The Two Most Important Words in Any Relationship

Last week I got a phone call concerning our eviction case. It was a legal assistant from our lawyer’s office who was checking to see if we’d been paying our rent. I assumed she was calling because I usually send proof to my lawyer that the landlord received my rent check, but I hadn’t yet done it for April. I was still waiting for my certified mail return receipt to arrive. However, I told her, the check cleared on April 1. Then the conversation went something like this:

“Are you sending money orders?” she asked.

“No, the landlord agreed to accept personal checks.”

“So have you paid your rent?”

“Yes, and I’ve sent proof of payment every month but this one. As I said, I’m just waiting for the certified mail receipt.”

“But you’ve paid it?”

“Yes, the check already cleared.”

“Let’s see. You’ve been paying $350?”

$350?! Was she looking at the wrong file? “No, I’m paying—have always paid—$______.” Did I miss something that last day in court? Was I given a deal to pay only $350 a month and didn’t know it?

Once we finally seemed to be on the same page, I brought up a matter I’d been concerned about. I told her that based on how Mr. Slimy had been treating other tenants, it looked doubtful that he’d return our security deposit to us. What did she think about approaching Mr. Slimy to keep our security deposit in lieu of our final month’s rent?

Had I known how incendiary this question was I never would have asked it.

The legal assistant reprimanded me for even considering the idea and proceeded to tell me how much her organization had done for us—how proud everyone there was of their work on our behalf, that they’d never before won so many extra months beyond an eviction notice for tenants to remain in their apartments.

“Yes,” I said, “but you never had anyone with a long-term lease like ours…”

“Oh yes we did!” she cut in. “We’ve worked on lots of long-term leases.”

I thought, Then what took you so bloody long to understand our rental situation? Why did we have to explain ourselves over and over and over again? But I held my tongue.

She continued saying something about the paperwork they sent us in March that we were to sign and return, that they’d have to open our case again and return to court.

I kept asking, “What papers? We didn’t receive any papers in March!” But she steamrolled through my questions, starting in again about how grateful we should be that her organization took our case, how deplorable and disrespectful to her colleagues it would be for us to not pay our last month’s rent.

I kept saying, “I was only wondering about it. I thought I’d ask, but clearly I won’t do it. So we needn’t continue discussing it. But will you please tell me what the papers were that you sent in March?”

But she couldn’t stop going on about how much they’d done for us. To cut through her manic drone, at one point I yelled her name, intending to say, “I’M the one who forged the deal! I’M the one who negotiated directly with Mr. Slimy!” But I bit my tongue. I just said, “Look. I’m not lying. I told you we’d pay the last month’s rent and we will. I’m sorry about the papers in March, but we didn’t receive them. I will sign whatever it is you need me to sign, I will continue paying our rent and sending proof to your office that I did, and I will anticipate losing my security deposit to the landlord because once we move out, we want NOTHING more to do with him.”

THEN she started telling me that we could use one of their lawyers who works on nothing but security deposits to get ours back.

I thanked her for the information (which I already knew about), and said it wouldn’t be necessary. But she couldn’t drop the subject. She told me how different everything would be by the time we moved out, how I couldn’t know what the future would bring or how I would react to it.

She was right, but I’d had enough of her. Oh. I forgot to mention that in the middle of her tirade about all they’d done for us she began reading aloud from the court orders. This AFTER she’d said she would mail that paperwork to us.

I couldn’t absorb any more. And I could no longer be civil—I needed to get off the phone before saying something I’d regret. So I reiterated my assurance that we’d pay the last month’s rent and would look for the papers in the mail.

I hung up and screamed an ugly name at her.

This, of course, woke my husband. I recounted my phone conversation for him, trying to get some perspective on it. Though the legal assistant represented a pro bono law firm, I got the distinct impression that her condescension toward me was a power play—that the byproduct of pro bono work for her was ratcheting up her superiority.

Then the phone rang. It was HER!! NOW what?

A miraculous thing: She apologized. She admitted that the papers were sent in January, not March. She explained that the case hadn’t been closed and reopened nor would it need to be reopened. It was all a mistake.

I accepted her apology.

And then she continued talking!!

She was all sweetness and psychological counsel about how it might not seem like it now, but a move is exciting, yada yada yada.

