Category: Adulting

As we come upon Super Tuesday and other primary dates, I thought it was important to mention that voting in primaries matters as much as voting in the general elections. Like with the general elections, there are local races that are probably not getting much press that you should absolutely pay attention to.

Let’s start at the top. If you use Ballotpedia to create a sample ballot based on your voting address, you should see the federal elections (in my case, Presidential and Congressional district candidates) and state races (Senate and House of Representatives). I’m (not surprisingly) voting in the Democratic Party primary, so without Ballotpedia, I wouldn’t have realized that our incumbent state representative has no primary candidates from other parties. When we bought this house in 2016, I noticed in that general election that several positions only had Republican candidates, so this is definitely a shift. If there’s one thing you can give the previous President credit for, it was galvanizing people to run for office at all levels because of how offensive he was (well, is).

And that’s where Ballotpedia stops for me. It says there are 4 candidate races on my ballot, so I have to research the county and township races somewhere else. Most of the primary candidates at this level are both incumbents and running unopposed, leaving only one race I feel I should research: the county recorder. Since the local races are the ones that will have a more direct impact on me – they influence property taxes, school and library boards, and such (though I still don’t know why county coroner is an elected position) – I’ll take the time to look up these two candidates before completing my mail-in ballot.

As I age, my doctor has begun throwing about terms like colonoscopy and shingles vaccine. The colonoscopy discussion started a couple years ago, before the recommended age for them was lowered, and we agreed I’d do take home tests until I hit the half century mark. The take home alternates to colonoscopies have, I’m sure, more formal names, but are commonly referred to as “shit kits.” I would, my doctor informed me, be sending a sample bowel movement to a laboratory. It’s only getting more detailed from here, so feel free to quit and come back next week for less stinky content.

I was surprised at how small the package was the first time I brought one of the kits home. As it turns out, that particular kit style only wants a small sample… but across multiple days. They provided some sturdy paper to place under yourself (held in place by the toilet seat), wooden sticks to scrape off a sample, and three foldable sample cards which get folded back to closed after you let the sample dry. Ewww, right? An important note is that you need to write your personal information and date on the outside of each card, preferably before adding the sample. Once all three samples have been collected and dried, you drop them into the provided plastic envelope, seal it, slap a stamp on it, and put it with the outgoing mail.

This year’s kit is fancier, a bit closer to what I originally expected – and the test results are supposed to be good for three years. It’s shipped from the testing company and the same box is used to return the sample. There’s a zipped bag inside the box, along with a toilet seat insert, a sealed container for the sample (that fits into the seat insert), a test tube with some liquid in it, and another container with liquid that will be added to the sample. Plus two instruction books: the big one, which includes step-by-step instructions with illustrations (in English & Spanish) and the little one that tells you how to ship the kit back.

The basic process is similar to the previous years: poop, catch it, package it up. Despite the bigger packaging, it’s actually simpler because it’s a single day’s sample and it gets sealed up immediately instead of dried. The little test tube has a stick that comes out and gets a small sample before the other container of liquid gets poured into the main container, and the instructions are clear as to the order everything needs to happen in. Once re-bundled, the company provides a link to schedule the package pick-up, so you don’t even need to leave your house.

If you’re approaching an appropriate age, consider asking your doctor about a take home kit to check for colon cancer. According to the American Cancer Society, there’s been an increase in colon cancer rates, particularly in younger adults, so every opportunity you have for early detection is a good idea.

Washing dishes is a chore many of us bemoan, while also taking for granted our access to a dishwasher. That’s all fine and dandy until your dishwasher decides to extend its services to cleaning the floor by leaking out the bottom. It is, of course, possible to wash all dishes by hand, but then I’d just have wasted space under the counter where the dishwasher is supposed to be. And to be honest, there are days when that extra energy needs to be expended elsewhere. (We never leave dishes sitting, as the cats would insist on helping us with the cleaning process.)

The most important thing about replacing an appliance is making sure you match – or at least, don’t exceed – the dimensions where it needs to go. It took me a little while of looking through the dishwasher listings to realize that a listing for 24 inches wide is apparently referencing the door width; the inset part (which is what I measured first) is of necessity slightly smaller than that. That realization made shopping so much easier, I was trying to figure out why ours was a non-standard size.

