So, this is my last night in my condo.

Thanks, pandemic, for dashing the dream of a "good-bye condo" party.

But, it's fitting that there's no last party, last toast, last "good night!" in my condo. This is not cause for celebration, so it's appropriate that I sit here alone with only boxes and a few dust bunnies for company. After all the time, sweat, tears and money I've poured into my condo the sad, the unfair bitter end is better spent on my own.

The condo I worked so hard to purchase, the home I sold my blood to pay the mortgage on during the recession, the condo I jubilantly refinanced for a crazy low interest rate a few years ago, the condo that is my nest egg, is being forcibly taken away from me by a parasitic practice known as deconversion.

For the uninitiated, deconversion is exactly what it sounds like: the opposite of a conversion.  A deconversion is when a condo building deconverts into a rental, usually with one very wealthy person (or group of investors) with real estate dollar signs in their eyes swoops in, buys the building and 75% or 85% of the units in the building then forces the remaining orders to sell their units. Why, you ask? Because they then turn around and sell the building to a rental management company and walk away with a huge profit AND 75% - 85% of the HOA funds. It's legal in Illinois and a few other states. It's not fair, but it's legal.

The irony is not lost on me: I bought my condo because my apartment building went condo and I was forced to move. It was happening all over the city, so, I bought a condo. And now here we are: moving boxes and dust bunnies.

And no, they did not offer me a huge sum of money. They only have to offer fair market value. And because the housing market in Chicago only recently started to come back from the recession, the fair market value of my condo is barely more than I paid for it.

So.

Yeah.

It sucks.

There's a lot more to this, and over the few months I've gone through all the emotions on the roller coaster that is deconversion.

I try, very hard, to find some way to accept it, but it's still a struggle to ascertain how it can be legal to force someone to sell their home.

But it is legal. And not even a pandemic can stop it.

I'm not buying another condo. Not after this experience. Not in Chicago. Not until (if) the laws change and deconversions are outlawed.

A house is out of the question for many reasons, primary among them that I cannot afford a house. The pittance I'm being given for my condo is laughable in the context of housing cost.

So, I'm moving in with a friend for a while. A decision made a few weeks before the pandemic gained momentum in the US, and finalized the week before Illinois when on shut-down. If we knew then what we know now we probably would not have made the same decision. Pre-Covid we were both gone a lot. Work, travel, family stuff.

"No worries about the usual roommate stuff, we're both gone a lot, we'll hardly ever see each other," we said, innocent of the stay-home order that was about to go into place.

And now we're both working intense jobs from home. We both have Teams and Zoom meetings several times a day. This is going to be...interesting.

We'll share expenses and hopefully save a little money. The apartment is not awful but it's not great, either. My stuff is going into storage with only essentials going into the bedroom that will now be my live/work space. It's an interim roof over my head. I remind myself it's temporary but it's still depressing.

It feels like a giant leap backward because it is a giant leap backward.

So, the last night in my condo, my last night as a homeowner, is being spent on my own. Self-isolating during the pandemic my cozy little condo has been my comfortable sanctuary. Me in my place, rarely leaving my home, staying safe, staying home. After tonight I won't have a home, not a home-home. I'll have a bedroom. But not a home. I can still stay safe, but staying home won't be staying in my home anymore.

I'm trying to act like it's just another night, a failing attempt to avoid melancholy. Every time a good memory snakes around a corner I push it back with a bad memory. Ever-increasing HOA fees with nothing in return. My stoner neighbor's skunky weed stench. The huge amount of crime in my zip code. All good reasons to be happy to move.

Next chapter, new beginnings, all that.

Locked down and single.

I'm fine with it. I'm used to being alone. As are many single zeros.

But.

Add in the fear factor of Covid and being alone forces grim thoughts. "Well being checks" is a term usually associated with the elderly and those with mental health or substance abuse issues. During the pandemic, singles, "those who live alone," have been added to the recommended list of people to check on periodically. I've even seen news graphics that included "singles/those who live alone" on a bullet point list of people to reach out to during the pandemic.

