The Cure For …

Though I did little more than the usual cook, clean, needlepoint, catch up on recorded television programs, the weekend flew by.

My adventure in cooking this time was organic Gluten Free Zero Carbs shirataki noodles.

I’d tried them seven or eight years ago, but abandoned that alternative to pasta because I didn’t like the taste and the texture was off-putting. Having since learned, the taste and texture is entirely different when prepared properly (drain in colander, rinse with cold water, add to boiling water, boil for approximately 1-2 minutes, remove and drain in colander), I thought to give them another go. In a veggie stir-fry, it was umm umm good. Next, I’ll try in a ground turkey bolognese.

I made contact with none of the residents this weekend, so the status of Jose the Dog’s mom is not yet known. I did, however, make it out of the unit, out of the complex, out of the area, but only because I was forced to do so to keep a standing Sunday appointment with the locktician (beautician who specializes in grooming Sisterlocks) in Rancho Cucamonga. Popping into Walmart on the way back, I thought to pick up nails to at long last hang those bedroom photos and put up my latest medal board.

Why tear up the wall with nails you ask, when hanging strips are an alternative and, upon moving out, there is a charge of $85 per hole?

Well, that’s because it gets hot up in here, the glue on the command strips melt/loosen over time and eventually I’ll hear a ripping sound, which tells me the strip has failed and whatever it is holding is falling or has fallen.

And that $85 per hole is not a typo, it’s not $8.50, it actually is a chargeback of $85 per 1x1 hole.

I imagine management will prorate for smaller holes, but I don’t know for sure.

Either way though, since I’m counting on living here for like forever, I’m going for it. If something unforeseen comes up and I do relocate, there’s always good old nail hole filler.

Back to Walmart … Once inside, I remembered a this I needed to restock up on, a that, picked up a new DVD and drove away with everything EXCEPT nails.

I hate when that happens.

The movie that called my name is A Cure for Wellness.

Billed as “a psychological thriller”, it sounds safe to offer up for Movie Night. However, I’ll have to watch it first to make sure it’s suspense rather than blood/gore, something that will give us all nightmares.

While standing in the home goods isle at Walmart, trying to decide which cutting board to select, to replace my old beat up board, a little lady pushed a cart in front of me and said, “This is the third time I’ve been down this isle”.

Thinking she might need help, I asked, “What are you looking for?”

“Nothing. I have no more husband, my children are grown so” and she shrugged her shoulders as if to indicate walking Walmart isles is what she now does with her time.

How sad is that?

She’s lonely.

Thinking out loud about how my cure for loneliness was to grab my six-month old twins and flee from my mentally, emotionally, physically abusive ex with the clothes we had on our backs, and how good it is to now have peace of mind, freedom of time and energy, I said, “Sometimes no husband is a good thing”.

Lonely as she seemed to be, she must have snapped out of it and flashed on a bad memory because, all of a sudden, she smiled, nodded in affirmation and said, “Sometimes”.

Today is not my day to pop into the Community Room but I’ll stop in for a bit to see if there’s news as to how Jose and his mom are doing.

Kicking Asphalt

This morning’s 3.23-mile Ontario Mills Mall walk took care of the first in the hashtag series -- #Kicking Asphalt.

It also got me very close to leveling up from a 24 Pokémon Trainer to 25, as I banked needed extra points by capturing two new guys.

Because he evaded capture by swinging his body away from the balls, taunted me with pirouette turns I had to pause the fitbit to capture Sudowoodo; and, at one point, he actually caught the ball I threw. I was so surprised at this unexpected move that, for a second I froze -- thinking he might throw it back.

I should have screen captured the moment, because I didn’t think anyone would believe me, but was so intent on a capture -- before he decided to run away, that I failed to do so, but I did eventually capture.

Not under any pressure of time to finish, I took my time walking -- hit up PokéStops, played Pokémon, even stopped to take a photo of a weird outfit in the Ashley Fox window.

None of the stores were open and the Kiosks were tented up; so, for about an hour, the mall was just us walkers and guys lounging in seating areas, battling in the mall’s virtual Pokémon Gyms.

