LOFT LIFE: Walkabout

I love small cities that have the charm of small towns and the convenience of larger cities. Such is our northern CT abode. We have the mall, of course--Macy’s, Target, Home Depot, Best Buy, etc.--all the big box shopping we can handle. The worst is Costco, which is addicting. My first trip there in 30 years and I found myself hyperventilating with the temptations surrounding me. Starting with gourmet appetizers to die for, like Brie spread with pesto and cranberries, and Brioche, filled with brie, cranberries and...well do you see a theme here? And, they give you samples! You can really have lunch at Costco just by stopping at each sample station. Jay, who still hasn’t figured out the calorie thing (could be he still weighs what he did when we married 28 years ago), believes that unless he tops it off with Costco’s $1.25 hot dog, cheese spreads, puff pastries and soup samples are not lunch. You can almost see him secretly beating his chest, Tim Taylor style, and vocalizing, “Meat! Me want meat!.”

But, even Costco’s delights don’t compare with the joy of walking around our neighborhood and discovering the small shop offerings.

First there is Diana’s Bakery. She claims to have been in her Main Street location for 20 years. Her Italian cookies are wonderful, and I am still sampling her breads. Didn’t much care for the whole wheat--it seemed too refined to get the low glycemic benefits, but her rye, which Andi pointed me to, “without seeds” was just fine. I still miss Great Harvest, which if I ever decide to mount the challenge of meandering surface streets to Manchester, I will visit. But, for now, Diana’s is good.

Really, even though it isn’t whole grain, Sylvia’s Restaurant has good breads. She is Rumanian, but serves Hungarian, German and Rumanian foods. There is never anyone in this charming restaurant, which has us scratching our heads. We dined there once, and ordered the lunch portions, which Sylvia, a proud woman, just could not do. I think she thought it was a price issue, so she gave us dinner portions at lunch prices, which made us feel bad, because we were the only diners that hour. The food was delicious. Jay got goulash and I had schnitzel, which was a little greasy and not as hot as I wished. But, I couldn’t complain when Sylvia, herself, was our server, and I heard her exasperation trying to explain to the chef, probably her son, that we only wanted lunch. His reply was something like, “Well how many pieces is that?” to which Sylvia shrugged and gave the okay to give us the full dinner portions.

On my way to Diana’s I had stopped at the Polish Deli to get Jay some baked ham for lunches, but the owner was busy, and doesn’t hurry anyone, so I said I would be back. At Diana’s I mentioned that I was going to the deli next, and she said, “Oh, say hello to Helen.” So I did. And, Helen seemed truly surprised to see I came back. Since it was my turn, I got the full customer-service treatment.

I had a cookie sample, on the house, at Diana’s, and a slice of ham at Helen’s, so I didn’t miss Costco at all. In fact, I have to keep reminding myself that I really prefer supporting these small businesses, rather than indulging in the brie and cranberries and spending $115 just for breathing, when it could have been $30 at two shops, both in walking distance, that really fill the bill, and make life here so much fun.

Diana, Helen and Sylvia are fixtures here, and I intend to tell everyone how lucky we are to have their shops, and their personalities, and how much we need to patronize them so we aren't forced to shop big boxes only, convenient though they are.

LOFT LIFE: New Friends

LOFT LIFE: New friends

Andi and I met at the health club, she working away on her morning routine at the treadmill, and then the weight room, I dabbling with getting back to a treadmill after 18 months of sedentary life, except for my walks around the hotel.

Our bonding started with my request to change the channel on the exercise room television to the Food channel.

“That’s my favorite, too,” she affirmed, and so we enjoyed talking, watching, and getting to know one another. We had coffee at her place—we are in the same building, and at my place the next day. We both love coffee, she and her husband appear to be wine aficionados, and her sister lives in Chicago, where she visits, so we may even share a trip to ORD in the spring, where Andi will show me how to fly from New York and save $100.

We introduced our husbands to each other in the parking lot the next morning, Saturday, and though we are much older than they, I think this is a great start at making friends in the area. Age has never been a big issue with our assortment of fun and interesting friends. And, best of all, these friends are neighbors, just upstairs from our place, and also not knowing many people in this area.

