbone. Yes, my dad looks like Urkel.
He's also been trying to clear out the basement. We've all come to the realization that we have too much crap. Probably half the basement is filled with mom's doll boxes, in addition to miscellaneous crap from when we moved, stuff we've bought since we've lived here that didn't cut it in the main part of the house, and items from family members from when *they* moved that we stored because we could. Papa usually grabs a few items each time he's over here, but somehow I doubt my great-grandmother will fetch her things, as she died four years ago. (She's part of the reason Decembers kind of bug me; most Decembers since 1994 have had some rough things going on, including a number of deaths of friends and family. 2000 was particularly bad, as great-grandma died, my mom had a hysterectomy, and we had to put my dog to sleep. So far, this December's been pretty okay, but I think keeping busy is helping me.)
My C key isn't working too well. Just so you know.
As for mom, well, she's still mom. She's still buying things just because. I walked in the front door last night and saw a large box in front of the tree. It looked sort of mechanical, so I figured it was something my dad picked up for my grandfather. Mom called from upstairs and asked what I thought of the box. It turns out...*drum roll*...it's one of those people-less vacuum cleaners. A Roomba. Yes, mom bought a Roomba. (But it was on sale at Kohl's, and she got $50 in coupons, good from the 12th to the 24th! Crap. Guess I'll put off going to Kohl's for *another* week.) This is probably the only way to get mom to do chores voluntarily: Make the appliances do the work themselves. Remember, she is one lazy creature. I laughed and said, I think mom really misses having a dog. Here, Roomba! Good Roomba! C'mere! She's deciding whether to keep it. Dad thinks she's nuts--what else is new--but I don't know if he wants it or not. Granted, it's a blue moon when *he* vacuums, so I'm not sure why he'd care...except, like I said, mom got $50 in coupons. You earned a $10 coupon for every $50 spent. Do the math.
Also, I'm surprised I'm still able to rhyme while tired. It's a gift.
Oh, the joys of being a keyholder. At least this week I knew I was to get to work early. I was debating about going to the bank. About five years ago I was a swing keyholder, meaning when someone would go on vacation they'd give their key to me (hence, when I got my very own key, the "no more key whore" comment I believe I made). That's the last time I went to the bank for the store, and I wasn't looking forward to doing it again. It turns out the store took that choice away from me--oh, rats. When I got in at around 8:17, I found a note by the computer from I., the previous night's keyholder. It said something like, the new guy downstairs had big problems closing the kiosk, he didn't bring me all the closing stuff I needed, sorry we left so late. I went in the back to drop off my stuff and saw the time sheet--they'd signed out for 11:10. The mall closes at 10; they're scheduled until 10:30 for closing, but this time of year it's typical not to get out until quarter of eleven. Still...11:10? Damn. What in the world happened? There's a kiosk manual downstairs that spells out exactly what you have to do. I even wrote up an example--yes, I was that bored--going step by step with the closing procedures. Somehow the new guy, I'll call him An., must have forgotten that was there. And I. must not have walked him through it, or something. Why he didn't run downstairs to help out, I don't know. Or maybe he did. I left before I. got to work last night; I'm sure the bosses had questions for him. So, anyway, the note also said that there could be a problem with the base fund. Crap. (Did I neglect to mention that An. had never closed downstairs? Hmm, could be part of the problem.) I was told not to count the base fund--the kiosk opener has to do that--but I have to check the bag in case change is needed. Boy, was it needed. There were three $20s in there. Even if you've never worked retail, I hope you recognize that you can't start off the day with big bills. Your goal, when you open, is to have as much small stuff as possible so you can break a $10 or a $20 (or more). Three $20s? Not gonna fly. The change bag only had small bills, so I raided the deposit bag and found a TON of $5s and $10s. Jesus, I., what happened? (My guess is that he just wanted to get out of there and decided to leave the change stuff for the morning person. Gee, thanks.) That took a good five to ten minutes to do. Then, rolled coins. Pennies, need some; dimes, need some; nickels, okay; quarters, OH MY LORD! We keep the loose coins in plastic bags when they're not in the till. This poor, poor plastic bag was about to die. I had to use both hands to get them out to count them...as there was over $20 in quarters in there. Holy schnitzel on a stick. Did someone get bored and open a roll of quarters, or did a granny or little kid break the piggy bank? I fashioned a roll out of a different bag so that at least we wouldn't have to count those by hand for a while, but that still left more than another roll of quarters in the till. *sigh* By then it was 8:45, when the other newest coworker, O., was due to arrive. He's late. He's always late. And sure enough, I'd finished counting one upstairs till and had started the other when he tapped on the gate about ten minutes later than he should have. Thank God the kiosk bag was right on. (The second till was five cents over.) Okay, I sent O. on his way down, crisis averted, everything should be fine until the boss gets in. Hahaha, I should have known. So at 9:10 the phone rings and it's O. He put the base fund into the register, both physically and typing it in, and it asked him for "cash/checks/total." Crap. Crappity crap crap. You know why there wasn't any closing stuff from the kiosk, I.? Because An. DIDN'T ACTUALLY CLOSE THE KIOSK. That's right. That screen O. was in was for closing, not opening. This is how I figure I. didn't run down there; he would have known better. I hope. (But then, he is the only person who's even been robbed at the kiosk--and twice at that--in my eight seasons here. Clearly he's not the brightest bulb on the tree.) What's better, O. has never closed down there