Walk Down Memory Lane

An interesting obituary popped up on facebook last night.

I did a little research and learned the obit is not new, it was published in 2018, but it brought up discussion as to how unusual it is to speak ill of the dead.

Why? I wondered. Why is it we tend not to speak ill of the dead … “ill” being the truth. Instead, the practice is to put the best possible face on a person in the obituary and overlook whatever misdeeds or characteristics might be unpleasant.

Reading comments to the post brought up a memory from when my ex-husband passed away.

I did not go to the funeral. It never crossed my mind to go. He was in the past. I didn’t hate him, nor did I like him. He was nothing, a non-entity to me. Did not exist.

I was ex-wife No. 2 of four — the only wife to give him children. He’d tracked me down and developed a relationship with his daughters when they were 10 years old, so the girls went to their dad’s funeral.

And, actually, it wasn’t that he tracked me down to develop a relationship with his children. Instead, after he tracked me down, he had his best friend call me at work and say something to the effect, “George is older now, wiser. You’re not getting any younger. You two should get back together”.

I scoffed and said "I'm not dating anyone over 25. What would I want with that old man? (he was only 15 years older than I), but if he wants a relationship with his children, that's fine by me".

Because he was in his daughter’s lives after that, our paths crossed, but it was friendly and at arm’s length on my part while he was deluded and acted as though he felt I might still have feelings for him, even when he remarried …. twice more.

Sometimes he tried the poor me approach in trying to draw me back in .. AS IF, at one point telling me, when our paths crossed, that Wife No. 3 had left him. He’d returned from work one afternoon to find she was gone. Took ALL the furnishings with her.

In the telling ME of it, I guess he’d forgotten I'd also fled, and knew why No. 3 had left — but at least the only thing I’d taken with me were the clothes I had on my back and the babies. LOL.

Then there were a few times during his time with Wife No. 4 — whom I liked quite a lot, when George would feel melancholy, try the poor me thing again — once calling me at work, talking all sick and sad and sorry, saying he wishes we’d stayed together. (Yeah, sure. He was so crazed back then that he’d have killed me, the twins and himself). At any rate, I’d steer him back to reality, tell him he has a nice wife (meaning one who puts up with his awfulness, or was at that time) and should be happy.

So it was nothing to me when he passed away — while separated from Wife No. 4, but his girls, having developed a relationship, went to the funeral. And let me just add here the relationship they developed was not close. They got to KNOW their dad, could see why he was nothing to me, and even began to not like him all that much themselves. The girls just accepted him as being their dad and, consequently, were not happy when he passed away, nor were they devastated. It was more like … it is what it is.

Being his only children, they were fawned over by his old friends at the funeral and came back reporting that those friends — who had been our friends when we were married, were surprised I’d not attended.

I was surprised those former friends were surprised and said to the girls that “My time is valuable. Why would I have wasted it going to your dad’s funeral?"

Evidently, I wasn’t the only woman who thought he was a waste of time, because the girls reported that when the minister was eulogizing their dad — saying what I do not know, but probably the usual b.s. sugar coating ministers do to not speak ill of the dead, that a woman in the audience stood up, said “That’s not the George Raines I know!” and walked out. LOL

I wondered why she’d bother to attend — maybe to make certain he was dead, but it made me wish I had gone. Sounded like a lady I would have liked to have introduced myself to, had a chat over coffee with.

Fire Season

No surprise, I knew fire season was coming and began organizing this year’s Go-Bag ─ just in case Little Mountain has its annual blaze.

What did surprise me was that one of the fires is carrying my name.

An odd name for a fire, thought I; and not sure if I should feel honored or appalled, I decided on being amused. No one was harmed by the Shirley fire, no one was displaced, no property destroyed so I posted the photo to facebook, with the caption “It wasn’t me. I swear” and got a good laugh out the reactions.

