This, the last day of 2015, ended on a high note.
First of all, I had no worrisome dreams about relatives and thus
was able to sleep until almost 9:00.
Then, I’ve been having decent results with brewing my own
coffee, instead of running to Starbucks every morning, but it never seemed quite
as tasty as what I get at Starbucks. Having just finished that pound of
Christmas Blend, I’d purchased a pound of House Blend, which was this morning’s
blend. It turned out PERFECT!
So I was two for two before I even got the day started.
The beads needed to finish that needlepoint project did not
arrive in yesterday’s mail, as the seller had supposed, but they did arrive in today’s
mail.
The seller sent me not just one packet, but three. More beads
than I’ll ever need but, inasmuch as they’re so tiny and difficult to replace,
I’ll be hanging onto these beads for like forever.
I stopped by the Community Room to see what the folks were up
to, and to see if the flat screen had been stolen yet.
I say “yet” because the shady looking guy who lives with those dark aura strange women came into the Community Room yesterday,
spotted the flat screen and commented, “Oh, they set up a television.”
After he left, we all looked at each other and, just as I was
about to say “Well, the television will be gone by tomorrow”, The Baker took
those precise words out of my mouth.
So far, the television is still there.
While in the Community Room, Apache surprised me with a
Christmas gift.
I don’t think he has any designs behind it, as he also gave a
gift to The Seer and one other resident that I know of. But I do believe there
was thought behind what he gave us, as The Seer was given slippers, the other
woman was given Polo Cologne – which I thought was for men and, his having
overheard a conversation where I was telling the girls that this weather is
drying out my skin, he gave me lotion with shea and cocoa butter.
I asked about his luminaries, and how he handled setting up with
the heavy winds. His solution was battery-operated luminaries, weighted down
with cat litter – stressing the cat litter was clean.
Lastly, I managed to get my hands on organic masa harina so, instead
of the usual New Year’s Eve good luck meal of black eye peas, rice, cornbread,
I tried something different. I made tamales but filled them with black eye peas
and rice.
They turned out great!
So this last day of 2015 has been totally excellent.
My moon has evidently moved out of kaka and 2016 is looking good.
This morning, I found myself researching earthquake kits on the
website of that community of survivalist I came across over the summer.
What prompted me to do so was the earthquake we had last night.
It was the
strongest I’ve felt in decades and sent seniors fleeing from their units in the
cold, in the dark.
I’m not sure that was the correct action to take. I recall hearing
“outside” puts you in the path of breaking glass, falling bricks, and that one
should get in a door jam, under a table or an enclosed area, such as the
bathroom.
It wasn’t funny, isn’t funny, but I can’t stop laughing at
people’s reactions.
One neighbor said she was already in bed, just about to fall
asleep and, when the shaking rattling rolling and thunderous sound as though a
truck hit the building happened, she sat straight up and yelled, “Oh sh*t!”.
The Seer grabbed her purse, her keys and ran out the building.
Her son’s flight had been cancelled due to weather, so he was still here last
night and, when the quake hit, he was right behind her running out of the
building yelling, “Mom, where are you going?”
She didn’t know. She was just running.
I myself was sitting in front of the laptop at a heavy solid
wood table. Feeling as though I was going to be tossed onto the floor, I leaned
forward and held onto the table for dear life.
Once it was over, I didn’t even bother to get up when I heard my
depressed next door neighbor open her door and head downstairs to discuss what
just happened with other residents I could hear outside talking.
I glanced around, didn’t see anything broken or on the edge of
falling, except one can fell from the cabinet, went back to what I was doing.
THEN, a few minutes later comes the aftershock, which was as
strong as the usual earthquakes we get. And then there was another quick quake this
morning. So thinking I’d better start paying attention to predictions that “the
big one is coming”, as though the one we'd just had wasn't big enough, my mind turned to an earthquake kit.
The kits at the survivalist store are sold out, but didn’t
interest me anyway – a lot of freeze dried food. All I can think of that would
work for me is peanut butter, energy bars, nuts, dried fruit, water.