I let her talk—tried not to throw up. And finally I got her off the phone. I was exhausted.

But here’s the important part of the story (you were wondering if I’d ever get to it, weren’t you?): I couldn’t be mad at her any longer because she apologized. There’s a cleansing effect to apologies—especially those made sooner rather than later.

I believe it took courage for her to make that second call to me. (Or, as my father surmised, it took the command from someone who outranked her.) I don’t know if I would have been able to do the same. But she will remain in my mind as a decent example of turning around a tainted relationship, of taking ownership of a mistake and bad behavior, of eating humble pie.

[Pics from top to bottom: Fencing advertisement for the 1900 Summer Olympic Games; the New York City Fencers’ Club as shown in an 1888 issue of Leslie’s Weekly; and José de Ribera’s The Duel of Women.]

In Which Miss Lill Greets Her Favorite Day of This Year

Today is the last of a horrible, no-good, awful, rotten string of days called 2009.

Yet, as fraught as the year was with villains and crises, I am delighted to report on two good things that occurred recently which will set the stage for a much-improved 2010.
1. My eyes have recovered from surgery and I can get new glasses, after which I should have no trouble with my vision.
2. Mr. Slimy’s lawyer accepted our offer to leave our lease 8 months early. We paid our August rent—for the third time—and have 8 months in which to organize/pack/sell/move our lives.

We now begin 2010 with a time frame and a goal. We will continue to be under the jurisdiction of the court until September 1 of this year. The benefit of this oversight is that Mr. Slimy can’t try to charge us extra for using the Dumpster or collecting our mail without landing in court again. He’s stuck with our lease and our rent until we go.

Mr. Slimy will continue being who he is and probably thinks he won the case. So the outcome wasn’t justice, but it’s palatable and it was on our terms rather than Mr. Slimy’s.

All in all, this dreadful year is ending on a high note. I’m packing it up, tagging it “Emotional Baggage,” and leaving it at the station. I’ll never forget it, but I’m not carrying it with me into the future.

We rarely do anything out of the ordinary to celebrate New Year’s Eve. But one year my husband cut out brown-paper people on which we wrote our regrets. We took these to the beach and burned them as fireworks ushered in the New Year.

I’m thinking of doing that again, only this time, instead of regrets, we’ll detail every yucky thing that happened to us and describe every smarmy bully who tried to make us miserable.

Oh dear. I have to run; so much to do. The old pen and scissors are going to be quite busy in preparation for tonight’s cathartic ceremony.

Burn, Baby, Burn!

[Sculpture by Frederick William Pomeroy; painting by Salvador Dali.]

Sturm und Drang

The holidays seem like ancient history this morning. Our household is focused on the future—three days from now, to be exact.

December 30 is our next court date. The lawyers were hoping to have our case settled before this. But rather than negotiating lawyer-to-lawyer, they handed over the responsibility to their clients, namely me and Mr. Slimy.

After several unsuccessful phone conversations with Mr. Slimy, I told him I thought it best for us to negotiate in writing. I requested that he write up what it was he wanted from us and have all of his partners sign and date it. I didn't want him coming back again to say that his partners wanted something other than what we'd just agreed to. He said that was "impossible" for his partners were all over the country. [Hmmm. How do multinational companies do it, do you suppose?] Besides, he continued, he had full authority to make decisions for the corporation. I could look it up with the State of Illinois. [Right. So why has every previous conversation ended with "I'll have to run this by my partners"?] But after making a few more contradictory or implausible remarks, he agreed.

The very next evening, an envelope was slipped under our door. In it was a poorly written letter stating that we had all agreed that my husband and I would pay August rent plus $1,400 in lawyer's fees.

WTF?

My husband and I had reluctantly said on December 8 we would pay the $1,400 just to end the madness. Ever since that day, we have repeatedly said we refused to pay BOTH the rent and the fees. And now it felt like we'd just stepped back in time, no closer to a resolution than we'd been nearly three weeks before.

I countered Mr. Slimy's proposal with one of my own, one that didn't involve any upfront payout. I offered to leave our lease 8 months early. He stood to profit $4,550–$6,400, depending on how much he increased the rent and whether he rented our parking space separately. This was more than enough to cover his legal fees. I was going to put my proposal in the infamous rent box, the very spot where our August rent check had "disappeared" and called his answering service to let him know that.