Then later, curious to know how a fire received such a simple name, I googled and learned 1)"wildfire names are created on the spot when the blaze begins ... a geographical location, local landmark, street, lake, mountain, peak, etc." or 2 "named by the dispatch center that sends the first responders to the fire, though sometimes they are named by the first firefighters on the scene".

Interesting, and inasmuch as I am not a location, "Shirley" must be the first responder/firefighter on the scene.

Crossing my fingers that Little Mountain doesn’t go up this year and, if it does, it’s handled quickly ─ we’re not ordered to evacuate. However, worst case scenario this year is a quandary.

Worst case scenario, in past years, has been to throw the go-bag in the car and wait out the danger in a hotel. However, in this Covid-infected 2020, a hotel is not an option, and I’d rather live in the car than bunk with either daughter. Twin 2 has a wife, stepdaughter, a dog, mood swings (menopause?). Twin 1 has no pets, but is doing that work on skid row and has her volunteer team coming in/out of her apartment ─ both situations bringing in God knows what kind of germs, so no.

That leaves granddaughter. She doesn’t have a dog, she has a cat ─ no pet is preferable, but I can tolerate a cat.

Sorry readers. I don’t mean to offend animal lovers. It’s just that I’ve not been a pet person since that incident with my mom and my dog Skippy ─ where we moved, Skippy did not move with us, and mom said she gave him to the butcher to be turned into ground meat.

Granddaughter owes me LARGE and now married to that rich white boy, living at the beach, professing to love me “so much” appreciating my “unconditional love” (all of which she expounded recently in a thank you note) ─ and little does she know it’s not unconditional at all. I just suck-it-up, do what spirit prompts me to do.

At any rate, granddaughter would be my option before opting to wait the danger out in the car and, if she’s not amendable, then I know to cut that spot out of my life once and for all, and the car it is.

So this year’s fire disaster plan in place, it’s onwards, upwards, with fingers crossed.

Word on the complex is the resident diagnosed with Covid has passed away. Word also on the complex is someone has moved into Nosey’s vacant unit.

I’ve seen no one coming/going, the blinds are shut tight, the unit looks deserted, but Next Door Neighbor tells me she’s seen lights on at night, someone going in during the day.

Time will tell.

I’ve been keeping an eye on the progress of that new senior complex, since last year, when first seeing a sign go up that it was to be built.

Last time I was in the area was middle of June and the building looked to be completed and about ready for occupancy.

Problem is ... it looks like a Plantation, and doesn’t appear to have open air access which, with Covid being airborne, living in a box with an elevator, doors opening up into a hallway isn't preferable. Plus, it’s restricted to those with extremely low incomes ─ 62 and over of age; single adult annual income of $15,000 to $31,000.

A box, that looks like a planation, housing the poor and elderly, but poor/elderly are desperate. I learned this week 500 have submitted applications to be considered for tenancy, 250 have been chosen in a lottery.

I'm thinking/hoping future senior housing construction will take into consideration how this pandemic spreads in close quarters and be more like what we have here ─ individual little homes, opening out into fresh air and sunshine.

We don’t have the best management/maintenance here, but it's not the worst and, looking at reviews of the management group staffing the new complex, seeing all the complaints at their other locations, it's like Nurse Ratched used to treat us; but at least the only complaint we now have is management/maintenance not giving a damn but, in this post Covid world, the fact it’s not a box with an elevator and hallway, we each have individual fresh air access, outside is grass, flowers, trees, well-maintained, is a tradeoff I can live with.

I’m staying until they tell me my income exceeds the requirements, kick me to the curb, or a fire on Little Mountain drives me out.

Okay, Google! What Day is This?

Waking up this morning, thinking today was Thursday, not realizing today is Wednesday until almost noon, I decided that’s how I’m going to have to begin my days from now on — grab the phone and ask Google, especially since I did the same thing last week.

I went ALL DAY last week thinking it was Thursday until, channel surfing that night, I saw RuPaul’s Drag Race was on.