I’m just in the thinking-about-it-stage right now but, if we
have another quake this week, I’ll be taking it as a sign to get a kit together
… NOW.
Checking in with the folks in the Community Room, to see if we’re
doing anything for New Year’s Eve (we’re not), I found earthquake damage to the
Community Room ceiling.
The crack runs all the way across, from one end of the ceiling
to the other.
According to postal service tracking – which I now pay attention
to and watch like a hawk, that needlepoint pattern I reordered, just for the
beads, was to be delivered yesterday.
In an effort to keep an eye on Mr. Infallible doesn’t make
mistakes mailman, I went down around the time he usually gets to this complex
and waited for his delivery, so I could catch a mistake right away, rather than
ten days later.
Keeping an eye on him is not easy because he has walls, and I
don’t mean walls in general. I really mean “walls” … literal concrete walls.
My read on him is that he’s a bit puffed up with his own self-importance
-- unapproachable, takes himself too serious. Consequently, instead of approaching
him directly last week, as one would with their friendly neighborhood mailman,
his being not exactly mean, but seeming strict and unfriendly, sent me to the
post office instead.
Receiving no feedback after that visit, I took a chance, approached him directly
the next day and gently suggested he made a mistake and the recipient of that
mistake was not honest enough to come forward. He dismissed that theory with “That
doesn’t happen”, meaning he doesn’t make mistakes.
Okay, fine.
Expecting that needlepoint pattern, I knew enough not to push my
luck, approach him yet again to alert him a package is expected so he’d be a
little more alert. That positively would have resulted in his feeling insulted,
interpreting it as harassment and going verbally postal on me.
So instead, I went down around delivery time and waited
out-of-sight.
That’s a thing for him … residents waiting around for mail;
thus, I waited out-of-sight.
Mr. Infallible also doesn’t like residents entering the building
through the door by the mailbox when he’s doing his thing, and really doesn’t
like residents being too friendly and chatting him up. To make sure that keep
away message gets across, he blocks the door leading out of the building past
the mail boxes with an orange cone, and he blocks entry to building through that
door via the pathway in front of him with a sign.
This is one serious mail man.
Ensuring no one bothers him, doesn’t stop him from making
mistakes however, so what’s the point. Also, when he takes time off and we get
different mail personnel, none of them employ keep away cones and signs.
In the end, it worked out this time, as he got delivery right insofar
as my package.
Once back in the unit, I opened the sealed brand new kit and
removed the contents.
Everything was as it should be, except … there were no beads.
Can you believe it?
This is what I call my moon being in kaka (poop), when things don't go right, the
universe appears to be working against me.
I’ve contacted the seller.
She will provide me with beads.
But really, can you believe the luck – a brand new kit with something omitted, and that being the
one thing I need.
Except to pick up granddaughter’s BFF from the Greyhound on
Christmas Day, the frigid cold kept me indoors Friday.
Likewise on Saturday, the frigid cold, in addition to gusty
winds, kept me in. The wind was scary strong as it howled through the quad,
causing the windows to rattle, patio displays close to being blown away.
On Sunday, the sun came up a little. It was still cold out but
not of the frigid variety, and the winds had died down (for a while), so off I
went to the market to pick up a container of Melissa’s vegetarian black-eye
peas -- for the traditional good-luck in the New Year meal, before all the
health nuts in the area bought ‘em out, as they did Bob’s Red Mill organic masa
harina.
While out, I saw the previous day’s gusty wind had littered the
complex with leaves, tumble weeds and all manner of debris. The gardeners are
going to have quite a lot of clean-up work.
As will the pool cleaner.
Further down the street, I saw limbs and branches had been taken
down by the wind. Two of the palm trees in front of the church
were peeled top down like a banana.
On tap for today was an early morning walk. Inasmuch as I’ve found
myself once again addicted to sugar, I wanted to test how much Holiday damage has been
done to my stamina by taking the walk up the hills of Shandlin Estate.
I made it all the way to the top, no problem.