Andi’s in Chicago as I write this, and when she gets back, we will celebrate her new job with a rouladen dinner and dumplings. This is the only German meal I know how to make. Andi’s husband, Thomas, is from Germany, where they met. But, I hope to have her teach me other German dishes, since she also seems to love cooking. So much to look forward to.

LOFT LIFE: iNTRO

LOFT LIFE: Intro

I think I may have to revisit the whole idea of this blogging thing. I understand it is kind of about me, and that you are readers, followers and good friends, and that I have to keep you entertained. But, I seem to be having a bit of a challenge changing from the weekly column idea to daily blog. I promise to get a handle on this—even soon.

In any case, we had some misgivings about our loft apartment: the complex borders a not-so-lovely town, where the citizenry claims to be in an urban renewal mode, but where we we often see people who look either homeless, or bored, loitering about the perimeter of our back parking lot. The fact that we park a Mini and a Jag there is some cause for concern, although I understand the big car and parts thievery makes and models are Hondas. So that is a relief. I guess pawning off Jag parts is not as easy as for Honda stuff. In general, I have found our fears unnecessary. We keep our windows open and no one has yet sought to climb in and rob or maim. I will decide it is a non-event. I also will visit the Enterprise Zone office and see if I can be helpful in the urban renewal. I have skills. Why not help!

Also, as I mentioned before, I have been concerned about space. This is also less of a problem, although there are some creative storage challenges for pots, pans, spices, tableware, office supplies, files, maps, and the list goes on and on. Our tableware plastic insert form, for instance is too wide for the narrow kitchen drawers. My Corning ware is a tad too wide to be placed three across on the cabinet shelf. My spices take up two cabinets—which I think, next to books, is my overdo area. But you remember I had to buy all new herbs and spices for the hotel kitchen, and now when I unpack my IL home spices, I have double contents and half the shelf space. This will dwindle and be resolved, probably by Easter, 2010. (That’s a random guess.)

I was concerned that some of the reviews of the apartment mentioned lots of noise—like hearing a fraternity party, and lots of mess—like party pizza boxes and beer bottles. I think that is not in our building, because we have not had much noise, and the so-called “paper thin walls” are not only very thick, but I can’t even hear Jay playing his beloved acoustic or new electric three rooms away in the same rooms.

So we are happy. We love the place. It is a job unpacking, and much of what we used to have at arm’s length is now down the hall in the storage room. But oh what a joy it is to have our own place, to set up housekeeping, to be able to cook beautiful meals on our Italian pottery dishes, and to have a light on without waking up the other spouse. Oh, and while we are on the subject of lights, there are none here except in the kitchen. No overhead lights! No light in the dining room, the bedroom, or the living room (which we have made from bedroom number two). So our lamps are not enough to light the way for my workday in the living room, or morning routines, like seeing our clothes, in the bedroom. This may have to result in buying more STUFF, like lamps. L

We have a checklist to hand into management, which will include the broken blinds, the broken oven door, the very old microwave, and the nicks on the walls and woodwork, plus a towel rack that dislodges from its track in our master bath. I wish the countertops in the kitchen weren’t white and prone to staining with the whiff of a coffee cup’s presence, but they are! Other than these things, the place is beautiful, and every time I look at the Realtor emails of the houses we could have bought or rented, I am thankful I did not end up in any of those dingy, small places, with overhead lights, but no character.

I love our tall industrial windows, the brick walls on the outer sides of each room, our 20X13 three rooms, our high ceilings, and even the beige carpeting has a nutmeg hue that is more appealing that I thought it would be.

I love passing the massive, exposed support wooden columns and exposed beams in the hallway, which I pass on the way to the mailboxes each day.

I love the health club. We’ve been swimming a half dozen times. And, I have also done the treadmill a couple of times. The first time I met Andy. More about her later.

Hubby is happy, I am happy, we are happy, and we thank God for His goodness in fulfilling my only request: small is okay, but please not ugly!

Hotel Stories: Moving Day

Moving day was set for October 30, which meant another flying trip back to IL for me to direct the packing, labeling, coordinating, etc.

This was supposed to be simple: just sit back and relax and a professional moving company will do it all. NOT!!!