About the time stores began to open, shoppers began flooding in, I was about done and had slowed to gather Pokéballs in the area of Starbucks. A middle-aged gentleman passing by, with what looked to be his adult son, smiled and said, “Getting your morning exercise I see”.

“Yes, and playing Pokémon while I do so”.

His son began laughing at that, and the middle-aged man – who was quite handsome I might add, said “And may I say you’re looking good while doing it”.

In my head, I was flirty and said, “Oh yes, you certainly may say that”. But what came out of my mouth was, “Oh, thank you” as I quickly moved on.

Chicken?

Yes, you can say that, but I did appreciate the compliment.

Stopping at the market near the complex, getting out of the car, I heard sirens. Thinking it was fire and rescue heading for my building, I paused to see and, sure enough, I could see them turn into the driveway from where I was standing. Then came an ambulance.

Checking into the Community Room I learned one of our regulars had been seen acting strangely – walking around the complex aimlessly, and without her dog Jose, whom she is never without. Later, she was sitting in the Community Room, someone went over, put their arms around her, gave her a hug and, when the woman released her, she fell out of the chair, head hitting edge of table, and was out. Residents in the Community Room called 911.

I’m not necessarily a pet person, but my first concern was for her dog. I didn’t see Jose in the room, she’s never without him, so I asked, “Where’s her dog?”

No one knew and, since she was observed earlier without him, they asked for a welfare check to see if he’s in her unit, is okay and, if so, will be asking a neighbor to keep him until his mom’s status is known.

Fun With Food

Plan for today was to head to the mall and walk the 3.12 qualifying miles for the virtual #Kicking Asphalt challenge.

However, waking up at 4:00 this morning has left me feeling sleepy tired draggy, so not today.

I finally got around to viewing last week’s cooking channel’s Food Star last night. One of the contestants made a dutch baby. Thinking I could probably find a gluten free grain free version on the internet, I went looking.

Found one.

Having had so many kitchen fails, was pleasantly surprised when the aroma of dutch baby in the oven began to smell like success.

Took a peek and, sure enough, it correctly puffed up.

Once out of the oven, it fell like it was to and, with blueberries, was a delicious alternative to my usual eggs and potatoes.

Of course, I’m not to be eating potatoes, but I’ve given up everything else so maybe one day potatoes will be off the menu, but not just yet.

In fact, since I don’t have the energy for a 5K today, the plan now is to drive to Sprouts for ingredients to remake another dish that turned out well – Dkzody’s July 10 smashed potatoes. Only I made cashew cheese to substitute for parmesan and it turned out so well that I’ve actually been craving the dish.

So that's the plan for the day -- dutch baby, smashed potatoes with cashew cheese, needlepoint and, hopefully, more sleep.

Tomorrow is Movie Night. Last week it was another as seen on TV movie, Clint Eastwood’s Million Dollar Baby. Tomorrow it’s Denzel Washington’s Training Day, which happened to be on TV just last night so bleh.

Not my kind of movie, I haven't rewatched it since first seeing in 2001 so, correct me if I’m wrong, but I remember it as sex, violence and curse words.

The movie is Younger Sister’s suggestion and, after tomorrow night, I think they’ll be reviewing her suggestions a bit closer because we’re kind of a PG audience around here and that’s an R movie.

No Car for You

After talking the new car quandary over with daughter and she said, “I’d drive that Saturn until the wheels fall off, and wouldn’t count on any trade-in value” – which was almost exactly what I’d initially been saying, decision is made to forego the jeep for now.

So that’s off my bucket list.

Yesterday’s free pizza day was jaw dropping.

Being treated like Pavlov’s Dogs last week -- made to sit and wait 40 minutes, until 11:30 sharp before being told to line up, did not deter the seniors, not one bit, from showing up in droves.

I don’t think I’m a vengeful person, but I do believe there are lessons to be taught to others so, had it been me, I’d have not come back -- leaving Activity Director with a table full of pizzas to get rid of on her own. But the seniors did come back for more.

And more is what they got because Activity Director brought the pizzas in at 11:30, didn’t get them organized until noon, but then pronounced, “If you are not on the lease, I cannot give you a pizza. I have the list of people on the lease so, if you will line up five at a time, I’ll check off your name and unit number”.

Way more than five people promptly lined up.