The woman asked me if I wanted to talk to Mr. Slimy. I said no, I just wanted her to give him my message. She told me to "Hold on," and then suddenly Mr. Slimy, who could never be found at that number before, was on the phone. He asked me to tell him my answer to his proposal. I said the whole point of negotiating in writing was to avoid these phone conversations during which we seemed unable to communicate clearly. I said I could e-mail it to him to expedite the process. He eagerly gave me his e-mail address, which just happened to include the number of his street address—another place I was unable to reach him back in August when I was so desperate to resolve the problem.

Eleven minutes after e-mailing my letter, Mr. Slimy wrote back. He wanted to make sure we were on the same page. His summary of the new agreement was that…
1. We would leave 8 months early.
2. We would pay the $1,400 he wanted.
3. We would pay all our future rent.
4. We would not pay the August rent.

Same page? We weren't even in the same book.

I wrote notes about the many conversations that had taken place and sent them along with the proposals to my lawyer. I asked him to please talk to Mr. Slimy's lawyer and explain what a deal we were offering.

Of course, the holidays fell at an inopportune time for our case and we've not heard from our lawyer.

So I'm going to write a detailed explanation today for the judge about why this eviction case is even in his courtroom, enlightening him as to the facts and history that the lawyers have so far omitted. Lull postings may be a little light until Wednesday.

My wish for the New Year? A roof over our heads that we can afford. No, more than that: to not be taken advantage of by unscrupulous people. Or better: to defeat the unscrupulous people who try to take advantage of my husband and/or me. (The last few years have produced a long list of these individuals.) Or: to learn how to recognize unscrupulous people before they have a chance to undermine us; to acquire more skepticism and rely less on trust.

[Art courtesy of Edvard Munch.]

"And Justice for All…"

Here's the Lady Justice that speaks to me right now. A little bedraggled, yes? She's the 2001 work of Rodrigio Duran.

Our "vicious" (as my father refers to him) landlord is now trying to charge us for the items we have stored in the basement—that we've always had in the basement as have other tenants stored their property in the basement. He wants to set up a "fee schedule" today or he's clearing everything out.

For every remark the landlord has made to me on the phone or in writing, he has made a contrary remark as well. He slides around Truth like it's an Olympic event and he's headed for the Gold, baby.

Santa? Do you see what's happening here? I'm pretty sure I know what list Mr. Slimy is on, but I'm wondering if he's been on it since childhood or if this slippery behavior is something new. Did something dreadful happen to him for which I should show him my compassion?

How often does Goodness win over Smarminess? What are my odds right now?

Judging a Book by Its Cover

We just returned from court where the most significant thing that happened took place in the hallway.

The landlord's lawyer accused us of scamming the pro bono agency because, well, just look at the way we look. It's obvious we're wealthy.

I gave him "the eye."

But our lawyer leaned down (he's basketball-eligible tall) to his opponent and said, "You're mistakenly equating wealth with class. These people have class." (I loved him for that!)

Later, as we said our goodbyes to our lawyer, my husband said, "Well, we have to catch our limo now."

Right-ee-o!

It Ain't Over 'Til…

Geezo Pete! I realize I hadn't signed on the dotted line or heard the you-know-who sing, but hardly a day had gone by before my slumlord left me a new message.

He wanted to remind me that in addition to the court costs, he still wanted his August rent.

Oh, right, Mr. Slumlord. Do you mean the rent you ignored on August 1, the subsequent phone calls and e-mails regarding said rent that you wouldn't respond to August 8–17, the replacement check of August 17 that you returned? Is THAT the rent you want NOW?

I agreed to pay only your court costs of $1,400 to get you off my back. Nothing more.

And so it goes…

Who's Laughing Now?

esterday morning, on my way to an appointment, I stood at a slushy intersection waiting for the light to change. After the light turned yellow, a driver whizzed through, spraying water toward me. As I jumped back, I started laughing. Then I realized I was laughing and thought, What a great response to a_ _holes and their a_ _holish behavior! If laughter is the best medicine (as Reader's Digest has long touted), then I may soon be the healthiest person I know!