Walking by the tree where I’d hung a Random Act of Christmas
Cheer on Day 8 at Shandlin, I saw the ornament was gone. Having been by three other
locations, I know them to be gone as well, and pretty quick I’m sure. The one with
the horse, hung on the 12th, didn’t disappear until just a few days
before Christmas.
Believe it or not, I saw this morning that the ornament hung on the
5th by the bus stop not only has not yet been removed but has also weathered
the horrendous wind we just had.
An amazing achievement, considering the amount of foot traffic up and down that sidewalk, not to mention people congregating at the bus stop and heavy winds taking down leaves, branches, trees.
Surprised I am to be posting. Expecting the next few days to be
totally uneventful, I wasn’t planning on posting until sometime next week, but
it’s been a rather interesting day.
The day started off with the urge for a slow stroll around the
neighborhood.
Slow it was -- a sightseeing walking pace of 35.40, covering
only 1.26 miles in 45 minutes, but it was pretty outside and the no pressure
stroll felt good.
Heading downstairs for that walk, I ran into The Seer.
“Where were you the other night?”
She’s talking about the Holiday Party, on Tuesday, the day it
rained all day and all night.
“I’d planned on not going because I didn’t think I could take
any more of Nurse Ratched putting on a performance, and by the time I changed
my mind, it was too late. I’d missed the cutoff, which was Spirit’s way of
telling me I wasn’t meant to go.”
“Well, you were missed.”
I doubt that.
“And she did put on a performance.”
The Seer filled me in.
Only twenty braved the weather and attended, that number includes staff. Nurse
Ratched’s husband was present and he is “Old and God awful ugly”.
ROFLMAO!
“Please tell me you took a picture”, says I.
“No … I didn’t.”
Darn it.
The food was good, but Nurse Ratched, her assistant, her
husband, the Activity Director, the new Maintenance Supervisor did not mingle
with the residents. Instead, they ate in the kitchen.
My depressed neighbor showed up.
Good for her. I saw her leaving early this morning, loaded down
with Christmas gifts, headed to her friends in Los Angeles I surmised. I’m glad
she stuck around on Tuesday and attended an event.
There was a drawing for gifts at the event, and most everyone
won a little something.
There was NOT the drawing for $200 some folks in attendance were
expecting.
It was announced, at the beginning of the year, that a drawing
for $200 would be held at the Annual Christmas Party. The names of all
residents having paid their rent on time would be entered, and the resident
drawn would receive $200.
At the time, that sounded like corporate desperation to me.
Evidently, not everyone was paying their rent on time, and the $200 was
motivation. Seeing who won the $200 is also what motivated some to
attend the holiday party.
Not the gullible type, I never gave credence to the carrot of
$200 in the first place, but figured it would motivate those it was intended to
motivate to pony up on time. Those at the party who’d either ponied up or were
just interested in seeing who won, were disappointed when that drawing did not
happen.
One resident was really upset, Little Linda – not the bully resident
who retired from the Navy and is Nurse Ratched’s snitch, that’s Big Linda; but
Little Linda, who is also a bully, the dumpster diver and also a snitch. She
was so upset that she questioned Nurse Ratched face-to-face about the drawing.
It is unknown at this time, what Nurse Ratched’s response or should I say
excuse was.
If the residents complain enough to Corporate, the drawing might
miraculously happen before the end of the year, but for sure I expect it will
be “fixed … rigged” anyway, so I’ve no interest in the outcome.
The Seer reminded me of Apache’s 2:00 tamale soiree. Still not interested
in lard filled tamales, but with nothing else to do besides needlepoint, I
decided to go down with a cup of fresh brewed coffee to socialize and keep an
eye out for any resident wearing my shade of lipstick.
Hope springs eternal, so though I should give up on those
missing packages, I’ve not yet been able to do so. I fully expect Spirit will
somehow lead me to the culprit who appropriated my items in that I’ll see
someone wearing my shade of red or hear of someone offering a 12x12 photo album
for sale.