That’s interesting, thought I. Drag Race is usually on Friday. This must be reruns, but this show never gets old or boring, so I’ll watch.

It wasn’t until it got to an episode I’d not seen before, and it was announced to be the final and a new Drag Queen would be announced that I realized OMG today is Friday! … thinking today was Thursday, I almost missed Drag Race!

No more news on the resident who tested positive for Covid but, having not seen either of the maintenance men on the property since the announcement, I’m wondering if the both of them are isolating for however many days it is when you’ve been around someone testing positive.

I saw a strange woman (probably a family member) bringing Head Maintenance Guy’s two boys home, from wherever they were today. The woman was not wearing a mask, the two boys were mask less AND the woman was carrying a newborn.

I have no words for how stupid that seemed to me.

I was heading to the mailbox when I saw them and, since they were heading in the same direction as I, because Head Maintenance Guy’s unit is over the mailbox area, instead of following behind, I took the long way around and, when it got to the point where our paths would cross, I stopped, stayed waaaaaay back and waited until they were off the path and heading up the stairs.

There was a package from Mask Guy in the mailbox — the new blue-black leopard mask he just came up with, and that I just had to have as I thought it would gel well with my leopard leggings.

Not an exact match, but close enough.

I already have Mask Guy’s regular leopard print in my collection and, super nice guy that he is, he sent me a little blinged out air purifier to match.

Even though Twin 1 had said, "He's rich mom", when I told her I felt bad that he was sending me masks for free or not charging me shipping costs, I did not want to take advantage of Mask Guy's generosity and insisted on paying full price for the blue-black mask. Lo and behold he couldn’t help being generous and threw in the purifier for free.

Until a month or so ago, I’d envision Mask Guy as just some kid — a friend of Twin 1 who had a little business. However, seeing his name pop up in an article I ran across, I followed the thread and learned Mask Guy is “an Emmy award winning costume designer who has been designing costumes for over ten years and is one of the most sought-after designers in the business. A former Australian champion athlete he now calls Los Angeles home and with a celebrity client list that includes Cher, Mariah Carey, The Spice Girls, David Lee Roth, Janet Jackson, J-Lo, Natalie Cole and for the last six years Lady Gaga."

"Rich" he is and no wonder his masks are so awesome. Can't wait to see what he comes up with next — hopefully a camo one.

Bubble Burst

I’ve been thinking, last few days, how fortunate we are here in this complex/here in this area because, while the world around us is in chaos, we seem to be in a protective little bubble. Every day looks like a regular day in the neighborhood — that is except for that one night when the local strip malls were looted by opportunistic rioters. Fortunate in that we’ve had no protests in the area, no reports of Covid-19 at the market or in the complex.

I have noticed more street type people travelling through the area. Coming from where, I do not know. Going where, I also do not know. And we're having more and more sightings of intruders IN the complex late at night.

So there is THAT.

I can understand why the homeless would choose this property, rather than the adult building next door to crash. Here is safer than sleeping on the streets FOR THEM, safer even than the adult building next door where there are tough guys who might hurt them. The pool area next door is inside a building, while ours is out in the open — easily assessable, I’ve learned, by climbing over areas with fencing isn’t high enough to keep them out, and there’s the shower and jacuzzi. So, I can understand why us and don’t mind, so long as they don’t try to break into the mailboxes or damage cars BUT it’s getting to be not all that safe FOR US because some residents have reported someone knocking on their doors late at night — to gain entry we’re assuming.

I hope everyone knows not to answer the door at night. Heck, I don’t even open my door during daylight hours — without first looking through the kitchen blinds to see who’s knocking. And, ever since as a young woman I woke up to find my landlord standing in my bedroom door, staring at me, I always put security thingies on doors and windows at night.

Apache tells me The Seer phoned him the other night to say a guy was sleeping on her doormat.