The night before, I'd had the same reaction to a voicemail message left by my landlord. He was trying to "reach out to me" by offering to:
1. Let us stay through the end of our lease as long as we paid our rent on time [as if we haven't paid on time!] and
2. Stop the lawsuit if we paid his court costs.

This "reaching out" has been unfolding since the week before Thanksgiving and I thought the lawyers would handle it. But my lawyer, as usual, hasn't communicated much with me. Long story short (I know, dear Lull readers, I've been promising you details of the case for months now but frankly, I can't bear to write more about it), late yesterday afternoon, after many e-mails, phone conversations, and heated discussions, I caved.

We're paying the court costs because:
1. I'm the only one crazy enough to make this a matter of principle.
2. Our lawyer doesn't appear to be our advocate, nor does he seem interested in fighting the case, meaning the likelihood of him winning is a stretch.
3. We can no long coexist with the intense stress this has put on us.

When I left home to go to college, my grandmother's parting warning—which I did not understand at the time—was this:

"Be careful, Lill. Some people aren't as nice as you think they are."

Boy Howdy was she ever right! It took a few decades for it to sink in, but I get it now. I get it loud and clear.

Will Justice Be Served?

We’re headed back to court this morning.

I’ve no idea what to expect. Never heard from my lawyer, don’t know if he heard from the landlord’s lawyer.

Will today end the dispute? Or will this preposterous case continue?

I think everyone in my household, and probably anyone who’s listened to our plight, is ready for it to end—one way or another.

Uh-oh. The clock struck 7 and I’m on a tight schedule. Gotta run. I’ll come back as soon as I can get online again (couldn’t yesterday).

This old bumper sticker wisdom comes to mind as I think about my evil landlord:

MEAN PEOPLE SUCK

I Hate Waiting

Waiting has always made me antsy. I realize that being jobless—living in a Lull—is nothing but waiting.

However, when I’m waiting for something I KNOW is supposed to happen—a ride somewhere, a letter in the mail—it’s pins-and-needles time for me.

That’s how I’ve felt since we went to eviction court on 26 October. Our lawyer made a motion to dismiss the case on the grounds that we’ve always paid our rent in full and on time, and all our efforts to replace the “lost” August rent check were ignored by the landlord and the people working for him.

The judge ordered that the landlord had 14 days to respond to the motion, which by my calculation expired at 12:01 am Tuesday. I had hoped to hear from our lawyer on Monday but didn’t count on it.

On Tuesday I left him a voicemail.

Now it’s Thursday and my anxiety is visible: foot-shaking, inability to sit still, impaired motor coordination. I’m going to call the lawyer and then his colleagues, if necessary, as soon as I’ve finished this post.

I’ll leave you with this chuckle:

“Outside of a dog, a book is a man’s best friend.
Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.”
—Groucho Marx

[The peapod shown is a handcrafted emery pincushion created by Dottyral.]

Catching Up on Old News

I know, I know. I haven't been writing because I've been knee-deep in cancelled checks, IRS forms, and various ephemera saved over the course of 20+ years in preparation for my court date yesterday. I've also been talking to lawyers, chewing my fingernails, and learning that fighting evil is no job for the faint-of-heart. I'll detail the recent events later.

For now, I'd like to share what gave me a much-needed chuckle in the midst of my ongoing attempts to jump through every hoop my landlord's lawyer throws my way. Duke—a former "savage stray on the edge of death" as his blog

describes him— made a PSA that aired last month in Malaysia for the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (you may have seen it already—I'm a month behind apparently). It's an important message that needs to be communicated in every country. Sorry I couldn't get the video embedded here.

If, on the other hand, you could use a good cry, there's some old footage on YouTube of a canine rescuing another 4-legged from a highway. Compassion certainly wasn't in the drivers' seats of the vehicles that drove by that day. Shameful humans. We can be a contemptible lot, can't we?

Just How Just Is Our Justice System?

id you think I wasn't coming back? That I got past the 100 mark and then slacked off?

Sorry to make you wonder.

It's just that it's countdown time now to our upcoming court date and we've been unable to talk to our lawyer and his assistants. "Unable" only because, I think, they're all so overworked that they don't know whether they've returned calls or not (though the latter is likely frequently the case), they don't know who's doing what on the case, and we're an odd case and maybe have them stumped. I don't know why they're so uncommunicative. But how can anyone get mad at people who are volunteering their time? People who help those less fortunate—who fight slimebags because it's the right thing to do?