The donations seemed smaller this time, but still quite a bit of everything – pizzas, cookies, bread sticks, chicken wings.

Old Guy went through the line and, while Activity Director’s back was turned, looking up names on the list, he once again grabbed more than his share and hobbled off on his cane.

The young lady who was pregnant at one time, and is only allowed to live here because she’s partner to an older gentleman that qualifies -- a man she refers to as “my old man”, was told she could not be issued a pizza because her name did not show up as lessee. After discussion with Activity Director, she went to her unit and came back with some sort of paperwork that Activity Director accepted. The young lady was then allowed to partake of goodies.

At one point, Activity Director looked up from checking the list, saw a woman outside, walking away on the pathway with two pizzas -- a woman she’d not verified. Would you believe Activity Director actually ran her down, made her bring both pizzas back, took them away from her and told her to get in line.

And would you further believe the woman got in line.

Once the initial crush was over, stragglers dropped in, checked with Activity Director, who was chatting with residents outside on the patio, her back to the room. Then Old Guy reappeared. I had to laugh because he was so obviously sneaking because he stuck his head in the door, looked around to see if Activity Director was watching, saw that her back was to the room, then entered and headed for the table to get more stuff.

That was when two residents had enough of his shenanigans. One stood up and said, “No! You’ve already been here”. The other said, “If you want more, you have to ask her (pointing towards Activity Director)”.

He pretended like he didn’t understand, like he does when folks have tried to stop him from opening boxes and handling pizzas, so one of the ladies headed outside to rat him to Activity Director. When he saw Activity Director stand up, turn around, look at him, he took off.

ROFLMAO!

I don’t fault Activity Director for taking a hard line with the greedy grabby ones, but this morning was a little over the top.

Will any of the seniors respect themselves enough to not come back next Tuesday?

I don’t think so. It seems no indignity is too much to suffer for free pizza.

Will Old Guy continue sneaking around.

Probably.

Stay tuned.

Load Off My Mind

Yesterday was a good day, starting with finally running across a new Pokémon in the area.

Later, I received official word I won’t have to relocate end of year as a result of that windfall pushing me over the income limit for this complex.

You can't imagine what a load off my mind that is.

Over the weekend, while rearranging and polishing furniture, hanging that photo, washing walls, I'd asked myself, "Why are you doing this when you might not be living here end of year?"

Came to the conclusion that, subconsciously, I was picking up it was going to turn out in my favor, that I’d be grandfathered in.

Sure enough, the staffer that handles recertification yesterday informed me “You have nothing to worry about. You will be recertified”.

My rent will go up, but I’m cool with that.

The official signing of lease paperwork doesn’t happen until late August but, barring unforeseen circumstances, relocating is not in my foreseeable future.

Maybe I’ll celebrate the signing by taking a go at hanging those pictures lying against the bedroom wall since 2012.

Now that’s out of the way, my next quandary is … do I trade in my 2004 Saturn for a new car. I’m thinking Jeep.

I’ve been very happy with the Saturn and voiced many times, “I’m going to keep it until the wheels fall off”, but is that wise considering parts are no longer being manufactured?

The car is in good shape now … new shocks, fairly new tires, only 125,400 miles on the speedometer. And the only body blemish is where the girl at the carwash brushed up against something as she put the car on the rollers.

So, do I wait until the car gives me trouble and I'm forced to trade it in, or do I trade it in now while it has a somewhat decent trade-in value?

Right now I'm at the “When in doubt, leave it out” stage, but I don't know.

Today is Pizza Tuesday, so I’m off to the Community Room to watch the goings on.

Rearranging

Instead of heading out to hunt Legendary Pokémon Eggs, released as a result of activities at Pokémon GO Fest in Chicago, I took advantage of a sudden burst of energy, that hit me 6:30 p.m. Saturday and began rearranging furniture.

How I managed to move the heavy mahogany wood couch and the chest sitting in the middle of the area rug is beyond me, but I managed it without pulling my back out or reinjuring the shoulder I messed up moving bookcases around three years ago.

I didn’t think to take a before photo of the living area, but managed to find a photo where you can see the couch was up against the wall … facing the television, patio sliding door at my left … where the sun streaming through in the mornings would act like a magnifying glass and heat that area up to where I’d become uncomfortably hot sitting and napping there.