I understand. I do. I'm sure people have our best interest in mind.

And, I mean, you know, no one wants a dead single person smelling up the building for weeks or months.

But that grim reminder in the form of "what you can do" recommendations on television and plastered all over social media adds a layer of sad self-awareness to self-isolation for single/zeros.

I'm hearing from family, friends and co-workers more frequently than usual, and I'm noticing a direct correlation between their texts/calls and the public service announcements on television and social media. I'm grateful and honored that they care enough to check in on me.

But it's kind of weird.

I feel obligated to answer the calls or respond to texts quickly. My concern being, that, if I don't respond quickly the well-meaning friend or family member will a) worry and b) call the police to have them perform a well-being check on me.

And that leads to thoughts of the police knocking on my door to find me in my comfortable but not-exactly-chic lockdown-wear, in desperate need of a haircut, no makeup, a couple weeks of laundry piled up* and other remnants of living alone** that are normal for singletons, but not-so-normal for those who haven't lived alone in a long time (or ever).

And yes, I'm lucky to have people who care about me enough to check to make sure I'm still alive.

But think about that sentence for a minute.

Yeah.

No matter how positive you try to spin it the underlying message is: "You're alone. All alone. So alone, in fact, that we feel obligated to call/text you to be sure you haven't died from Covid."

Pretty sure I'm on a few call lists that look like this:

Daily well-being check-in list:

• Grandma
• Uncle Ted
• The church organist
• That weird cat lady who works in accounting
• Trillian

I hear a lot about families coping - either coping well or not coping at all - lots of funny videos and memes, lots of "strategies" articles. But there's a dearth of coping and strategy media for single zeros. The metaphoric always the bridesmaid yet again. We're mentioned on the "check on their wellbeing..." lists, but that's about it.

For me, that's okay. I know how to cope. I have strategies. And I think, I hope, most other single zeros do, as well.

One of the reasons I decided to check in on this blog is because it's a voice from the single zero perspective, and it's my way of saying, "We are here, we are here, we are here!" And to reiterate a few reminders:

• Just because we're used to living alone doesn't mean we like staying home anymore than you do. 
• Just because we don't have kids to home school or marriages to maintain during all this togetherness doesn't mean it's "easier" for us. 
• Just because we're only one person with one mouth to feed and one bottom to wipe doesn't mean we don't have financial concerns and issues finding snacks and enough toilet paper. 
• Just because singles who are unfortunate enough to be hospitalized with Covid don't have someone waiting to hug them on their victory wheelchair rollouts from hospitals doesn't mean their triumphant recovery is less significant. 
• Just because we don't have a spouse/partner/BF/GF and/or children doesn't mean our lives are less than...or less important, less worth saving.

*Would you want to use a communal laundry room during a pandemic? yeesh. It's gross under normal times. Throw in a deadly contagious virus? Yeah. Laundry day becomes akin to a sinister day in the Hunger Games arena.
**Taco Tuesday leftovers that were so plentiful that they lingered long enough to turn into Throwback Thursday tacos.

Coming out of hiding for a minute to defend a talented, inspirational, important American.

Time and place are always critical considerations, but are especially important to factor into context of the written word. Language is as fluid and ever-evolving as the human race and societal norms. Whether you're reading Tom Sawyer or Village People lyrics, knowledge and recall of the era and setting in which they were written are required to to understand and accurately analyze the words and their intent. Most of us cannot fully understand life in mid-1800s Missouri (or '70s Greenwich Village), but I can think of no better guide to the era than Mark Twain (or a group of male dancers in costume).

I, and most Americans, are united in a deep, passionate respect for indigenous people whose ancestors lived on the land we call home long before our ancestors arrived. I'm not smart or clever enough to figure out a solution to right the wrongs of the past, or sort out a compromise that works for everyone. But I am certain that diminishing the overreaching merits of words written in an era far removed from our own is not a solution or useful compromise.