The Seer’s detective son is still staying with her. I joked
telling her I should put her son on the case. That brought up that she asked
her son to attend the tamale soiree and meet some of the folks. Her son, with
his cop eyes, says he doesn’t want to meet any of us. He doesn’t like how the
complex has changed since his last visit, doesn’t like the kind of people he sees are now
residents, doesn’t like suspicious looking activities he’s seen going on, and is encouraging
her to move. So this may be her last year here.
Having clerked for a police department, having been married to a
cop, I can understand his concern. But we’re not ALL like what makes him fear
for his mother’s safety, and moving is no guarantee of safety in today’s world.
At any rate, the tamale soiree was a small intimate group of
about eight of us. I did not see anyone with my special brand of lipstick, but
I did see management has installed a television.
Wonder how long before
someone breaks in and steals this, the third wall-mounted screen. I also wonder how it is Nurse
Ratched can view the tape and determine who ate that strawberry pie from the
refrigerator, but can’t determine who keeps stealing the televisions.
The Baker made cranberry and banana bread mini muffins which were to
die for, and which were the only thing I ate.
This picture is deceiving inasmuch as the muffins were smaller than they look, and so delicious that I ate four more.
The Baker's take on the Holiday Party was, “It was okay. Not many people
showed up.”
She also advised it was not catered by the same group that catered
in the past. Nurse Ratched had waited until Saturday -- three days before the
event to contact a caterer and consequently, ended up with some little caterer which came from Palm Desert, I think she said.
My take is so few residents had signed up that management was thinking about cancelling but decided, at the last minute, to go ahead with it.
We didn’t have to worry about that strange group of women at
today’s tamale soiree because, whereas they were new to the complex, folks were
hospitable, reached out and let them know when an event was taking place. Now that
everyone has learned what they’re about, no one tells them anything.
Nothing on tap for tomorrow, except driving granddaughter to the
Greyhound Bus station to pick up her BFF coming down to visit for the holiday.
It being Christmas Day, the streets should be clear and driving a breeze.
So once again, I say Happy Merry and talk to you in a few days.
So does it count when the Random Act of Christmas Cheer is hung
on a bush rather than a tree?
Judges?
Stuck indoors yesterday due to the all day rain, plans to get
errands out of the way before the crazies were on the road driving erratically
in a frantic last minute Christmas crunch, and scout a place to hang a bulb, were
put on hold until today.
Sure enough, folks were driving too fast, too close, cutting in and out of traffic, backing
out of parking spaces without looking for pedestrians, but I made it back to my
area safe and sound.
Stopping first at the Thai Place, to treat myself to Pad Kee Mau
for lunch (and dinner as portions are large), I stopped by the market.
Stepping
out of the car, I saw I was parked right by a bush and could hang the bulb without
being seen, which I did as I was leaving.
The bulb being so low, I was sure it would be spotted and
removed right away.
No sooner had I backed out of the parking space, snap a long-view photo, than another car pulled in. I positioned the car to where I could see if he/she would remove it.
A store employee exited the vehicle and, so focused on getting
to work, did not even notice it. So there’s a good chance the bulb will remain until
she gets off work, heads to her car door, spots and removes. If she gets off work after dark, there's a possibility it will last until tomorrow morning.
So errands run, pantry and freezer stocked up through the next
few days, hopefully I won’t be called upon to get up and out until the madness
is over.
Not expecting I’ll have anything to post next few days, I'll take this opportunity to wish you all Happy Merry.
Today was one of those days I wanted to lounge around all day in
my sleeping clothes.
However, there was a note on the door that I and others
were scheduled to sign required paperwork between 11:00 and 12:00 in the office. So dressed I
was by 11:00 and second in line downstairs signing.
Remembering what happened to maintenance man and his wife with
the “We never told you that” and recalling how many times I’ve heard residents advise,
“Get a copy … Get it in writing ... Tape record the conversation”, though the paperwork didn’t seem
that important, I played it safe by setting the cell phone to record.
It’s a dirty shame we have to be so paranoid, but there it is.