On the other hand, my little family has a lot to lose in this one case and it has us feeling over-the-top anxious and sick.

We were in our neighbor's apartment yesterday when her phone rang. She let the antiquated answering machine pick up. (Yeah, just like in the movies—because it's such a sea change to make the switch to voicemail.) The voice said, "This is _______ _________." It was our landlord and nemesis. His very name made my heart race. Funny how our bodies act on their own without any cerebral persuasion. I took a couple of deep breaths and practiced a mindfulness exercise.

I got past the moment and my blood pressure relaxed. However, being in court with the monster and his mouthpiece won't be easy. I'm trying to prepare for it.

But honestly, I feel like my husband and I are two lone wooden pins at the end of a bowling lane and someone is about to lob a heavier-than-regulation bowling ball at us. Where will we fall? Will anyone help us up? Will we ever get to play the game again with people who follow the rules? (That visage at the right is a clear bowling ball. Can you imagine a tournament with nothing but skulls making strikes?)

Who knows? Everything that's happened in my life this year brings to mind this quote of hope:

"It’s hard to tell our bad luck from our good luck sometimes; hard to tell for many years to come."

—Merle Shain

Perhaps, regardless of how Monday ends, my husband and I will look back at this from our future lives and see it as an extraordinary turn of good fortune. We just can't see that far ahead right now.

What Would Lincoln Think?

t last I was granted a conversation with a lawyer today about my eviction case.

Not the lawyer assigned to my case, naturally; that would be too much to hope for. But someone who at least has appeared in court before.

I asked her what our chances are of winning the case should we pass on the lame offer made by the landlord's attorney.

"50-50," she said.

50-50? That's it? Yet another WTF moment in this alternate universe of black robes, obfuscatory language, and incomprehensible formalities.

As my husband notes, Why not just flip a coin? Why go through the court system at all?

Furthermore, why do we bother having any housing laws in Chicago if landlords don't have to adhere to them?

As if our former governor wasn't evidence enough, today's conversation with counsel certainly points out that it pays to be crooked in the Windy City.

The Lowdown on the Lowlife Who Is My Landlord

h, when will justice prevail?

It's 62 degrees in my apartment as I'm writing, a temperature clearly in violation of the Landlord-Tenant Rights Ordinance of this city.

It's occurred to me this morning that perhaps one reason my landlord bought each of his buildings under a different company name is so he can wiggle out from under the lame mandate of the Ordinance, which pertains only to owners of a certain number of units. On the other hand, my landlord doesn't appear to feel bound by either the legal system or social mores, so it probably never crossed his mind. The string of names he uses for purchasing buildings and the other string he uses for managing buildings are more likely employed to circumvent some tax issue.

I got a call on Monday afternoon from one of the paralegals in the pro bono agency that's handling our eviction case. She gave me a list of demands from the landlord's attorney:

1. Pay rent for September and October immediately in the form of a cashier's check.

"What about August?" I asked. The paralegal didn't know. In fact, she said the landlord's attorney had made a mistake on the Order and listed September twice; she assumed he meant September and October, but she'd look into it. Well, Jeepers! All I've been trying to do is pay my rent for the past two months and no one takes my money.

2. All of my cancelled checks from the duration of my tenancy.

I've lived here for 11 years. Even my bank doesn't cough up checks from beyond 7 years. Each check costs $6 to retrieve from the bank. But to be able to request the check, I first have to know the check number, which could be ascertained from my statements—unless, of course, I don't have the statement, in which case I have to pay for that too. This demand alone could cost me about $1,000.

3. All of my check registers from June 1 to the present.

Why is this necessary if I'm presenting the cancelled checks? Not to mention the fact that they already subpoenaed my bank account and had this information in hand before Monday.

4. All of my statements from June 1 through the present.

Actually, now that I'm reviewing my notes, I'm not sure about this one. My notes read "June, July, August, September." I didn't bother detailing this because the paralegal said she'd e-mail the list to me and as soon as I'd reviewed it, I was to call our lawyer.

Of course, I never got an e-mail.

However, yesterday afternoon, I received another call from someone at the pro bono agency who started to tell me what I thought were the same things I'd heard the day before. So I interrupted her to say as much.