You may recall that last year, we had to replace the refrigerator (for similar reasons: that freezer leaked onto the floor). When selecting a new dishwasher, I decided it would make sense to match the brand and color, as they’re placed opposite to each other in the kitchen. Like with the fridge, I opted to put my Costco membership to good use, knowing they offer high quality products with reliable delivery and haul-away of the old appliances. And without the supply chain issues that frustrated the country last year, the delivery was about a week after I placed the order.

I have mentioned jury duty before in passing as our other civic responsibility beyond voting and paying taxes. Oddly, until last week, I had never had the opportunity to participate in the process. I received a jury summons in college that required me to call in twice a day to see if I needed to show up, and then released at the end of the week without putting in an appearance. Near the beginning of 2020, I received a letter from the county asking to verify my eligibility… and then the rest of 2020 happened.

Earlier this year, I received an eligibility verification letter again and completed the survey for the county. I then received a summons for the first week of August, filled in a survey about myself (including experience with lawyers and law enforcement) but was dismissed on the preceding Friday. A couple weeks later, I received another eligibility notice, which included a question as to the best month for my schedule. I listed November, since my travel/convention schedule is usually light this time of year. Not surprisingly, I received a summons to appear in November, and on the preceding Friday (and Saturday and Sunday), an email hit my inbox saying I needed to appear at the courthouse. (Interestingly, it was a different courthouse than my previous summons.)

Bright and early last Monday morning, I gathered my packed lunch and reading material and headed in. I went through what most travelers would consider light security – I was allowed to take my water bottle in and keep my shoes on. A bailiff directed me to the jury room, where I stood in line to have my name highlighted on a list and my juror number pointed out to me, then in the next line to scan the barcode on my actual summons and provide me with a debit card for the ten dollars a day plus mileage that my county pays. I stood in a third line for general instructions, which was primarily where the bathrooms, coffee, and donuts were located, and found a comfortable seat. Once everyone was checked in – about an hour after the time we were scheduled to arrive – a series of instructional videos ran explaining the overall process. One of the bailiffs mentioned that they were supposed to seat four juries that day – those can be either 6- or 12-person juries – so they did expect to call a good chunk of the people in the room.

I was in the second group called. Like the summons, this is randomized – the bailiff read off a sorted list of thirty-five juror numbers (the high end of the numbers was close to 200) and we assembled near the assigned bailiff who led us to the appropriate courtroom. We were reminded to turn off any electronics before entering the courtroom, and filed in to sit in the first four rows of the audience benches, which look like and are as comfortable as old-style church pews.

The judge walked through some instructions and introductory questions for the potential jurors – making sure everyone was over eighteen and could understand English – and explained the expected duration of the trial before reading the charges, the list of witnesses, the defendant’s, and the attorneys’ names. He (in this case) then asked people to raise their hand if they had an affirmative answer to any of the necessary questions, which were effectively:
1) Do you have a reason to be biased for or against the defendant for these particular charges?
2) Do you have any personal or work obligations that would prevent you from serving on this jury (for the next four days)?
3) Do you know the defendant, any of the witnesses, or any of the attorneys?

All of the people who answered affirmatively then had to give brief explanations for their answers; after a brief break, they were all dismissed from the jury pool for this trial. After that, a randomized group of four potential jurors were summoned to the jury box and asked questions by both the prosecution and defense attorneys about their survey answers and whether they knew anyone who had experienced or been accused of the particular charges this trial was about.

While dismissals at this point were unexplained, the defense appeared to dismiss anyone who had personal experience or close friends/relatives who had experience with the charges (which is logical); the prosecution dismissed one person who had a friend accused on similar charges. There were also some dismissals that seemed related to regular exposure to certain groups of people, particularly lawyers and law enforcement. When someone was dismissed, another random number was called and added to the panel until a group of four was accepted by both the prosecution and defense. At that point, they were ushered by the bailiff to the jury deliberation room and another group of four were called up to the jury box. This process continued until a dozen jurors and two alternates were selected.