A point that is far too often overlooked when words in books are dissected and held up as libel: Children are (generally) smarter, more insightful and nicer than the adults trying to protect them. Most children reading age-appropriate books understand the settings may be different from their modern day life and do not take the words at face value. Few kids fall into confusion over slavery when reading about the house elves at Hogwarts, for instance. (Although why J.K. Rowling chose to go there is still a sticking point with me. There are many less cringe-worthy plot devices she could have chosen.) Most kids, or at least the ones with spunk and pluck, much prefer reading the sometimes gritty adventures of real-life adventurers like Laura Ingalls than the sanitized and heavily marketed rip-off American Girls version of a young girl's life on the frontier, even with the allure of an expensive doll and accessories.

A parent with concerns about passages or words in a book their child is reading could use the words in question as the start of a conversation about what those words mean now, and why they meant something different when originally written. Parents may be surprised to learn their child has a much deeper and evolved understanding of society than most adults. The adults would do well to listen to their child's insight and world view.

A book that engages a child and ignites their passion for literature is important. There are plenty of engaging books that inspire pre-teen girls to be bold, clever and adventurous. Be it Nancy Drew, Matilda or Laura Ingalls, the books where these characters live hit the sweet spot for encouraging and inspiring young girls to think beyond the Barbie aisle. (No offense to Barbie, but that's a different topic entirely.) Young girls who read these books go into puberty with a legion of characters who have their backs when the hormonal going gets tough. The young reader books pave the way and launch interest for more advanced literature with strong, inspirational, clever female characters who provide both motivation and refuge for girls (and women and boys and men).

History is not always comfortable. Life on the frontier was difficult. Surviving each day was an accomplishment. Being a 10 year old is not always comfortable. Life in the school cafeteria is difficult. Surviving each day is an accomplishment. Bridging those themes is a kid we all want as our friend, a determined and good natured live wire named Laura Ingalls. 

I was hearing and reading a lot about "how do I explain this to my children?" and "what do I say to my children?" This being Trump's election.

Many of the children in question are under the age of eight.

I tried to recall my political mindset prior to my ninth birthday. Sure, I know historically who was in office during those years. But I couldn't remember any personal enthusiasm or disdain for the presidents or candidates or elections during my first eight years of life. I must have been stupid, unaware or apolitical in my early years. But I also can't recall my classmates espousing the merits of a political candidate or president. Electoral college? I'm pretty sure I was only vaguely aware that university was a place you went after high school. To my young (and apparently neophyte brain), the electoral college probably sounded like a place where mayors went to school to learn how to be mayors.

Are young children more politically inclined now? Are these savvy tots debating hot button issues and the pros and cons of the electoral college on the playground? Are red and blue more than colors in their crayon boxes?

When I talked to a friend today, post-election, she broke down sobbing about how she would explain Trump's win to her five year old daughter. I could tell she was having a full-blown ugly cry. "I have to tell her, I- I- I- have (sob) to (sob) tell (sob) her before she goes to (sob) schoo-oo-ool (sob) this afternoon. (sob sob) What am I going to say (sob) to her? How can I (sob sob) explain it to her?"

I saw this friend and her daughter a few weeks ago. The kid was wearing underpants on her head and had a meltdown over the remaining popsicle flavor options. That was the IRL gif going through my head as my friend sank further into an angst-filled sob fest over this latest parenting challenge the election had thrown at her. I struggled to imagine that little girl having an opinion or understanding of the election process and the candidates.

Naively, I suggested, "Um, maybe you just tell her there was a vote all over the country and, just like every four years, we'll have a new president in January?"

My friend felt I was underestimating her child's grasp of the election and what it really means. You know, really means to her as well as society at large.

My friend continued, "She named her new Barbie Hillary so she could play madam president! (sob) How do I break this horrible news to her?"

I made the mistake of asking about Barbie playtime, "Um, couldn't she still call her Barbie Hillary and play madam president? Does the real Hillary's loss remove all possibility of playing madam president with a Barbie doll?"

My friend brushed me off with, "You don't (sob) understand how much (sob) this election means to her!!"