With nothing going on this week, I’ve been able to devote a lot
of time to finishing touches on that needlepoint project. The swarovski crystals
I purchased for the shawl -- to replace the beads I tossed, are not working
out. Small as they are, the beads are too large. Being as how I’m a bit of a
perfectionist, I decided to repurchase the pattern just for the beads.
Cost of that particular pattern, new in package, runs as high as
$25. Placing a bid on eBay, I won at $10.25 plus 3.54 shipping.
“Shipping”?
Now here’s the rub.
“Shipping” puts me at the mercy of the Mr. Infallible “that
doesn’t happen” mailman.
There was a knock on the door along about 5:00 this evening. It
was a neighbor from the opposite side of the complex delivering mail that ended
up in his box. Unfortunately for me, it wasn’t my two packages. Instead, it was
mail for my depressed neighbor.
Consequently, though Mr. Infallible believes he doesn’t make
mistakes, obviously he’s delusional.
So this is me, crossing my fingers, praying, hoping the package
gets in the right box or, if it does go wrong, it lands in the hands of someone
like the honest gentleman from the opposite side of the complex.
There’s a chaos theory, known as the Butterfly Effect, which
says small changes result in large differences.
The small change of looking across the quad, seeing an empty
unit where maintenance man and wife use to live, has made a difference in that the
quad feels less joyous, less the cohesive unit it’s been.
Maintenance man, his wife, and Nosey Neighbor were best friends.
I can tell Nosey Neighbor is lonely without them because she’s always on her
patio now, annoying … I mean chatting up anyone and everyone who passes by.
There’s a new senior complex going up a few miles away. My
downstairs neighbor -- here only two years, is already planning to move in upon
completion; so I’m wondering if maintenance man and his wife have plans to move
from their son’s home into that complex and, if so, will Nosey Neighbor follow.
That’s a thing in the senior community, you know. Neighbors follow neighbors to new buildings.
I don’t see much of my depressed next door neighbor. I hear her
coming in occasionally, but she hates it here and, thus, stays away as much as
possible.
During that long talk I had with her, I learned her depression
and hatred of being here, has less to do with us and more to do with the
circumstances she finds herself in. To use her words, “I’m a very cultured
woman”. The long and the short of it is, she can’t relate to us every day common folks.
Possessing a Master’s Degree in Education, she formerly held a
powerful position as a State Commissioner, which put her in the position of being
on the go, hanging out at fancy places, attending fancy events, hobnobbing with
the rich and powerful.
I don’t know what circumstances have positioned her at this simple
level of living, but she can’t adjust to simple, travels most days to Los
Angeles to “be with my friends … hang out at The Grove … network”.
Not interested in putting her Master’s Degree to use as a
volunteer, the networking she’s involved in has to do with trying to get back
into paid employment at the high important level she previously enjoyed but says, no one
will hire her because of her age.
I don’t know about age being her limitation. I’m thinking its less age and more attitude; and just
maybe “snobby attitude” is the lesson in life she’s here to learn.
Adding to my sense of “attitude” is the fact she did not come to
us directly from North Carolina, as previously thought. Before she moved in
here, she was living locally with her son and his wife. Respecting it
was her daughter-in-law’s house, she kept out-of-the-way in her room, and was
surprised one day when daughter-in-law announced, “You are the laziest
woman I’ve ever seen” and, again to use her words, “threw me out”.
The son, who I’ve seen here twice, is “happy with his wife” so
mom had to go. It was he who found this complex -- where she could afford to live, rather than send her to an upscale area she prefers but can’t afford.
Oh well.
I’m still content, but there’s no telling what further changes
this butterfly effect will bring. I don’t like change, but I’m open to it, so
we’ll see.
The vacant unit is a two bedroom, so I doubt it will remain
empty for long. I fully expect Nurse Ratched will move another relative into
the unit, perhaps even move in herself.
Christmas Day fast approaching, with so many people out and
about making last minute preparations, I’ve been unable to find a quiet
unoccupied spot to plant Random Acts of Christmas Cheer. So it looks like that
adventure has come to an end.