Now the couch is facing the patio.

I can still sit comfortably and see the television from this arrangement, but now can enjoy the sunshine without cooking myself.

This senior apartment feels smaller with the new arrangement, but I think the area looks more inviting, cozier. I’m thinking I might even be able to squeeze in a small cross-trainer in the space between the area rug and the corner bookcase. Maybe one of those fold down/fold up types – but it’ll have to come pre-assembled because, after putting that indoor cycle together, I’m not up to assembling any more exercise equipment.

The energy boost was still with me this morning, so I set about dusting, polishing, washing walls, hanging photos.

Actually, I only hung one – adding that Michonne needlepoint to the Feng Shui fame corner.

Because I’m not good at hanging photos, without them coming out crooked or tearing up the wall, pictures usually just sit on the floor, up against the wall – like Michonne did these last few months and like these three beauties have been since 2012, when I first moved in.

I want to hang them.

I think about hanging them.

But it’s such a daunting task.

That hope chest in the middle of the area rug has an interesting story.

It was made by the father of an elderly church friend of daughter’s as her high school graduation gift in the early 1900’s.

Her dad went out to the woods, chopped down the trees, did whatever it is they do to wood and made the chest by hand.

Why daughter’s elderly friend would ever want to get rid of it, instead of gifting to a relative to keep in the family, I do not know, but she and daughter were very close. So, when she informed daughter she’d turned the chest over to a consignment shop, daughter asked me for money to purchase. Daughter is all about preservation of the past but, instead of giving her money, I purchased the chest for her as an early Christmas gift.

Fast forward a few years … daughter no longer wanted the chest and gifted it to me. Daughter never said why, but my spidey sense tells me it’s because daughter was hurt at being rejected by that elderly friend, and the church they were involved with, when daughter came out as gay.

I wouldn’t give this chest away, not for nothing, even though inside are items of my long deceased ex-husband (daughter’s dad) she wanted to keep – like his cop uniform and cop awards.

It is unclear if daughter’s elderly friend is still living, as daughter put the rejection behind her and moved on to a more accepting congregation. I myself feel nothing but good energy coming from the chest, especially since in addition to the story of how the chest came to be, daughter’s elderly friend included a photo of herself on graduation day.

Frank & Hugh College (High School)
Clifton, Tennessee

Dramatic Shakeup

I’m not talking about what happened in the White House on Friday. I’m talking about what happened in the Residents/Management meeting I missed on Thursday.

I made it down to the Community Room yesterday to gather intel as to what I'd missed.

Discussed were upcoming patio repairs, repaving of the driveway, and impeaching next door neighbor from her position as President of the Residents’ Volunteer Activity Committee (RVAC).

The issue with next door neighbor was, of course, not something that was on the agenda, to be discussed in an open forum, but members of the RVAC had finally had enough of her and used that meeting as an opportunity to petition the Community Manager to remove neighbor from office.

Complaints are:

·       She never attends events

·       Is always late for RVAC meetings, up to 45 minutes

·       disorganized

·       rude

·       imperialistic

·       doesn’t do anything

·       lazy

In neighbor’s defense, it’s not that she’s lazy (and I did express this), it’s that she’s accustomed to being large and in charge, with servants and employees. Life circumstances have placed her here, with us regular folks, but she doesn’t know how to interact with regular folks in any way other way than as her minions.

“Well, she just better get over that”, I was told.

Which is true, but the problem is … she can’t. She’s not a woman who can bend and flex, work with others on equal footing.

“I’m a very cultured woman” is how neighbor describes herself, which is true and far different than simply being lazy.

She’s a perfectly nice woman, if you keep a neighborly wall up, which is what I do; but I can see how she'd be impossible to work with.

My question at the debriefing was “Was she present when all this was discussed?”

“No, and that’s the problem. She’s never present.”

“So how is she getting word of impeachment?”

“The Community Manager is going to talk to her.”

Awkward.

Neighbor is going to be hurt, and even though she came to live here because daughter-in-law kicked her out with the parting words, “You’re the laziest woman I’ve ever met”, neighbor is not going to understand or self-reflect on why people perceive her thusly and how she might change that perception.