either. Luckily I had the pre-closing report upstairs and I talked him through it. However, the journal tape needed to be changed...something else O. hadn't done...and I had to talk him through it. That part took twice as long as the closing part. Even better, the phone has a disconnect button on it, so that if you're trying to use the phone hands-free, your chin will rub up against the button and click! No more phone call. You need both hands to deal with the journal tape. There was a lot of clicking going on. Luckily, the phone hung up just the first time and not each subsequent time, but then there was a lot of "Hello? Are you still there?" going on. The worst part of not closing at night is that the register has to go through a polling process. That's where it sends its info to home office. That can take a while, probably fifteen to twenty minutes. The register cannot be used during this time. Normally that's not a problem, as it happens when the store is closed. However, when the store is supposed to be open and customers can theoretically come in and try to purchase stuff and you can't ring sales, that's a big issue. Luckily the register finished polling before O. had a customer, so it ended up all right. Kiosk Support still called us and said, we didn't receive any polling info from your kiosk last night, but the boss talked to them and all ended up okay. What's better: The rest of the day went relatively smoothly.
Strangest of all: In counting the first upstairs till, I came across something odd in the pennies. Getting a Canadian penny isn't too unusual. However, I found something that I wasn't even sure was a coin. I thought it was a token. I'd picked it up upside down and it had long words following the curve of the coin. On the front of it was a woman and a word I didn't recognize. On the back...when I flipped it right side up, I saw that it was a one-cent piece...from Panama. Freaky. I have a mini coin collection at home, so I grabbed my wallet to take the coin out of the till. Thank goodness I had a regular penny in there. Most of the coins I've found in the tills. There was an Irish coin that was also mistaken for a penny; two Mercury-head dimes (yes, in circulation!); and a Euro from someone who just gave it to me. The Panamanian penny is the same size as one of ours, so I could see how it could get into circulation.
The concert, like all the others, wasn't until 7. I got off work at 4:45. I hung out in the back until 5:30 and then left. I still got to the school 20 minutes early (but still beat some of the kids there). This school has bleachers to sit in, not chairs, so I climbed up to the very back so I could have a backrest (the wall). I sat there for a good ten minutes or so. The kids kind of wandered into the set-up. The first one out for Senior Band was a Junior Band kid from last year. This was the school that had just six kids in the Junior Band at the end of last year. I liked them a lot, and they worked so hard. There's not much you can do with three clarinets and a trumpet, alto sax, and drum. Anyway, this girl was the trumpet player, and she saw me, smiled, and waved. A second person out was a flute player who kept saying excitedly, "Miss *Me* is here! Miss *Me* is here!" She even went over and told the directors. Right after that the rest of the Senior Band came out, and word spread quickly. They all looked up at me and waved. Very cute. :) After about ten minutes in the stands, this woman came up and sat near me, then came up to the back row so she could rest against the wall too. She began small talk and asked, "Which one's yours?" I'd wondered if anyone would ask me that, and I suppose it's possible for me, at 27, to have a child in the fourth grade (Junior Band age), but most of these parents are significantly older than me--at least forties, and some of them are my parents' ages (fifties). I paused before I answered and said, well, I was their band director last year, so in a way they all are. She gave me a kind of funny look, and then she placed me and kind of went, oh yeah. I asked which one was hers, and her daughter was the excitable flute player. Ah, yes, I remember her well. Kind of a pain in the ass, but not unlike me at that age. Plus, she's a flute player, so I'm always fond of those kids. :) The concert almost began without programs. The principal, Maureen, realized this and ran to grab them from the office. (This was also the school where he had no photocopying access at all, so it's not like we could have done them in the band room.) She handed them out personally and recognized me and said hello. She was always really nice. So, anyway, the concert went okay. I've come to the realization that all the schools are doing virtually the same program. The little kids, well, there's only so much they know at this point, so they're stuck with the same nursery rhymes. Still, when four of six big kid songs are the same at each school, well, I'm starting to hum along practically. It was nice to see a big Junior Band, though; they're bigger than the Senior Band. (And the Junior trumpets tossed in a decent version of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," too. Larry--Mr. D--said they did the best on the song in lessons so they got to do it at the concert.) The Seniors, though, they're pretty much the same. I was saddened when I saw who dropped out. Only one person graduated, and with six Juniors moving up, you'd think the band would have grown. No. They lost one flute, two clarinets (a third was too sick to make the concert), the little sax player, a trumpet, and a baritone. They still did the best they could. This school is a rarity as there's a trombone player, and she's very good. She and the remaining sax player are 8th graders and they play like mad. Seriously, the sax player blows away the band. After the show I got to talk to the directors and some of the kids. I also found out the sax player has a solo for solo contest with more black on the page than he's probably ever seen. While it's probably pretty hard, I know he probably drooled when he got it--he begged for good sax parts last year. The one song I brought for the band that had a great sax part wasn't feasible for the band, but toward the end of the year I'd let him pull out that song in his lessons. I left a little after 8.