I’ve no special plans for the coming week and/or Christmas Day.
Apache is having a Christmas Eve soiree. His sister is making tamales and he’s
issued a blanket invitation to all. I’m not interested in attending, but only
because I can make my own tamales and I can make them healthy – no lard, no
cheese, organic Bob’s Red Mill masa.
Speaking of which, I thought I might make tamales for New Years,
freeze them and have days and weeks of handy frozen meals, but it looks like
everyone in this and surrounding areas is on a health kick because Bob’s is all sold out. There
are plenty other brands available, but I’m only interested in the organic brand.
If I order Bob’s online, the cost of a one pound bag is just $4.00, but
shipping is $11.00 and I can’t trust the post office to get delivery right.
I happened to be leaving the complex when the mailman arrived
day before yesterday, so I asked him about checking all the lockboxes. He said he did.
So I concluded the key must have been placed in the wrong
mailbox, and that person wasn’t honest enough to turn the two packages in.
He accepted he was the one on duty that day, that he made the
deliveries, but as to putting the lockbox key in the wrong mailbox, “That
doesn’t happen”. Meaning, he doesn’t make mistakes.
Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the 8th Wonder of the World, an infallible human being, a man who is incapable of making a mistake.
Stick a fork in me, because I’m done … done with ordering
online. Not because of problems with sellers, but because of problems with post
office personnel.
A few months ago, I had someone call from a religious
organization in Hawaii, that’s been sending me monthly missives for years,
inquiring if I’d moved because mail was being returned “No longer at this
address”.
Since last week, I’ve been going back and forth with a seller
about having not yet received an order of very expensive special lipstick, only
to learn she'd shipped and tracking indicated “Delivered Mailbox, December 7”.
Wasn’t delivered to MY mailbox, I never got it, and there have
been no break-ins.
You’d think that the individual who’s mailbox was the recipient
of my packages would walk it over to me or turn it back in to the mailman, but
that didn’t happen. We use to have neighbors like that, but Nurse Ratched has
slowly chased off the majority of “nice” residents and replaced them with some
pretty questionable characters.
At any rate today, after being unable to resolve the issue of that
missing shipment of lipstick -- online with USPS or by phone, I made a trip to
the post office about it and also the parcel I’d been so anxious to receive --
as I found tracking also indicated “Delivered Parcel Locker, December 7”.
WHICH mail person delivered mail on December 7th, I’d
like to know, because they appear to be doing a very poor job.
First in a long line when the post office opened at 9:00 this
morning, the clerk was able to catch the mailman before he left on his route.
After they spoke, the clerk returned with the best they can do for me is, “When
he gets to your location, which should be in about three hours, he’ll check all
the boxes. Other than that, it’s been ten days so …” and here he shrugged his shoulders, which to me was like saying,
“You’re SOL lady.”
So feeling I would probably have to live with the losses, I
returned to the complex to sit quietly with my needlepoint project to
let the frustration go. Before settling in, however, I took a plate of cookies to
the Community Room; cookies given to me last night by carol singers.
Along about 8:00, I heard what sounded like a herd of people coming up the
stairs. Assuming it was the neighbor’s company, I was surprised to get a knock
on MY door. No response to, “Who is it?”, so I looked through the kitchen
window and there was a family of carolers.
With cookies.
Sooo nice.
That’s only happened to me once before in my life. Last time was
about ten years ago, when I was living in a senior complex in Upland, and carolers
from a local church caught me in a state of undress to where I had to hide my upper body behind the door. Of course, last night also caught me in an
embarrassing state of undress.
I had an instant to think of grabbing a bra or
grabbing the cell phone to take video. I opted for the phone and stood in the
door, enjoying the concert, while looking like a baggy saggy old woman.
I’d not heard any singing before they came to my door, so I’m
assuming they were selecting doors at random in different buildings, rather
than door-to-door. “We love your Christmas display” one of the ladies said as
they departed, which may be a clue as to why I got so lucky in this building,
except karma. I’ve been planting Random Acts of Christmas Cheer around the
city, and here a random comes back to me.