She may go over the top, as she did in a dispute with the Activity Director, where neighbor was heard yelling at Activity Director through closed doors.

She’d just this past Wednesday asked me for pointers on next month’s exercise class, as to  movements for our less mobile residents. I’d given her one of my DVD’s.

Looks like that exercise class will not come to fruition, Future activities may also now be in jeopardy.

The Day After

Today is a good day. I managed to put in 5.7 miles on the indoor cycle this morning, without being motivated by yet another medal. I just felt like taking a ride, but I’ll be happy when the heat recedes and good cool walking weather returns.

There was a Residents/Management meeting yesterday afternoon but, in spite of circling the event on the calendar posted on the fridge, I failed to notice we were already in the third week of the month.

Felt to me like the month had barely started so, thinking I had another week to go, missed the event.

Oh well, doubt I missed much, but I’ll pop into the Community Room sometime today to gather intel as to what was discussed.

Yesterday was kind of rough, because I got emotionally involved and let the Simpson Parole Hearing knock me off Center. That may be because I can spot a fake, a fraud, a phony, a liar and it burns my britches when other can’t see and buy into it.

I keep hearing about his being so “charming”, that when one is in his presence, one is drawn in. That doesn’t work on me. On the rare occasion, I have been fooled, for a hot minute, by an individual but, as a general rule, I see beyond the surface and can sum an individual up in nothing flat.

Back on Center today, I’m detached, objective, and taking the position of an interested observer.

As a detached, interested observer, it came to my attention in this morning’s news that Simpson has been moved to “Protective Custody ... removed from general population”.

Hmmmmm?

Interesting.

The reason being “the inmates also watched the hearing”.

Maybe it’s just me, but I interpret that, if the inmates are upset about what Simpson said in the hearing, it’s probably because he lied through his teeth about what he’s been doing while inside … taking credit for what he failed to perform.

Just sayin.

The Hearing

This morning’s O.J. Parole Hearing was hard to take.

I came close to losing my religion, not understanding how it is God lets people like him get away with it all, live relatively happy prosperous lives ... even while in prison from what I've read.

I ended up with a major headache because my mind was at conflict with everything he said, comparing what he was saying with what happened to Nicole and Ron.

For instance, when he said he didn’t know a gun had been used in that botched robbery, "I’ve never pulled a weapon on anybody," my mind said, “That’s because you prefer knives!”

When he said he was a good guy, a straight shooter, that he’d never had a fight, wasn't a "conflict" kind of guy, my mind went to those photos of Nicole’s battered face, her calls to the police where you could hear his voice raging in the background. My mind said, “So I guess it’s technically not conflict/a fight when one is badgering, bulling, threatening and beating a defenseless female who can’t fight back.”

He said he's missed birthdays and graduations with his children while behind bars. “Oh boo hoo”, my mind said, “Nicole missed those as well”.

And as for his desire to be “A role model”, my mind said “Role model for what … how to get away with murder (allegedly)?”

In discussing the failed robbery, his daughter said, “He made the wrong decision at the wrong time.”

“No shat Sherlock. How about when he butchered two people (allegedly)”.

And, if as his daughter says, he’s so damn remorseful, why can’t he extend that to the previous episode, stop all the smug gloating in the face of the Goldmans, torturing them by hiding money, failing to pay the civil litigation award.

"I was always a good guy, but could have been a better Christian, and my commitment to change is to be a better Christian."

Bull crap!

So This Happened

Walmart is apologizing for running an ad describing a wig cap’s color by the N word.

Mistakes happen, but I have to wonder: 1) Is no one reviewing the ads before publication? and 2) What could the manufacturer have possibly been thinking?

This incident reminded me of a typo which appeared in the Pasta Bible some years ago in a recipe for tagliatelle with sardines and prosciutto.

Do you see it?

Did you catch that the recipe calls for freshly ground black people instead of black pepper?

Though the Walmart thing doesn’t qualify as a typo -- more like the manufacturer wasn’t thinking said description might not be socially acceptable, Walmart didn't catch it, or maybe it was sabotage by a disgruntled manufacturer employee, and inattention at the Walmart end , but typos happen.