She knew nothing about the previous call, told me when asked that the affidavit we'd signed was useless at this point and she didn't know who would have initiated such a move (the lawyer did, I told her!), said a few other things that were in direct opposition to what the other paralegal had said, and then said a few things that raised my blood pressure until she confessed that she didn't know anything about our case really.

But here's the real reason she called: The attorneys had bumped into one another in court yesterday and the landlord's mouthpiece told my mouthpiece that the landlord would "let" us stay until Spring as long as we paid rent.

WTF?

There are so many things wrong with this "offer" I hardly know where to begin.

1. We have never NOT paid our rent.

2. We have not broken the lease.

3. Our lease ends on 30 April 2011.

4. "Letting" us stay until Spring doesn't GIVE us anything. We still lose a year's time on the lease while the landlord gains increased rent from that period.

5. By taking this "deal"—which remains open to us only for a 7-day period—we still get screwed and we still look like we were in the wrong. The landlord walks away with a future income increase and his reputation intact.

(Pause for deep breathing...)

On the other hand, I could take this offer as a sign that finally the landlord's mouthpiece realizes that his smarmy client isn't on the right side of the law. He needs to wrap up this case before we have a chance to present our documentation to a judge and jury. At least, that's the bright side and one I'm sticking to until I get a chance to meet with my mouthpiece. No more paralegals filled with misinformation.

Grrr. I'm off to the bank for cashier's checks.

Feeling Put-Upon by a Pettifogger

{Don't you love the word pettifogger? I came across this quote from preacher Henry Ward Beecher—did he ever utter anything that wasn't quotable?: "The most miserable pettifogging in the world is that of a man in the court of his own conscience."}

Yesterday morning, I wrote again to the person I thought would be my new lawyer in my eviction case (but from whom I've not heard a peep) and told him that my bank account hadn't been subpoenaed by the landlord's frontmen. I knew this because I'd called my bank's legal department to ask about the subpoena process and was told that by Illinois law the bank had to inform me via mail that it had been tapped for my records. I'd received no such notification.

Until last night, when I retrieved our mail. Turns out, even as I was talking to a bank representative, someone else was working on getting my records. Boy, Life is one Big Seesaw, isn't it?

Here's the kicker: The landlord's henchmen want records going back only until May of this year.

That's such a short time; it hardly shows a pattern of payment. Heck, they didn't have to go through all the subpoena rigmarole! I could have handed those records to them.

And here's the other kicker: They left my husband's bank account alone. (Of course, I could be proved wrong about this on Monday. That Seesaw Effect could kick in again.) Granted, the rent checks have always come from me. But my husband's name is on the lease as prominently as mine is.

Why the discrimination? What are they looking for? Can't help feeling like this is personal.

Caught in a Flurry of Activity

This week (since Thursday) has been a most unusual one.

COMPANY COMETH

We've had two visitors, which is something akin to saying "We had snow in the Sahara this week."

One visitor came to bid us farewell before heading west to a new and as yet undetermined life. My husband and I are both a bit envious. We, too, would like to pull up stakes and start over somewhere. But we feel encumbered by decisions and logistics and conflicting advice from others. 

Our other visitor simply came to check up on her former teacher (i.e., my husband). Her adult life and career are just beginning. She's pursuing her Ph.D. and planning a January wedding. And yesterday she flew a kite for the first time in her life. We will take pleasure in watching her journey.

INCOME RESUMES

My unemployment pay has been reinstated after a curious three-week hiatus. I think it might have had something to do with moving from the state plan to the federal plan, but I'm not sure. I'm just relieved that cash is going IN to my bank account as well as OUT.

LAWYER KEEPS MUM

I haven't heard from my lawyer about my eviction case—when the next court date is, what my options look like, whether I should go ahead and rent the apartment we found. Grrr.

LANDLORD PIPES UP

Well, well, well. I received a letter (literally, the envelope was addressed only to me) from my current landlord yesterday. He/They/It returned my August and September rent checks and advised me to deliver money to him/them/it by way of my attorney. I know that what I'm about to tell you will sound petty, but that's where I'm at with this matter right now. Before I scanned and e-mailed the letter to my attorney, I made a copy of it to edit it. Yes, you read correctly: I marked up that missive in red ink because it was poorly written and rife with mistakes and insincerity. It's bad enough to be taken advantage of by someone with more power; it's humiliating and unthinkable for that entity/individual to retain said power AND demonstrate its/his/her ignorance of the English language. I was incensed. Still am.