“SHE DID WHAT? Why’d she call you? Why didn’t she call her boyfriend (Shadow)?”

“I don’t know. I was wondering myself why she called me. I don’t know what’s going on with that (‘that’ being The Seer and Shadow’s relationship), but I went over and escorted the guy off the premises.”

“YOU DID WHAT? After the way she’s treated you last few years? She doesn’t even talk to me anymore and I’ve not a clue as to why”.

“She treats everyone like that now”, said he.

“All the more reason to have told her to go F herself when she called”, said I.

Apache is just too nice.

At any rate, apart from this property having become a hotel for the homeless, I felt we were fortunate, in a nice cozy bubble — away from it all until management posted a notice to our doors this morning that a resident has tested positive for Covid-19.

The bubble has burst.

We’re in it now.

Of course management can’t violate the individual’s confidentiality — tell us who, where they’ve been in the complex, who here might have come in contact with the resident, but I knew the knower of all things in this complex would know … I called Apache.

It’s a resident on the other side of the complex. A resident Apache says I probably haven’t come in contact with because she doesn’t get out much. Which begs the question — if she didn’t get out much, how’d she catch it? Did someone bring it in to her?

I don’t want to get too confident that our paths have never crossed, but I do know I've been distancing myself from EVERYONE and taking the proper precautions when heading to the dumpster and mail box.

The only time I’m around people is in the market, and I’m careful not to get too close to anyone there as well.

I did run into Younger Sister in the market a while back. Greeting each other at a distance, I learned she’d spent the 4th of July in Los Angeles with family.

She doesn’t drive, so I knew she’d taken a bus or buses to get there, was around others when she got there so, when she got in the checkout lane behind me and, being a little too anxious to put her items on the conveyer belt, stepped in too close, I had no problem saying “You’re getting too close”.

If looks could kill, I’d be dead now because she gave me such a look. LOL. As if I cared and wouldn’t have hesitated to repeat myself more forcibly if she hadn’t moved back to the x-mark.

What is it with people not following the rules and then copping an attitude when confronted?

The Day After

So another Dooms Day has come and gone. We’re still here ... or are we? Maybe this is all an illusion, a dream or ─ depending on your experience, a nightmare.

At any rate, dream, nightmare or illusion, I did what I normally do, which today was a run to the market.

“I miss seeing lipstick”, said the cashier as I was checking out. “Everyone is wearing a mask”.

Well thank goodness for THAT, thought I. Everyone in the market wear masks and, as far as I know, we’ve had no incidents of a Karen or a Ken causing a ruckus over having to comply with the simple request.

As far as her missing lipstick, I went on to say, “I still wear mine. Even though no one can see it but me. It makes me feel good to know it's there and when I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror (at home)”.

“I just do my eyebrows, my eyes and leave everything under the mask alone”, said she.

That’s interesting, thought I. I wonder how many faces I’m looking at are only half done.

Every morning ─ even when I have no plans to leave the unit, I go the full nine yards ─ SPF skin protection, followed by Bobbi Brown repair moisture cream, then Derma Blend cover cream. Then it’s on to applying lipstick, penciling in eyebrows, polishing it all off with Derma Blend setting powder.

I generally do not wear eye makeup, because I don’t see the necessity for it, but I do spritz myself with Estee Lauder Cinnabar perfume after which I’m locked, loaded and ready to seize the day. Which now days consists of moving back/forth from the couch to one room or another. But at least I look good and smell nice doing it. LOL

While at the market, I spied an oddity.

One of these things is not like the other

Did you spot the oddity right away? You'd be surprised how long it took some to find when I posted on facebook.

I almost bought it, just because it was different, but opted to stick with a regular dozen.

Also at the market, my coin purse came in handy, when the bill rang up to $100.04 ─ and if that seems excessive for one person, you’re right ... it is. But that’s the reality when one can no longer lower one’s food costs with simple meals like peanut butter and crackers, or ramen noodles, a tv dinner, can of soup, etc., and instead must purchase healthy ingredients and cook.