Instead, before the relaxing, the professional moving, I had to divide the house up, finding sticky notes of color to denote which things in EVERY room would stay, and which would go with us to the apartment and the 300 square foot storage space, which was sounding more and more like what might occupy my life for the next ten years. I mean, if I didn’t have time to sell, give away or throw away all of the stuff BEFORE the move, it was only a matter of time before this task would haunt me at my new location.

You know, we spend the first half of our life accumulating, and the second half trying to get rid of it all. It is daunting. Stuff! I have really come to hate stuff!! I want no more stuff. Friends, hear this! Do NOT give me more stuff. No gifts that are not consumable, or about travel, or perhaps small boxes of writing paper—but even that will soon go the way of the dinosaur.

And, books! Oh my. Of the 17,800 pounds of stuff, 3500 were books. We do love our books, but really, this is a stat that has to change. There are libraries. So, don’t give me books either. Give me the author and title, and I will borrow it somewhere. A book is heavy. I am thinking about a Kindle, but even that is stuff, and I might miss the page turning and the feel of paper, even though many of my library loans’ pages revealed what the previous readers had been eating, or in some cases, more than I wanted to know about their DNA.

But, I digress. I got my daughter to list for me what she wanted: the claw-footed oak table and chairs, the piano (of course), the antique Singer sewing machine, the trundle bed and mattress, the treadmill, and the washer and dryer. Only problem is, she lives in one room in a house, and had to find storage. She did. Whew. Then a friend wanted our family room couch and chair, a bedroom set, and assorted other items. The rest will go to charity, and they will pick it up. Again, big whew. But, there were still 17,800 pounds to label for three different locations at the other end: the apartment, the storage room and the barn. This, of course, was also my job.

I stressed. But, there was little basis, as so often happens with worry, for my fears. And, that was due to an awesome man, named John Dalton, who when he pulled up in his Allied Van Lines semi (which he owns), communicated a calm that was contagious.

When his three mover-guys arrived, Larry, Steve and Joe, it became very clear that they were professionals, and that John’s management style left nothing to chance. They walked through the house, saw the items to stay, labeled those for the apartment, the storage room and the barn, and began packing—for the next eleven hours! The next day they loaded the truck.

At the other end, one week later, John hired Peter, Eddie, Dave and Louie, and they were most appreciative of the large entryway to the loft, and the proximity of the storage room, and they traveled on to the barn and even unloaded the lathe, the tools, the motorcycle, and the parts, plus the rest of the garage contents. I have to say here, I love that barn! J

I also have to let you know that John is a very interesting person. I plan to interview him for my Rock River Times column, Lunch with Marjorie, (which hopefully you have clicked on the live link at the bottom of this blog, and visited to peruse the many interesting stories of ordinary people, living extraordinary lives). After it is published, I will tell you more about John Dalton. But, here, it is just important to say thanks, John. You and your crews did, indeed, allow me to begin to relax and enjoy the move.

So, this is the end of hotel life, but not the end of my stories.

NEXT: Loft stories

Hotel Stories: New Beginnings

September seems so long ago. Please accept my apologies for completely skipping blog writing in October. But, you see, October was a busy month.

Actually at the end of September, I returned to the empty house in IL, ready to face another winter of vacancy where the house would begin to decline with no one living there till spring.

I was meeting with a media rep at a local café, when one of my former media reps waved hello from another table. “Are you still trying to sell your house?” she queried. “Yes,” I said, “Interested?"

“Maybe,” she said. A few casual Facebook snippets and she and her husband decided to meet with me to see if we could brainstorm a good rental agreement. And, there it was. The empty house would have a family. At first I had been adverse to children and pets—new carpeting and countertops looming before me as ruined. Then, one morning in prayer, I realized how stupid and selfish that attitude was. A 3,000 square foot living space cries out for children. Pets, hmm, maybe not. But happily they have hamsters. They will not get a dog or cat as renters, and that is okay with them, and us. But, their lovely children will enjoy each having a room of their own, and these doting parents will have space at last to roam, even an acre of lawn for play.