I’m sure I’ve made mistakes/typos in my career as a secretary though, fortunately, none so egregious. However, I do remember one unfortunate coworker sending out several thousand copies of a publication touting our Public Affairs Division -- only she left out the “l” in public, so the department read as having to do with a female body part.

Mistakes happen, Walmart jumped right in on damage control, so I doubt any carnage, other than the manufacturer losing it's deal with Walmart.

So that's that.

Yesterday’s Pizza Tuesday was strange.

Activity Director delivered the pizzas, labeled and had them ready to distribute at 10:45. But then she told the seniors they would have to wait 40 minutes. When asked “why?”, her reply was, “I’m doing things a little differently today” and she seriously made them sit there and wait until 11:30 sharp while she sat at a table simultaneously working on paperwork while eavesdropping on conversations.

It was odd. Almost looked like some kind of weird Pavlov’s Dogs conditioning experiment.

Will be interesting to see what she comes up with next Tuesday.

No word yet on what’s playing this coming Movie Night. I’m sure it’s something not worth the trip downstairs.

Can’t Touch This

Nothing new since the last post. The heat and air quality have been such that, except for quick trips to the market and downstairs to pick up mail, I do my best to stay indoors. The A/C has been running close to 24/7, so I’m expecting the utility bill to double, if not triple.

To save on cost of running their own A/C, a group of residents hang out in the nice cool Community Room from the time it opens at 9:00 a.m., to when doors are locked at 7:00 p.m., breaking for lunch.

It’s almost like a regular 9 to 5 job for them, with potty and lunch breaks and 5:00 to 7:00 overtime.

I’m in the habit now of heading there on Pizza Tuesday, which is tomorrow, because … as I’ve blogged before, it’s just so entertaining to watch.

Inasmuch as some of the residents can’t keep their hands to themselves, I’m thinking of taking a crossword puzzle down to work on tomorrow, instead of my latest needlepoint project.

I don’t know why it is people feel they have to touch the projects, which can be disastrous. One little stain on the aida cloth can undo hours, weeks, months’ worth of work.

Inevitably, someone will be curious, walk over and ask, “What are you working on”, I’ll hold up the project so they can see, then I see a finger slowly creeping towards it to touch, to which I’ll pull it away from the encroaching finger and say in a slightly panicked voice, “Don’t touch it!”.

This latest project is especially challenging with 61 different colors, six pattern pages and, working on it for hours every day, I've made great progress.

Last Tuesday, I’d put the project down, turned to engage in conversation with The Baker and, out of the corner of my eyes, I saw it move. Turning, I saw one of the women who had a greasy pizza box and a greasy bread container in one hand, had actually used her free hand to pick up the project.

I thought I was going to have a heart attack and said, rather loudly, “OMG, Don’t Touch It!”.

As I began examining the project for stains, she said, “Why? My hands are clean”.

I seriously doubt that as 1) Our fingers are naturally oily and 2) She’d just been handling greasy packages. I myself am very careful … constantly washing my hands, mindful of how I hold the project by the hoop, so as not to touch the fabric as I work.

After, examining the area she’d touched, I fortunately didn’t see anything on the project. And hopefully, it’s not something that will show up later, but now I’m afraid to take any further chance of people ruining my work by working on the project in the Community Room.

No Donuts for You

Finished the 38.1 Mile San Francisco Cycling Challenge this morning.

Next up is a Virtual Pace Hashtag Series, the first of which begins August 1 with #Kicking Asphalt 10K.

Followed by #Fit Happens on September 1.

The organization has not yet posted what the remainder of the Hashtag Series will be, but I’m in.

In between is a “Run for 7 / Winter is Coming” Games of Thrones 7 mile race.

Wishing I could treadmill some of the races, rather than cycle, found myself looking around the unit this morning to see if squeezing in a treadmill is possible.

It isn’t.

Still, but for the fact I’m upstairs, where the sound and vibrations will be a problem for the downstairs unit, I’d squeeze one in anyway.

Will have to settle for treadmill as another thing to put on my wish list if forced to relocate end of year: 1) washer/dryer hookup, 2) space for treadmill; which means, though I prefer the safety of upstairs, I may have to consider a downstairs unit.

Tomorrow, Krispy Kreme is celebrating the 80^th Birthday of their original glazed.