At any rate, the casher questioned “You don’t have four cents?” and I was able to say “Why yes, yes I do” as I whipped out my coin purse and gave her four pennies.

My bib number and swag bag for the virtual DC Wonder Woman 5K, which I completed almost a month ago, finally arrived.

Most of the virtual races coming out are offering hair buffs (which I like), but this iconic 5K offered a tote bag, jacket, two wrist wallets and an awesome medal of course.

Back side of the medal is even more awesome than the front.

What a difference a year makes. Last year the DC Wonder Woman Inaugural Race had me staying in a fancy hotel, and having tons of fun at the race site with thousands of other participants. Crowds and cheers and excitement at the finish line. This year it was me, all by myself, alone, trying to avoid Knife Guy and ultimately having to call the cops so I could get TO the finish line (home).

Radio Silence

I have friends on facebook that I’ve unfollowed in a way where they can view my activities but, not trusting what they post to be appropriate, their activities do not show up on my page and I forget they’re even there — that is until and unless they leave a comment.

One of these friends is a former coworker I became close to at my last place of employment. Beautiful woman, married to an obnoxious minister, with whom they share a now adult son — who is making a name for himself as a comic. This friend is the one who taught me how to make tamales.

During the last election, she came out guns blazing for No. 45 and took quite a lot of heat for it being as how she herself is Hispanic — which tells you why her posts do not appear on my page.

She’s certainly allowed to her opinion, but I didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to hear it because I like her and was afraid what she was proffering would cause me to lose respect for her. So, it’s been like radio silence as I no longer saw her postings appear on my page, and hadn’t bothered to check her page in ages, though she checked in with me last year to get together for lunch. I would have liked to, but didn't get together because I came down ill the day we were to meet.

Fast forward 1279 days since 45 took office, and all that has occurred since — relating to her culture, i.e., kids in cages, deportations, going after the Dreamers, the Goya controversy, with nothing else to do today, I decided to check her page to see if she now felt differently.

She did not.

Clearly on board for 45 in 2020, she also stands with no masks because “It’s not the government’s job to protect my health. It’s the government’s job to protect my rights. It’s my job to protect my health, and when you trade liberty for safety, you end up losing both”.

As for the pandemic, she didn’t say it wasn’t real — well not exactly. What she said was its God’s judgment for the state of "immorality in our world", i.e. sin. "The line between right and wrong having slowly been erased by society".

WOW. JUST WOW.

Again … she has a right to feel about No. 45 as she does, she also has a right to believe the pandemic does not require her rights being violated by a requirement to wear a mask. Some folks have to learn the hard way — Covid has to touch her or her family for her to get woke. However, she’s crossed a line when preaching about immorality, right, wrong, sin because, when we worked together, while she was married (still is), she was carrying on a relationship with one of the guys in that KKK group that was giving me such a hard time on the job.

Her paramour himself, even though racist, didn’t dislike me. It was just that he was following orders to try to find ammunition to help the CEO get rid of me.

He couldn’t and, like others whom the racist CEO had tasked with getting rid of me, ended up rather liking me — though he tried not to show it to the other klansmen/klan women.

At any rate, what my facebook friend had going on with — let’s call him C, was no secret at the agency, everyone knew of it. One swinging couple, both working at the agency, asked if my friend and C wanted "help" — when my friend and C were headed to a hotel after work. "Help" being a to do an all together thing. My friends response was, "No, we can do it by ourselves". LOL.

And yes, it was that kind of place.

In fact, the wife of that swinging couple threw me a line, evidently hoping to draw me in. She one day asked, “Do you find my husband attractive?”