I was honestly confused, "You mean to [your daughter] or to Hillary Clinton? I think I have a pretty good grasp on how much this election meant to Hillary Clinton."

"MY DAUGHTER!! (sob sob)"

Getting a little weary of what I thought was an overreaction, "Um, she's five. She gets a kick out of wearing underpants on her head. She plays with dolls. Because she's five. Does she really have a strong feeling about this election? Maybe you don't really need to tell her much about it. Maybe you answer questions on a need-to-know basis?"

My friend said I don't understand because I don't have children. She said her daughter is very aware of the election and what it means to America. And Hillary's loss is going to crush her five year old's soul and warp her sense of the feminist collective. I kept my mouth shut about how Barbie dolls are probably doing more damage to her child's soul and the feminist collective. I knew this was not the time to have The Barbie Talk. My friend was agonizing over how to "handle" this with her daughter.

The conversation had me wondering just how woefully unaware and stupid I was as a child. So I called my mother.

Here's a transcript of that conversation. I'm posting this as a guide for parents grappling with how to tell their children about Election 2016.

"Hi Mum, how's it going?"

"Boy am I tired, what a night!"

[long and meaningful pause] "Mum?"

"Yes?"

"Have you figured out how you're going to talk to your children about the election?"

[riotous laughter] "I've been worried about that all morning." [more laughter]

"But seriously, mum, I'm curious. I don't remember much about politics or elections or presidents until I was about 10 or 11. Was I really stupid, or unaware, or apolitical until then? Or do I just not remember that part of my childhood?"

"Oh good grief, no, you weren't stupid. I think you were probably a little more aware than some of the other children at school. You always had very good grades in social studies and government."

"Even when I was young?"

"You know your father and I never pushed our politics on you. We believed it was crucial that parents remain objective so their children can grow and develop their own political choices. Nothing worse that someone who votes a particular way simply because it's what their parents did. Religion, too, for that matter. Anything, really."

It's true, I knew this, I remembered this from my later childhood.

"But did you tell me anything about elections or candidates? Did I care?"

"Does any child under the age of eight really care about an election or candidates? Unless they're reciting what their parents told them, or what they overhear at home, I don't believe children that young have enough world knowledge and political understanding to talk politics. Nor do I believe they're naturally interested. Given the choice, children will play or watch cartoons or whatever it is they do on all those gizmos these days."

Bingo.

"So you didn't tell me anything about elections and politics?"

"Of course we did. We taught you the process. We told you to respect all points of view. That was more than enough until you were old enough to grasp issues and the candidates' stances. And even then we worked very hard to keep the conversations objective. Young mind forming and all that. We did not want to sway you with our opinions. Our job was to teach you the process, teach you about the different parties, give you some history, equip you with the tools you need to navigate the process. The rest, the opinion-forming, was up to you. "

"Thanks for that, Mum. I appreciate the effort you put into making sure I developed my own mind. Was I just lucky to be the youngest and the benefactor of trial and error, or did you do the same with [my brother and sister]?"

"Your father and I agreed on this before we were married. We felt that strongly about making sure our children formed their own minds and opinions. We were not interested in creating and controlling miniature versions of ourselves."

"But that's risky, we don't all agree with you."

"Exactly! How boring it would be if the entire family agreed on everything! And what would be the point of creating people only to manipulate them into the same opinions as ours? Why bother creating a family of sycophants? The fun of creating children is learning who they are and helping them develop their unique personalities. Forcing our opinions on you would defeat that."

"What if you felt strongly about a candidate?" 

"We never had that problem. There have been very few candidates we felt strongly about - positive or negative. Some of the candidates certainly concerned us, but not to the point of fear or hostility."

"I don't remember you or dad getting really upset over an election result. Surely you have not liked every president."

"No, but you know us, 'the people have spoken,' and 'this, too, shall pass.' No sense getting worked up over something you can't control. And something that will change in four years. There are good lessons about winning and losing, too. We wanted you to learn to be a gracious winner and gracious loser. So we never got too worked up over election results."

And that's how you "handle" the election with your children.