The nearest Krispy Kreme is only 13.1 miles away, but it’s a drive that seems longer. Even so, knowing my gut will have a negative reaction, I’m seriously thinking of making the drive to bring back two dozen for the Community Room, and have one, or two, maybe three donuts (because they're soft and feel like eating air) with my coffee.

My rationalization in doing so, even knowing doing so would for sure set off a gut episode is … How sick can I get?

If it’s just a little queasiness, that’s been an everyday thing for years. I can take it.

If it’s up all night and an angry gut for a week, I’d really rather not.

Deciding to see what gut devils these donuts contain, to gauge how bad it would be for me, I researched the ingredients:

“KRISPY KREME ORIGINAL GLAZED DOUGHNUT

Serving size 1 doughnut (52 grams)

Ingredients: Enriched bleached wheat flour - (contains bleached wheat flour, niacin, reduced iron, thiamine, mononitrate, riboflavin, folic acid), dextrose, vegetable shortening (partially hydrogenated soybean and/or cottonseed oil), water, sugar, soy flour, egg yolks, vital wheat gluten, yeast, nonfat milk, yeast nutrients (calcium sulfate, ammonium sulfate), dough conditioners (calcium dioxide, monocalcium and dicalcium phosphate, diammonium phosphate, sodium stearoyl-2-lacrylate, whey, starch, ascorbic acid, sodium bicarbonate, calcium carbonate), salt, mono-and-diglycerides, ethoxylated mono- and diglycerides, lecithin, calcium propionate (to retain freshness), cellulose gum, natural and artificial flavors, fungal alpha amylase, amylase, maltogenic amylase, pantosenase, protease, sodium caseinate, corn maltodextrin, corn syrup solids and BHT (to help protect flavor). Glaze also may contain: Calcium carbonate, agar, locust bean gum, disodium phosphate, and sorbitan monostearate.”

That’s over 50 ingredients! and though I might have survived the wheat and soy, the corn syrup would have been suicide, so no donuts for the folks and I.

Tomorrow is also Movie Night. On the bill is another snooze fest, “Monster in Law”, so I’ll pass.

I don’t get how the residents don’t seem to mind movies they can see any day of the week on TV. Maybe it’s the free popcorn, soda and camaraderie they come for.

Clear and Balanced

The replacement coffee came in yesterday afternoon … by Fed Ex, rather than mail. This time, the box was appropriately sized to where there could be no mistake as to its contents.

To make sure my Karma is clear and the Akashic Records balanced, I promptly authorized Amazon to retract the refund.

The good news is … I won’t have to purchase butter coffee for a long long time.

Pizza Tuesday went very well.

Activity Director solved the issue of folks helping themselves before she arrived by picking up and bringing pizzas with her.

She also solved the problem of food safety (folks opening lids and handling pizzas, dropping pizzas), and those taking more than their share by labeling boxes and stacking by type of pizza, i.e., cheese, pepperoni, meat. She then had residents line up, state which they preferred, personally handed the box over to them – with the caveat to return after everyone had an opportunity to get a pizza and help self to what was left. Bread bags and containers of chicken were likewise distributed.

A good civilized plan. However, the minute Activity Director’s attention was diverted, the old guy on a cane, who’d already been served, snuck back, began opening lids, even though boxes were labeled and what was remaining were all the same -- cheese pizzas. At one point, the old guy reached into a box, picked up a slice, changed his mind, put the slice back, closed the box, put that box back on the table, opted for a different pizza, grabbed a few more items, then hobbled away on his cane.

Those of us observing couldn’t understand why he’d put the one he’d handled back inasmuch as it was exactly the same as the one he walked away with.

At any rate, the pizza he’d handled was taken out of rotation and tossed in the trash.

I don’t know if he returned later for the BBQ, because I headed to my unit when I smelled deliciousness coming from the grill, so I wouldn’t be tempted to eat something I shouldn’t. But, in spite of so many BBQ’s having been scheduled this month, Tuesday afternoon’s BBQ looked to be a hit. The room was full, residents excited and having a good time.

Earlier, I’d presented the completed needlepoint landscape to The Seer.

She loved it. Said it lifted her spirits.