Having observed her husband on multiple occasions, finding him to be skinny, skin always looking disgustingly greasy — she herself being fat and slovenly, and knowing what I knew of their activities — that they didn’t know I knew; the idea was so abhorrent that my reaction wasn’t what she expected or liked. It was a spontaneous “EWE!”

The stories I could tell of who was doing what with who ON THE PREMISES and where — the Rebuilt Room mostly, but once a janitor walked in and caught an early morning sex act going on in an office between a married secretary and her boss.

How do I know all this?

Innocent bystanders, who happened to see something, just had to say something and chose to confide in me because that’s what people do for some odd reason …. tell me things they can’t or won’t tell anyone else. Maybe people sense I don’t judge — not them if they tell me they themselves are doing something they don’t want others to know, not those who are passing on information about something they saw others do. I don’t judge, plus I do love some good gossip, and know how to keep my mouth shut. LOL.

At any rate, my facebook friend is among those who confided because she knew I wouldn’t judge, and wanted to talk about it — maybe brag. And I didn’t judge until seeing what she’s now posting about immortality, the sins of others — and I’m not judging her for cheating on her minister husband by sleeping with C (her husband was an ass, I didn't like him and it felt good to know she was making a fool of him), but I'm judging for her for being such a HYPOCRITE.

What’s that saying about “People who live in glass houses”?

I never asked her a single thing about what was going on with her and C. She’d just feel the need to enlighten me. Once, for instance, she and I were on the freeway, heading out to lunch. She pointed over to a hotel off in the distance and said, “That’s where C___ and I go”.

I don’t know what this says about me but, you can be a supporter of No. 45 and I’ll still like you, we’re still friends. We can go for coffee, for lunch — just don’t try to discuss your politics with me. You can cheat on your husband, and I’ll still like you, we’re still friends. We can go for coffee, for lunch. But if you’re a hypocrite, you become dead to me.

Nothing to See Here

My life is back to being quiet and uneventful, nothing interesting or entertaining going on ─ and I like it like this.

The latest needlepoint project ─ now 11 months, 1500 hours in, is coming along.

Progress: January - May

Progress: May - July

Other than needlepoint, it’s been cooking ─ which I hate to cook and cleaning ─ which oddly enough I don’t mind at all, probably because cleaning is like exercise, burns a lot of calories.

When I say a lot of calories, I do mean a LOT. For instance, the day I steam cleaned the bathroom, the fitbit tracker logged 3,577 steps, 1.7 miles, 1,348 calories. The day I washed kitchen cabinets, steam cleaned the tile floor, and shampooed the carpet, fitbit logged 2,859 steps, 1.3 miles, 1,274 calories. I even managed to log in 1.5 miles, 3,161 steps, 1,125 calories just grocery shopping. Probably because of walking up and down the stairs to/from the car, unloading, then putting groceries away.

And I need to burn as many extra calories as I can right now because, following the Gut Specialists orders to “Eat gluten free and low Fodmap” I put on a few pounds.

I don’t need a Specialist to charge my plan $1700 for one session and a follow up phone call to gain weight, as I can gain weight all by myself ... for free. Plus, the Specialist tried her hardest to set me up with a Dietician. No telling how much that was going to cost ... and she tried so hard to get me to sign up for it that I began to wonder if she was getting a kickback.

At any rate, after enjoying gluten free eating ─ and I did enjoy it because I was able to eat cereals, pasta, cake, etc., so long as it was gluten free or I myself made it with gluten free flour, but I didn’t enjoy loosening the belt on my fanny pack ─ twice. So I took what seemed logical from what I learned on Fodmap, dropped anything having to do with gluten free, and became my own Dietician ─ with good results, as I’m having no gut episodes of late, slowly coming back down on the weight side and don’t feel hungry all the time which, I learned from the experience, was another offshoot of gluten free eating.

During that last telephone appointment with the Specialist ─ the one wherein she tried to get me to sign up with a Dietician, she indicated she’d check back with me in a few months to see if I was ready to sign up for it. I think she knew following her instructions was going to cause weight gain, resulting in getting more money out of me with a Dietician, but the joke is on her. I’m good now. Don’t need either of them. So, I’ll not accept the telephone appointment.