It now being afternoon, the mailman has come and gone with no
word as to my packages. I doubt he even did a thorough search, so SOL it is.
Since the October 31st Halloween 5K, I’ve only suited
up once to head out for a walk.
No reason. Just that every time I thought about suiting up, which
includes all the extras utilized to support my weak areas -- knee braces, ankle
braces, special walking socks, I became exhausted just thinking of having to put
all that stuff on.
I came up with a strategy this morning that, when dressing for
the day, I would henceforth automatically add support gear, thinking it would
encourage me to get out and walk since I already had the gear on.
It worked.
Along around 10 a.m., I went down to check the mailbox, looking
for a package which should have arrived last week. It wasn’t there, so instead
of heading back upstairs to work on that needlepoint project, I drove to a
local park, where I put in some miles.
I was all alone in the park, but it’s in the middle of a
neighborhood surrounded by homes, so I felt safe. UNTIL, a black car, with
windows so tinted that I could not see who was driving, pulled up to the curb, parked
and the occupant did not get out.
I’d originally assumed it was someone coming to walk or run in
the park, but when the driver did not get out, I became suspicious it might be
one of those pervert who expose themselves when a female walks by the car.
Taking a route through the park, away from where the black car
was parked, I returned to my car and ended the walk at 2 miles.
Once back at the complex, I saw the mailman making deliveries.
Anxious for that package, I waited in the Community Room for him to finish.
While waiting, one of the residents told a funny story about how
her now deceased husband was elected to be a pallbearer, ended up at the wrong
funeral, acted as pallbearer for a man associated with a bunch of young bikers
… all the while thinking, “I didn’t know James knew these kinds of people.”
One can only image the attendees were thinking … “I didn’t know
James knew any old black men.”
The Seer then mentioned her son -- a police detective in another
state, flew in for a visit last night and was out exercising at the park.
There are just two parks in the area, so a light bulb went off
and I asked, “Is your son driving a black car?”
“Yes”.
I told The Seer about the car, and how I’d gotten nervous
because the driver never got out.
“Oh, that wasn’t him. He wouldn’t do that. He’d have gotten
right out and started running around, unless he was on his phone”.
A little while later, The Seer stood up because she saw her son’s
car reentering the complex.
I looked and ... “That’s the same car I saw at the park”, says I.
A few minutes later, The Seer answers her cell phone. It was her
son.
Now keep in mind, she was on her phone, so I was only privy to
her side of the conversation.
“Son, when you were at the park, did you see a lady walking with
braids.”
……….
“You scared her”
……….
“She thought you were a pervert.”
……….
“Because you didn’t get out of the car.”
……….
“Why were you sitting there so long?”
……….
Once she ended the call, I never did get a clear answer as to
what he was doing sitting so long in the car, other than “My son is deep. He’s
into a lot of things.”
Meditating perhaps?
At any rate, his being a detective and all, I’m sure he’ll
understand my caution, but what are the odds ... The Seer’s son.
Elsewhere on the complex, when the now out-of-a-job maintenance
man and his wife went down to the office on Monday to find out about a unit
they’d been told was being made available for them, they encountered Nurse
Ratched, who insisted, “I never told you that”. He said the Assistant Manager was present when Nurse Ratched had told him about the unit but, being as how she's spineless and afraid, backed up Nurse Ratched ... "We never told you that".
Residents, who’ve experienced similar instances of, “We didn’t
tell you that … You never gave us that” have warned us all, more than once, “in dealing
with the office, get a copy, get it in writing, record the conversation”.
I’ve never ever seen out-of-a-job maintenance man as angry as he was today, when telling me, “I’m getting the hell outta
here!”
He and his wife have plans to move out tomorrow and in with their son until they find an apartment.
So sad. Christmas decorations gone, items in boxes.
I just don’t get how people who lie, and are cruel to others, can justify their actions and live with
themselves.