RECLUSE WRITES IN

I did something I said I would NEVER EVER do: I wrote in to a talk show. I'm feeling a little regretful about it, too. My only explanation is that I'd been wanting to write a short piece about my wedding—to commemorate it on one hand, and on the other to honor and thank the individuals who made it happen. By telling the media a little bit about it, I guess I thought that would motivate me to get the job done. Time will tell. The subject of the show was Cost-Saving Wedding Tips. 

Maybe nothing will come of it and I'll continue standing in this Web corner I've carved for myself. Or maybe something will come of it and I'll find the courage to revisit my Facebook page. 

ANIMALS CROSS PATHS

Yesterday afternoon at the beach, a hawk flew right past me. He seemed a tad distraught as he tried to make his way through the caverns of high-rises. And last night, when I was driving our guest back to her family's home, an opossum caused me to swerve and brake suddenly. He had strips of fur missing, as if someone had purposely shaved  a striped pattern into him. Eww. Fortunately for all of us, he waddled off the road and the car behind me kept its distance from me. Disaster averted.

That's the latest from my little world. It's been exhausting for my husband and I suspect that once his former student leaves, he'll require bedrest for the next week or so. And so it goes.

"The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers"

That oft-quoted (and misquoted) Shakespeare line has been rattling through my brain lately. But here in Chicago, a better strategy might be to kill all the landlords first.

I'm beginning to believe that Chicagoans could begin to make a dent in the deep-rooted corruption of this city if they held landlords liable for their behavior and decisions. We have laws that are supposed to protect tenants from unscrupulous building owners, yet the courts typically look the other way whenever a landlord slips up. If home is where our children learn their values, and home is rented by more than half of Chicagoans, then creating a civil and law-abiding citizenry begins here.

Let me explain my absence from Lull and why I've chosen this topic to discuss today.

I'm being evicted. Not because I was late with the rent or didn't pay the rent or violated any provision of my lease or broke the law or made my neighbors mad about something. 

I am being evicted because I have a long-term lease that the new owner of my building knew he was supposed to honor when he bought the building yet has decided he can't wait any longer to raise my rent. (OK. I can't be certain it's the owner. It could be the building manager who orchestrated the eviction, but the owner is certainly expediting the process.)

A nonprofit agency is providing legal help to me and my husband. They're excited because they'll probably be able to get the landlord to acquiesce to giving us 30 maybe 60 days to vacate the premises rather than the 5 days it would have been if we didn't have legal counsel.

WTF?!

How is that a victory for us? Our lease is supposed to run until 30 April 2011. But here in Chicago, all our landlord had to do was say we never tried to pay our rent (though our rent check was in the rent box along with everyone else's on 1 August) and then he conveniently didn't respond to any of our e-mails, letters, or phone calls once we discovered what he was up to.

We ran into an acquaintance yesterday who also happens to be a real estate lawyer. We know him from our neighborhood because he also has a dog. We explained our situation and he just laughed. He said it's "just business." 

Again: WTF?

I get that it's not personally motivated. I get that it has nothing to do with us.

But there are plenty of companies out there doing business legally; some of them are even ethical and then a handful are actually socially responsible. So how is it that Chicago landlords can act lawlessly and without retribution? How is it that as the renter—as the VICTIM—I'm the one who will have to pay for the landlord's whims?

Our long-term lease has been the one blessing I have recounted every time misfortune has come knocking. "At least we're not homeless," I would say to my husband. "Thank goodness we have a long-term lease and don't have to worry about where to live while we're worrying about so many other things," I would remind him. How wrong I was. How very, very wrong.

So we've been cleaning and sorting and preparing to sell 27 years of a life together. I started selling books yesterday. I'm doing one room at a time. I'm going to learn how to use a camera today and start taking pics of household goods to sell. I'll post items on Lull, but they're pickup only—I can't mail or deliver to anyone. I know you understand.

I'm not sure the meek will inherit the Earth so much as they will shoulder its burdens. I'm ready to return to my planet now. I've had quite enough of this one.