So, October was spent in a frenzy of house and apartment hunting, and we actually decided to pursue a whimsical desire for a loft apartment. We really only needed a house for Jay to have a garage for the motorcycle building, tinkering, etc. So, in a happy serendipity, where our friend (originally the guy who sold me a Jag on EBay), who Jay has been helping for 17 months with Maserati restoration in his several Massachusetts barns, offered some barn space for Jay to work on his bikes, house hunting took on a different perspective.

We would look at 900 square foot homes, and they were ugly and needed lots of work. And, if we were to be renters here in CT or MA, we really didn’t need that house work to occupy our lives.

We Googled apartments and actually were amazed to find a 1200 square foot loft apartment, two bedrooms, two bathrooms (many houses we found had only one), and the real clincher was a 300 square foot storage room just down the hall from our second floor apartment. So the real problem of finding space for the 3,000 square foot of furnishings, suddenly became less of a hurdle, and the garage work became a positive relationship with a really nice friend for Jay—who by the way just bought two motorcycles. Life doesn’t get any better than that for Jay.

I, in the meantime, was giddy for the old manufacturing plant, turned loft apartments. Rent includes a health club, with both indoor and outdoor pools, an exercise room, a weight room, racquetball, tennis, and fitness classes, all included in the rent. Get ready for the new me. :)

So with a short space of double payments in CT and IL, we signed a lease ending our 17-month hotel stay, and we are moving into our lofty loft at the end of October.

God is good. All the time.

Hotel Stories: Sun shining through clouds

Look at my face: tears of joy streaming down my face because of the kindness of our hotel staff. We were looking at apartments, begging for house sitting, considering living apart until the house sells, when one of the residents suggested we negotiate with the hotel. After all, 16 months has to be one of the longest stays they’ve seen.

So now, instead of feeling homeless, we are deeply grateful for a rate that allows us to stay until our house sells. I can’t believe it. Not only am I feeling amazed at how much I WANT to stay, but I am noticing all of the blessings I kind of bypassed before: flowers blooming all around me. I have a gardener! Meals have improved astronomically. Vegetables every night—even dark greens. Quick fixes on sluggish drains. New cable channels available at no extra cost. The list is long, but when I added up the cost of an apartment, with utilities, Internet, cable, moving furniture, dishes, pots and pans, cleaning products, cars, etc. it turned out not to be the great respite I imagined.

Life here isn’t so bad after all. In fact. Life is pretty good.

We still need to move on—get the house sold, get settled. But for now, we are thanking God with all of our hearts.

Hotel Stories: A perfectly good house

Well, I guess I felt it in my bones—bones, mind you, that feel a whole lot! But, this time I called it almost to the day, the day we would learn that our temporary living largesse has ended.

The company has been more than generous, going 16 months with us. That is extreme. So now we have a huge house in Illinois, a perfectly good house, just sitting there looking pretty, and here we are in New England. Homeless.

I believe in God. I believe He is always Good. I believe He has perfect timing. So what is the big picture here? Are we doing something wrong? What are we supposed to do now?

Options: rent a room; have a double house payment; live apart till the house sells; rent it out—not necessarily any more likely than selling it; sell it ourselves and drop the price $10K. I am sure there are more options.

At least for now, I'll be back in Illinois for a long while, and thus my hotel stories appear to be coming to a close.

I will keep you posted for the rest of our short stay. And, then—your guesses are as good as mine. Does this sound discouraged? Somewhat. Yes, there will always be an answer forthcoming. Just maybe not the one we were hoping for.

They’re showing the house again tomorrow. Hope.

Hotel Stories: Help!

I’m crashing. Tired of making the best of hotel life. Wondering why no one seems to be even considering buying our home. Concerned at the thought of double house payments, double utilities, double maintenance costs. Realizing that even with my diatribes about hotel food quality and nutrition, it is saving us something like $300 to $400 a month in food costs, and that is serious. We only have to buy five meals a week, and that is quite a savings.

People ask me how do I manage living in one room for 15 months, and I usually quip something positive and grateful sounding. And, don’t get me wrong--I am grateful. But, the positive thing is wearing down. I need to believe there is some end to this “temporary living.” I can see the advantages. Of course, there are some. But, really, we have to get serious about what we jokingly refer to as Plan B. We really don’t have one worked out yet.

Any ideas? Help!