That adage may work with refrigerated items, but it doesn’t work with
de-cluttering projects.
Usually, when I start tossing stuff out, there comes a future time when
I have regrets about getting rid of this that the other. Not this time. I feel
very comfortable with everything I tossed and gave away except a tiny little
package of blue beads I came across.
Looking at the beads, I couldn’t think of a reason to keep them …
Why do I even have these? … where did they come from? … what can I possibly use
them for?
I tossed them out.
So it was just yesterday when I put the final stitches in the
framework of that never ending needlepoint project.
All that’s left to do are embellishments.
Looking at the
diagram, I see I have to backstitch and french knot feathers into a headband, do
some outlining, hang fringes on the shawl, attach beads to the ends of the
fringes …. Wait!
What?
Beads?
Oh, oh.
Can you believe I’ve held onto those beads for ten months, since
February, and ended up tossing them not two weeks before they were needed? Actually, I've held onto those beads for longer, almost two years, because I originally started the project in 2013, put the project aside, picked it up again in 2015, could not figure out what was what because I'd been away from it too long, purchased a fresh canvas and restarted in February 2015.
Fortunately, I did a little research and found I can purchase
similar beads, Swarovski Crystals, at Joann’s Fabrics. So all is not loss, but lesson
learned … when in doubt, don’t throw it out.
On this, the 15th Day of Kathy’s Christmas Cheer
Project, I found myself in Fontana, parked in front of a tree which cried out
for an ornament.
 |
| Sierra Lakes Village |
Headed down to the office around 10:30 this morning, to sign up
for the Christmas Party – which I learned yesterday might be worth going
because it’s catered, I got a text message from granddaughter. She needed a
ride to a doctor’s appointment.
I turned away from the office, headed to the
carport, picked her up, got her to the appointment, waited in the parking lot
AND spotted a nice tree, next to physician parking, where I performed my fifth
Random Act of Christmas Cheer.
On the way back to the complex, we stopped at a Walmart near her
doctor’s office because 1) She needed a few things and 2) Though I keep saying
“I’m done” looking for pattie pies, I thought, “Why not check”.
The manager at this location was a very friendly woman. She
tells me, “We had a shipment of 500. They sold out justlikethat”.
She did say, however, pattie pies are still in production, so
there’s a possibility another shipment will come in and, “I can’t promise you,
but if you give me your number, I’ll let you know … but I can’t promise.”
This being the closest I could get to a hookup, I gave her my
name and telephone number, which she entered into her cell phone.
So now, instead of searching for, it’s become a waiting game.
It’s either meant to be or not. I’m fine with either way.
Returning to the complex around 1:00, I headed to the office to
take care of signing up for the Christmas Party, only to find I’d missed the
cut off by one hour. The food order, based on however many signed up, which she
wouldn’t tell me how many, was phoned into the caterer at noon; no more
residents can sign up.
Even though it looks like the joke’s on me, I can’t but take
this as a sign, a sign that the first plan to not attend was the correct choice. I mean look at how it played out …. I was headed down to sign up around 10:30, granddaughter ran interference,
divine interference or otherwise, who knows, but I didn’t get back until after
the cutoff.
Too odd not to be a sign.
Since I was in the area, I took a look at the Christmas Trees.
They’re looking pretty good.
The one in the Community Room went from looking like a bunch of
old people threw it together, to a little better, to
someone turning it pretty fabulous.
The one in the entryway went from the old people doing pretty
good, to someone also turning this one to pretty fabulous as well.
Nurse Ratched told the old people she was picking up a live tree for the Game Room -- for them to also decorate I imagine. However, she never followed through, that third tree never materialized, and the old folks said they're done decorating anyway.
I think they might be a little miffed at someone (Nurse Ratched?) redoing their work.
Along about 3:30, the guy from the Fire Department showed up to
do his inspection of smoke detectors.
“Feels very good in here. Makes me want to kick off my shoes
and take a nap” says he.
Hmmmm. Not sure what to make of that but, had he been taller and
better looking, I would have told him to stop by when off duty.