When I was teaching, I was driving around a good portion of the west and north parts of the Chicago metro area (three or four of the now seven counties). Most of the time I would take specific roads, like Route 59 to Dundee (Rt. 68), and for a couple schools I'd make my way up to Lake-Cook Road. Those are the quickest roads to where I needed to go; anything further east or south was too congested. However, when I'd come home from my farthest schools, I'd sometimes feel the need for adventure. I was blessed with my father's sense of direction, so no matter which road I took, I knew I'd eventually make my way home. Yes, even if it took me two hours. So, anyway, last night I took the regular way to school, and the scenic route home. I was disappointed on the ride home; these are some tony towns that I drove through, but I didn't hit any nice private or civic light displays until Palatine. Anyway. If you're in the area, you may want to check these out:
Wheeling, NE corner of Dundee (IL 68) and Milwaukee (US 45/IL 21). Very cool. I almost wanted to go back up that way just to see it again. I think it's like their town square, and that corner had lights and trees and lighted reindeer and a sleigh that moved. It's also on the edge of a forest preserve, just west of the Des Plaines River, so to go from darkness to that if you're headed west on Dundee must be pretty stunning.
Palatine, Palatine Road just west of the train tracks. Their parkway trees are just lovely. The trunks are red, the branches are white, and they really took time on them. It's not like Naperville where they just kind of wrap the lights around the tops of the trees in any which way; it looks like they were very careful to make it look beautiful.
(From Monday) Also in Palatine, Dundee Road west of Quentin Road (near the fire station, I think...have to check that next Monday). There is this house that backs to Dundee that does more with their backyard than most people do with their front yards. Talk about a winter wonderland. It's very bright and colorful, and it's seen through a wooded area, so as you're driving along it has a very ethereal feel to it. Hopefully there's no one in front of you or behind you--you'll want to slow a bit to take it in.
***Intermission***
I'm just always amazed at Palatine Road, particularly near Palwaukee Airport in Wheeling. You may be more familiar with it as Willow Road, as it's known around the Edens (I-94). (It switches over into Palatine just east of the airport.) It's a regular street, but it has express lanes and local lanes. It really freaked me out the first couple times I encountered it, but it's cool right by Palwaukee because it's probably the only non-highway this close to Chicago that has a 55 MPH speed limit. The express lanes are in the middle, as you might expect. By the airport it is more like a highway than a street; you have to exit to the locals to get to the cross streets. But go a little west and you're stopped by stoplights. However, if you're in the express lanes, you can only go straight. If you want to make a turn, even a right turn, you must be in the locals. And the traffic pattern is unusual. The cross streets are normal. But when Palatine gets the light, first one local lane goes, with the cars able to turn left or right, or go straight. Then the two express lanes get to go. Finally the other local lane gets its turn. It's very curious. I wonder how the engineers came up with that one? It's also innovative--we could use something like that around in my area, say with Kirk and Randall Roads.