Hotel Stories: The ugly truth about soft drinks

In ongoing commitment to preserving the life and health of children, I must make a protest about an ugly truth that prevails in America—I don’t know enough about other countries to comment about them.

We talk so much about choices, especially encouraging parents and children to make them healthful choices. We talk about obesity, and its growing peril to our nation, our budgets and ourselves. And. We have connected the dots on how choosing daily consumption of soft drinks adds calories at a level that simply skipping them could dramatically change the statistics on weight gain. We even have school changing their vending machine options to encourage better beverage choices, i.e. fruit drinks and water vs. soft drinks.

But, with all of these facts being true, I continue to be amazed at the number of venues where soft drinks are the only beverage being offered to children. I have observed this at picnics, church suppers, sporting events and family gatherings—and now hotel social hours.

Tell me why, when we offer adults alcohol and soft drinks as their two beverage choices, we cannot find a way to serve milk or apple juice, or even water to the children? For that matter, why wouldn’t that be an option for the adults also?

We seem to have become a nation who considers soft drinks a beverage Really it is not. Yes. They are drinkable. But, do we really want to classify a zero nutrition liquid a beverage in the same category as milk, juice, and water (which by the way does have minerals and health benefits), especially when we are talking about growing children? And, do we really want to send the message to children that this is an acceptable part of eating a daily meal? And, do we really want to have growing children become synonymous with increasingly obese children?

And, beyond obesity soda pop has a pathway you might want to consider before handing a can of the bubbly to your kids. John Tesh’s website reports the research on this:

In the first 10 minutes: 10 teaspoons of sugar hit your system. That’s 100% of your recommended daily intake. And the only reason you don’t vomit from the sweetness is because the phosphoric acid cuts the flavor – so you’re able to keep it down.

After 20 minutes: Your blood sugar spikes, causing an insulin burst. Your liver reacts to this by turning any sugar it can grab into fat. And at this particular moment – there’s a LOT of sugar in your system.

After 40 minutes: All caffeine is absorbed. Your pupils dilate, blood pressure rises and your liver dumps more sugar into your bloodstream. 
The “adenosine” receptors in your brain are now blocked – preventing you from getting drowsy. You also start producing more dopamine, which stimulates the pleasure centers of your brain. This is physically the same way heroin works.

And 60 minutes after you drink a soda: The phosphoric acid binds calcium, magnesium and zinc that was on its way to your bones - to your lower intestine instead. You also have a sudden urge to go to the bathroom, so you end up flushing all of those nutrients OUT of your body, as well as sodium, electrolytes and water. Then as your body quiets down, a sugar crash kicks in - causing you to feel irritable and sluggish. Not to mention you’ve emptied your system of the nutrients it needs to hydrate itself, and build strong bones and teeth. And all this’ll be followed by a caffeine crash in the next few hours.

So, John and I ask you: Is drinking soda worth all that!

Okay, maybe a cola at a special occasion. Maybe one at a baseball game. Maybe at a picnic, now and then. But, really, I implore you, let’s get good stuff into our kids for the daily fare. Let’s not make a treat into a daily beverage. Let’s all think about our choices—especially beverages at meals.

Hotel Stories: House and pet sitting situations wanted

We are officially the longest term residents of our hotel. The Kentucky family returned to their unsold home and made other arrangements for the New England job. They stopped to say goodbye. It felt like a relative telling family about their whereabouts. We too would like to move on—at least that’s what we keep saying. But the transition to another form of temporary living isn’t easy.

We have now placed ads on Craig’s List for house and pet sitting situations. Everyone tells me how wonderful Craig’s List is, and how in the first twenty minutes they sold everything they had on the list, or they obtained whatever they were looking for.

My experience on CL has not been so glowing. My first try using the site was to attempt to sell my family heirloom, black walnut dining room set. I received three offer to send me thousands of dollars if I would just return a portion of their generosity with my own check for a mere fraction of the total. These letters had that tone you know is not native to modern America, and, were obvious scams. I got a couple of queries asking for pictures, which I posted on the site with the ad, but to no avail. The dining room furniture still resides in the unsold house in IL.

I have to admit that we did get legit replies to an ad for Jay’s motorcycle. Automotive stuff and tools seem to do best on CL as far as I can see.