The resident I refer to as The Helpful Lady must have thought I was in the habit of creating needlepoint artwork and giving away, which is not the case. I’ve only done so twice and only because I had fun working a project, but didn’t want to display the completed, and knew someone who’d expressed an interest in owning. At any rate, Helpful Lady walked over and said, “The next one is for me. I’ll pay you.”

“Sorry”, said I. “I’m keeping the one I’m working on now and I have two others waiting in the wings that I plan to keep. I’m booked up for the next three years.”

“Well, after three years, I’m next.”

I think she’s serious.

Treasurer of the Resident’s Activity Committee, my good buddy Apache, indicated a 50’s Party is being bandied around. Asked my thoughts, I said sounded like a fun idea, but had no faith at all that residents would dress appropriately because I was the only one who showed up in costume for Halloween.

“We’ll print on the notice, “No admission unless dressed for 50’s”, said Apache.

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t trust them. They’ll show up to eat and won’t be dressed”.

Of course, if a 50's Party does materialize, I'll give them a chance to redeem themselves, make myself a poodle skirt and show up. I'd just better not be the only one appropriately costumed or I'll be too done.

Size Matters

Having made the appointment for the manicure/pedicure just the day before, I wasn’t able to get any of the nail technicians I’d previously experienced.

They were all booked.

I ended up with two older ladies, and they were rough.

The older nail technicians tend to be no-nonsense heavy handed, while the younger girls are gentle.

In the final analysis, the pedicurist did a great job so, rough as she is, I’d request her in the future.

However, the manicurist did less than an A-1 job. The polish looks okay, but the nail tips don’t feel smooth. There are little rough snagging areas I’m having to smooth out with an emery board.

Plus, she kept trying to talk me into gel polish saying, “It will last longer”.

“I know gel last longer”, said I, “But I can’t get it off at home to change polish. I have to come here, and I don’t like the removal process. It’s too hard on my nails.”

Yet and still, she took every opportunity during the process to bring up gel nails again, to the point where even the pedicurist made eye contact with me, grinned, shook her head and rolled her eyes.

Leaving the salon, it occurred to me I should have complained about the less than A-1 job at the front desk. It might have resulted in a voucher for a free treatment. But complaining is not in my nature. There have been times I've felt so deeply about something that it was worth my time and energy to complain. However, as a rule, I’m more an avoider than complainer. I just won't allow myself to be booked with her again.

My not being a complainer also colored the decision not to bother myself with the mail carrier, the post office, or to post a sign at the mailbox. Instead, the plan was to eat the cost and reorder.

I did, however, let Amazon know the mail carrier screwed up, and Amazon is replacing the coffee at no further cost to me.

It turned out to be a good thing I didn't make a big deal of it because, when I went down to collect yesterday’s mail, there was a lock box key. Inside the lock box was a big box.

“Interesting”, thought I. “I’m not expecting anything big” because I’d already received the big box, which I'd assumed contained the medal hanger I’d ordered.

Planning on not hanging the item until I was certain I’d not have to move end of year, that box had been set aside for later, not opened.

Then it hit me, “If this box is the hanger, then what's inside the unopened box must be the coffee.”

Sure enough.

Color me embarrassed, but I’m chalking it up to mistaken identity caused by size … of the box. Why such a huge box for such a little item?

At any rate, I take back what I said about the mail carrier, dishonest neighbors, and I now have to rectify the situation with Amazon -- tell them I made a terrible mistake and pay for the replacement shipment.

So there’s that.

Today is Pizza Tuesday and, even though I can’t eat pizza, I’ll take my latest needlepoint project down to work on in the Community Room while I watch the show, as Pizza Tuesday continues to be a source of amusement.

This Pizza Tuesday should be especially interesting, as Activity Director has once again scheduled a simultaneous event – a Summer BBQ Potluck.

Doesn’t make sense, especially since there was supposedly a BBQ Potluck on the 2^nd, and management is throwing another on the 28^th.

Me thinks there may be a competition going on between the various groups – Next Door Neighbor’s Residents Activity Committee, the Activity Director and Complex Management.

At any rate, I didn’t want to risk a gut episode by participating in the first one, won’t be risking gut issues by participating in today’s second one, or the third at end of the month.