Also, I've learned to do some jogging toward the end of Palatine Road. It doesn't get to 59; it dead-ends at Algonquin Road (IL 62), which heads in a northwest direction...completely opposite of my house. I head south on Barrington Road when I get there. If I'm feeling adventurous, I'll take Barrington to Algonquin--yes, the same street I want to avoid (Palatine dead-ends a couple miles down the road)--but I make a left at the first light, Penny Road. I once knew someone who lived off Penny. We went to camp together back when I lived in the city. When I started teaching, I got curious as to where all my camp friends lived, and I started making detours. Penny turned out to be a nice country road, and I would take it when I was in the mood. I was in the mood last night. It's in South Barrington, which is another tony suburb (heck, any of the Barringtons fit the bill), so I figured I'd see some good displays. Well, #1, it was starting to get foggy in the area, and #2, about a mile down the road a deer ran in front of my car. There goes my idea of looking at houses; instead, I looked where I was going. Just before you hit 59, there's a street called Bartlett Road. It's more rural and far less congested than 59, and the speed limit's the same, so you end up going faster. However, I only got to take it to its end point once before construction started last spring. I was delighted to discover that the construction is finished and, lo and behold, not only could I go over I-90 just fine, I could get to its end at Lake Street (US 20) easily. Yippee! And the fog was only in South Barrington, so I didn't have to deal with that, either. Remember: With me, it's the very little things.
***End Intermission***
Unfortunately, there really wasn't anything between Palatine and the Tri-Cities worth mentioning. C'mon, people, where's your holiday spirit? At least in St. Charles there was a nice little display in a park at Routes 25 and 64, and downtown Geneva along Route 38 is really cute. (I'm still confused as to why there are large numbers all over the street signs in St. Charles--at 25 and 64, there's a large 10 attached to the sign, and I believe by the mall there's a 4 and a 5. Leftovers from the Christmas parade, perhaps?) Also in Geneva is a house I first heard about from my dad, but it also ended up on the news this morning. It's on Cheever Avenue. That's off Third Street, between the railroad tracks and Route 31. Head west on Cheever and keep an eye out for it--it's down a little way, and past a slight hill, but trust me you can't miss it. The guy synchronizes his lights to a local radio station (FM 88.5, which is advertised on the lawn in case you forget), and the lights dance. There were three cars parked across the street watching when I drove past. No, I didn't tune in; I'll have to drive past again.
There's a house in my subdivision that usually decorates the trees in their backyard. Each tree is a different color, lending me to name it the Crayola Tree House. However, they've been doing it later and later each year, which worried me that either they moved out or they weren't going to do it...but then, one day, the trees would be all lit up. The lights haven't come on yet this year, but I hope they do it. It always brings a smile to my face.
I've mentioned dad's shingles. Have I also mentioned that it's uncomfortable for him to wear pants? He wears jeans to work, but they must chafe his sores, so he puts on sweatpants when he gets home. However, the band of the sweatpants ends up right on the shingles...so he ends up pulling the waistband up to his breastbone. Yes, my dad looks like Urkel.
He's also been trying to clear out the basement. We've all come to the realization that we have too much crap. Probably half the basement is filled with mom's doll boxes, in addition to miscellaneous crap from when we moved, stuff we've bought since we've lived here that didn't cut it in the main part of the house, and items from family members from when *they* moved that we stored because we could. Papa usually grabs a few items each time he's over here, but somehow I doubt my great-grandmother will fetch her things, as she died four years ago. (She's part of the reason Decembers kind of bug me; most Decembers since 1994 have had some rough things going on, including a number of deaths of friends and family. 2000 was particularly bad, as great-grandma died, my mom had a hysterectomy, and we had to put my dog to sleep. So far, this December's been pretty okay, but I think keeping busy is helping me.)
My C key isn't working too well. Just so you know.
As for mom, well, she's still mom. She's still buying things just because. I walked in the front door last night and saw a large box in front of the tree. It looked sort of mechanical, so I figured it was something my dad picked up for my grandfather. Mom called from upstairs and asked what I thought of the box. It turns out...*drum roll*...it's one of those people-less vacuum cleaners. A Roomba. Yes, mom bought a Roomba. (But it was on sale at Kohl's, and she got $50 in coupons, good from the 12th to the 24th! Crap. Guess I'll put off going to Kohl's for *another* week.) This is probably the only way to get mom to do chores voluntarily: Make the appliances do the work themselves. Remember, she is one lazy creature. I laughed and said, I think mom really misses having a dog. Here, Roomba! Good Roomba! C'mere! She's deciding whether to keep it. Dad thinks she's nuts--what else is new--but I don't know if he wants it or not. Granted, it's a blue moon when *he* vacuums, so I'm not sure why he'd care...except, like I said, mom got $50 in coupons. You earned a $10 coupon for every $50 spent. Do the math.