As for our need for a house sit, we have so far received four attempts to scam us into a credit report, several pleas for us to rent a property, with no follow up from the pleader, making this too seem like a credit report scam, since they went on and on about our financial health requirements, and did not call when we said we would talk to them. We also got a couple of Realtor replies letting us know how easy it is to get into foreclosures.

Really, do these people even READ what we post as our ad needs? Apparently not. They don’t appear to even read our email replies. It makes a person kind of testy after awhile. It seems to bring out the latent discontent of hotel life to have a potential reply for a better situation, only to see it is an attempt to take advantage of an already difficult state of being. I mean, why would people not understand that hardship is not the time to visit with more hardship? I know. It is merely human nature. I just get a bit discouraged that so many are so willing to pounce when things are already down.

We did consider trying out two week stints for vacationers, but learned that the taxation regulations in hotels change when the stay is less than 30 days. Once a resident has a 30 days stay, and it continues without disruption, the state no longer considers that a hotel stay, but switches it to a residency status. Residents don't pay hotel taxes the same as short term guests do. Well, doesn’t that say it all? We live here. Even the state agrees.

We have a library card, get mail here, and it’s getting kind of comfortable. But, that has to change, doesn’t it! We look forward to getting something other than bogus replies, and moving on to long term house sitting. Anyone? Snow Birds? Sabbaticals? Just let us know.

In the meantime, our home continues to have occasional viewers, and we continue to hope for a sale before the end of summer. But, this is August. Almost mid-August. Hope has not sprung up in vigor for quite some time now. But, nevertheless, we do still hope.

Hotel Stories: Finding things

There is a human propensity for “returning to normal” even in the worst of times, the worst of circumstances. It is comforting to have things where you know you can find them. It is disconcerting to feel things are never in the same place twice. But, finding out what is normal is the catch.

We are in a bad market, a down economy, and everyone keeps watching their favorite indicator to find out when things will be the way they used to be. Well, hotel life is an interesting microcosm of what is happening, I think globally, and at least nationally.After 14 months of “temporary living,” Jay and I have decided—well, again, mostly I have decided—to live as if this were our permanent abode.

Now I don’t mean we are expecting to live here long term. That is a scary thought. What I mean is, life goes on, so we must find some of the things we are used to having in a permanent residence: doctors, dentists, food purveyors (really this is always first), church, charities, friends (these are not in order of priority), gyms, hairdressers, memberships (YMCA for instance), and just generally all of the vendors and people who make life feel worthwhile.

We have, at last, found a dentist, which we decided to keep in Connecticut. That was a good experience, and although I had to train my Illinois dentist office in what I expect and need, this one seemed to already have that, which was a pleasant surprise.

When it comes to doctors, who may entail more than one visit every six months—not usually, but sometimes, and optometrists, we aren’t sure whether to choose someone in Connecticut, or in Western Mass, where we expect to live—but we aren’t sure about that either. So we have put that decision off, but there is this gnawing feeling in some of my brain cells that I had better get this done before winter and the dreaded “flu season” descends upon us.

We have also found a hairdresser, which was a serendipity based on the Italian hair color I use. She is amazing, and just right, and I will have to commute to her wherever we end up living—and that is every five to six weeks!

As for exercise, I have already mentioned that we can use the company health center, but that entails having a physical which I have already mention entails finding a doctor, which I have also mentioned we have not done yet. Result: no formal place to work out. I have looked into the senior center in our little town, and that too seems to imply longer residency than another three months, and an acceptance that I qualify as a senior (over 55) and my husband does not. Oh, what to do? What to do?

The good news is, I have settled into a cooking and eating routine that evidently is resulting in some weight loss. And, I still take my walks around the hotel, so that is something—if it isn’t rainy, which it usually is. I still feel the need to find some formal place to learn upper body exercise where there is equipment. I miss my treadmill--especially on rainy mornings. My daughter taught me some yoga positions, such as the right angle, which I can’t actually remember well—so I think I may be at 70 degrees instead of 90 on that. And, I haven’t done my Latin music routine for weeks, but I do still believe that dancing is good for me.

