the leak man commeth

I live in an older building, especially by Atlanta standards. Naturally, with older buildings, you run into problems. And with apartment buildings, if one of us has it, chances are others are to follow. So we are trying to be proactive. The B building apparently has a leak and we decided to bring in a consultant to test every building so any repairs could be done at once.

Logical, yes?

So, because I’ve had problems in the past and due to a strange spot on my dining room ceiling and some floor weakness, I put my name on the list of apartments to be checked. The day arrives and I’m the first the consultant comes to check (since I’m A building and all). A neighbor whom I’ve never met is making the rounds with him.

Wait, I should also explain I had just cleaned and straightened before they got there. My mother would kill me otherwise. Strangers in the house can’t see the dust of everyday. So, I put away dishes, cleaned the litter boxes, swept a little, stacked paper and put it out of sight (which means I’ll forget about the bills — but oh well. Nothing is sacred when keeping up appearances.)

They arrive and we introduce ourselves. The consultant has this cool gadget that tests for moisture or wetness. It looks like a radar gun. I’m impressed. He points it to the ceiling where some past damage has occured. Nope. All dry there. I step on the soft floor to show off how much it gives under pressure. Hmm. The radar is aimed down.

Hold on. I’m getting something. Right there. Just to the corner.

I can see what is about to happen. I’m standing right there. The consultant is leaning down, index finger pointed, my mouth opens, but I can’t speak. The finger makes contact and he draws himself up, inspecting.

“What is that?” he asks, blissfully unaware for a moment. His finger colored in light brown, meaning only one thing:

“It’s poo.” The tears form from my suppresed laughter and humiliation. My red-headed neighbor turns redder. The consultant’s eyes bulge. “Poo” he mutters.

I point to the kitchen sink. I picture my twittering kitties, satisfied in their efforts against strangers and tidying up. I give him soap. I apologize a million times. But I can’t stop there. No, we go to the back balcony; joking now about what a great start he’s gotten off to. We come back in. The leak man wants a picture of the ceiling and I can’t resist.

“Are you sure you don’t want one of the poo?”

old friends, new discoveries

We were walking along night Chicago and stumbled upon a fountain. I’d read of a fountain that would spout on the hour and wondered aloud if this could be the one. Waiting was an option, even though early trains had to be boarded and our pumpkin state may begin to show.

We, I should explain, were Jessica and Eric Harbeson and myself; and we were post dinner, post walk and a bit tired; but (for me anyway) happy to be talking in person after a few years of distance. Eric is a music librarian and Jessica is my birthday/hobbit twin. They are 2 of my favorite Tallahassee discoveries — but we have all moved on geographically. There was a lot to catch up on: careers, moves, politics. It was an easy evening of eating, talking and walking. My favorite kind. (And we were able to also deplete the world from the plague of chocolate mousse — the war wages on.)

So we stood at the fountain (I think it’s the Buckingham fountain) and waited. Just when it seemed it wasn’t that fountain — right when I began to doubt serendipity — the show began. Who knew it also involved music? And colored lights? It was a spectacle for certain. As I sat watching the water against the night sky, grinning like a fool, I realized I’m a child. We are all children in need of spectacle, whimsy, discovery and friends.

So I’ll love Chicago for that (and street performers, gorgeous buildings, pedestrian attitude, water, public art, food, etc. etc. etc.). Thanks Kimbre, Micheal, Eric and Jessica for taking time out of a busy conference schedule to meet with me!

(yes, yes, pictures soon to follow)

Chi-town or bust

The Windy City, CHILL, whatever you want to call it — tomorrow I’m headed towards Chicago. I sort of patched this trip together because the ALA convention is there (reason driven), but it doesn’t deter from the fact I’ve wanted to visit Chicago for as long as I can remember (desire driven). Of course, me being a librarian, I’m sure you’d all expect I’d know something about it. Perhaps I have a little book with notes and a list of things to do. Ha! I’m clueless. In a last minute effort to find something out, I did buy a book (Lonely Planet). And this morning I decided to at least look up the hotel where I’ll be staying.

I remember thinking the name sounded familiar when I booked it, I’ll give it that. But trust me, I had no idea when I plucked my lodgings from a list of hotels convenient to the convention what I had just done. Yep, the Palmer House Hilton. Just click on the link and try not to hate me. My heart is doing back flips. I know, I know; it’s just a hotel — but it looks so pretty.

The whole thing is tarnished by the fact I’ll be alone. Single is my current status in life (I do manage to always find it again). However, I’ll get to see some old friends (Eric, Jessica, Kimbre, maybe Bob, who knows?!) and meet my fellow Westwood colleagues finally and buy cool stuff for the learning commons — and that’s a lot. Maybe it’s so much that a few nights solo in a fancy hotel won’t feel so lonely?