Speaking of appointments ─ deciding that if the world did not end on the scheduled Dooms Day of Wednesday, July 22nd, that early morning dental appointment on Friday was going to be too much of a hassle. So, I called the dental office and asked that my 7 a.m., with D on the 24th be scheduled to the next available appointment at a more reasonable time of day.

“We don’t show you with an appointment on the 24th and we don’t have a D”.

“That’s impossible. I just scheduled it. This is Dr T’s office is it not?”

“Yes, Dr. T is still here, but your hygienist was M and she’s no longer with us.”

Long story short, after much confusion as to who my hygienist was/is, I did get a rescheduled appointment and a new hygienist, but you can’t imagine how upset I would have been had I pushed myself to get up early and to the dental office by 7 a.m. only to find out I had no appointment.

If I don’t get a card from them verifying the rescheduled appointment, I’ll be sure to call the day before ─ just in case.

Living to 76 years of age, I’ve seen three well-liked hygienist move on with their lives through retirement. I’m surprised Dr. T ─ whom I’ve referred to in the blog as Dr. McDreamy because he’s a silver fox, hasn’t retired. On the other hand, he probably can’t retire because he became a father late in life. He’ll probably have to hang on until his son, now about 15, gets through college.

So along with outliving three hygienists, if the world does not end on Wednesday, I will have also made it through three End of the World predicted Dooms Days.

There’s probably been more, but I only remember one when I was in my early 20’s, another back in 2011 labeled “The Rapture/Day of Judgment” when “the chosen” were to be lifted.

Pranksters got a good laugh out of that one.

Living in Long Beach at the time, where I’d interrupted my retirement to relocate so granddaughter could have a place to live and finish school after her mom ─ deep into her lost period, had gone off the deep end, deserted and left granddaughter on her own. A move I came to deeply regret as granddaughter, instead of blaming her mom, took it out on me ─ spurred on by her mom, unable to accept responsibility for where she found herself in life, would call granddaughter, instill blame for the way she’d screwed her own life on me, furthering granddaughters cruel words and mistreatment. After all I'd been through and was giving up at that time, it was the unkindest cut of all and cut so deep that it broke me emotionally, mentally and darn near financially to where I had no choice but to Let Go and Let God with the both of them in order to survive.

I relocated to where I am now and divorced myself from family for a number of years, until I received an apology from granddaughter through Twin 2. Twin 1 never ever apologized because it’s not in her to do so ─ at least not to me because she sees the past differently than I do. Instead, she invited me to Thanksgiving in 2017. She'd had an awakening of sort, was on a more positive path, and Thanksgiving was her way of mending fences ─ to go on with life as usual, pretend as though nothing happened. LOL.

At any rate, it had taken years for me to mend, but I felt it was time, give the family thing another go and reconnected to where I now have a decent relationship with granddaughter and her mom. However, it will never be what it could have been had I not had the experiences I had with them. I wish I could forget, but some wounds won’t heal, so I play lip service to it all, play the game, go through the motion of giving a damn, act as a mother should, a grandmother should, but I’m happy all by myself ... alone.

For a minute there, I got so off track that I forgot where I was going with this, which was I was living in Long Beach, out walking that Day of Judgment, and lucked up on the work of a prankster.

"Lifted" right out of his clothes

Now here we are in 2020, with yet another Dooms Day End of the World prediction ─ this one with the caveat of a Second Coming.

I have my own theory about the Second Coming of Christ, which I’ll keep to myself, but I dare say that with all we’ve had to deal with thus far into 2020, and the possibility No. 45 might cheat himself into another win, some of us probably wish this really was the End.

Well, it looks like though I titled this post "Nothing to see here", I ended up saying quite a lot.