The pool here is not inviting with so many children in it, that first, I cannot do laps, and second, I believe may be laced with urine (I read somewhere that a large percentage of people feel comfortable urinating in public pools). My daughter told me to suck it up (not the right image for the urine-laced pool water) and get in to do my workout anyway. Is there some mask or diving equipment available to cover my mouth, nose, and even my whole face if I do decide to do this?

Well, suffice to say, that after we locate these back-to-normal entities, we will feel much more settled, and the hotel will not be a foreign place of suspended animation. However, I suspect there is a resistance to finding some of this normal stuff too quickly, because that indicates an acceptance of our temporary lot as at least more permanent than fleeting—and that is really a strange thought. We are really not in the acceptance stage of loss. I think we are somewhere between bargaining and depression. We don't believe in depression, so we will probably stay at bargaining for quite some time. I know this stage well: it's the one where I imagine winning the lottery and having the down payment for a house here, even before we sell our house in Illinois. And, being me, I actually believe I could win the lottery, and have a large figure in mind.

We know we will not, cannot continue hotel life for too much longer. But temporary life—well, we are looking into house and pet sitting, and if that isn’t temporary, what is? And, then all of our finds will be moving targets. Very strange and unusual for homebodies like us. Although we may be in a bargaining stage for quite some time, at least it's not shock and denial, even if it is not quite acceptance and hope.

Hotel Stories: Daily life goes on

I see I’ve been kind of self-centered with renditions about us, us, us living in a hotel, now 14 months, when really there are a lot of people here with their own struggles:

Two women who had a house fire around Christmas, told me their insurance company still hasn’t decided whether to raze their house or repair it. That means they won’t know for some time the projected hotel stay, or what further fate will befall their home.

A family of growing boys has been house hunting for many months, and waiting for their southern home to sell. They have specific geographic parameters, because they home school, and some legislation areas aren’t “friendly” toward home schooling. Yet even in their months here, with active boys needing space, their parenting is exemplary, and they remain cheerful and friendly.

Another resident, a physical therapist on a special assignment away from her home, is finding it challenging to get a good night’s sleep, especially when there are guests who party all night. She cares for cancer patients and sees daily patient deaths, so it’s not easy to handle this without sleep. Her tired eyes, and aching muscles were apparent one Friday morning, and I wished I knew some way to assist.

Staffing is also challenging during these hard times. It’s common to see the General Manager and her Assistant General Manager stooping down to wipe up spills at breakfast, or taking desk duties nights and weekends, even though their own management tasks are many and complicated. I see the morning hospitality staff now coming back in for the social hour in the evening—extra hours so new staff isn't needed, I imagine. There is some feeling of fear and panic in everyone these days, including hotel personnel, yet, our entire staff are so friendly and solicitous regarding our comfort and welfare, that you wonder how they de-stress after their day’s work. Some of them have more than an hour’s commute, and small children to care for after the long day. “You do what you have to do,” one of the staff said, “because jobs are scarce these days.” All of these people relate to us as though our housing crisis is the most important thing happening. Compassion and understanding are just their normal attitude. It makes you want to pitch in and help.

Actually, I find myself hanging out at the gate house, sometimes guiding guests to entertainment options for the weekend, directions to places, help on the best places in town for dining, and even invitations to our church in Massachusetts, because we really know the area pretty well now. For instance, the family here from New Jersey, with little children, perused brochures wondering what to do over the weekend, and didn’t know about the Mystic Aquarium or even that Mystic Pizza is still there.

One couple looking for good food, asked for the local restaurant list, and I found our favorite missing from the printed hotel suggestions, so of course found it necessary to add The Whistle Stop to the list. Elizabeth, the chef at this amazing family-run restaurant, trained at the Rhode Island culinary school, and it shows. Every single time we have eaten there, whether for her wonderful breakfasts, including cheese grits, or her amazingly authentic Philly cheese steaks, or her delicious entrees, which change often, this is a find not to be missed.

For another family, I suggested the Connecticut Authors and Publishers meetings and membership for their 12-year-old, who evidently has written more than forty books, and is wondering about publication. They're here on contract at a major company for an extended time, and like us, have decided to bloom where they are planted. Really, none of us know much about tomorrow, so why not? If each day is fruitful, we have food and shelter, and we generally have what we need, who says we have to "know" where we are going to be on some future day? None of us really does, you know.