I won’t discuss the particulars of the case – that’s better suited for the courtroom and the jury deliberation room – but I will discuss the trial process from a juror’s perspective next week.

Our friend Marinda recently lost her battle with cancer and I want to reflect on some of the memories we had together over the years. Our friendship spanned half her lifetime (though not quite half of mine). We met at Capricon, her first time attending a Chicagoland convention and my second year at that particular one. (She went on to chair that Capricon a few years ago.) We hit it off immediately, bonding over gaming, our niblings (we each only had one niece or nephew at the time), and our black cats.

When we met, she did demos or organized tournaments for one gaming company; we both soon joined the demo team for Steve Jackson Games, teaching many people the joys of Munchkin, Chez Geek, and other games. We were fixtures of the daytime gaming room at many local conventions, leaving our evening hours open to attend the parties. When I decided to hold my bachelorette party at a Capricon, she coordinated with the convention to book a room, and she helped me organize my first baby shower (the friends rather than family one) at a DucKon. She was the obvious choice to be my daughter’s godmother, and the only person other than my ex-husband and myself who was told the probable gender of the child before her birth.

Over the years, Marinda volunteered or worked for several well-known companies in the gaming industry, including her stint with True Dungeon that resulted in a middle-of-the-night text message to me saying “I killed Wil Wheaton!” (He mentioned it here.) The funny thing is she wasn’t a Trekkie and barely knew who he was at that point, but knew that I was a fan. She recruited me as her gaming co-chair for the now defunct To Be Continued convention, where we added “gaming with the guests” our second year, selecting games appropriate for the roles the media guests were known for. I talked her into co-chairing Dorkstock the year my daughter was born, knowing I’d need the extra pair of hands with an infant in tow.

We were founding members of The Lady Gamer, a fan-run webzine, and attended the GAMA Trade Show with press badges together in 2004. (All of the content we produced from 2004-2007 is still available.) That year, we also organized a scavenger hunt of GenCon’s dealer’s hall (under the Fantasy Aspirations banner) with prizes from an assortment of vendors; Marinda was the primary contact for the vendors, helping them develop appropriate clues for the hunt.

I’ve only made it to GenCon a couple times since my daughter was born, each while Marinda was volunteering or working for Mayfair Games. She recruited my daughter to pull winning raffle tickets; every player got one for every demo they played at the company’s booth, giving them the opportunity to win… games! She took her goddaughter to Little Wars one year, a convention I’ve never managed to get to.

We saw Marinda outside conventions too, of course. There was a year when I was working part-time from home and she was renting an apartment a couple miles from our house when we’d randomly schedule lunches. She had a key to our house, and I knew if someone randomly let themselves in during my work day, it was her. When I bought this house, she extended her visit by a couple days and supervised an electrician doing some rewiring while I was at work. She’d pretty much help anyone who needed it, even when it was physical labor that her illnesses, including cancer these last couple years, should have prevented her from doing.

She is everywhere around us. I went to Walgreens the other day and realized we had stopped at that McDonald’s across the street once, after exploring an area park for Pokemon Go (me) and Ingress (her). On my drive home, I passed a forest preserve that we had ventured into for similar reasons (where a guy passing on a bike asked if my daughter and I were twins), and the restaurant, Harner’s Bakery, where we took her to lunch when she visited in June before dropping her off at the nearby Metra station.

There are cat toys she brought over scattered about – one in particular that was rejected by her cat, Kelethin, and excitedly received by all four cats here. There are toys and board games she gifted us, yarn choices that she weighed in on for my never-ending crochet projects, and postcards from her travels reminding us that friendship is not limited by geography.

She’s in my kitchen every time I make an omelet, which she loved, joining the memories of my father who taught me how to make them. The brands of pizza sauce and mustard, carefully selected to avoid her pepper allergy (hint: paprika is made from peppers, and frequently disguised as “spices” on food labels) remind me of her. She recommended our rice cooker, with a locking lid, for slow cooking after Arwen discovered she could open our Crockpot. There’s a slight smile when I put the cast iron pan into the microwave – to keep it safe from cats while cooking in the oven – remembering Marinda’s freaked out expression the first time she saw me do that.

Marinda is gone now, her internment is this weekend. Our memories of her live on.