No Substitute

There just is no substitute for peace and quiet.

And that’s how its been since the smoke detector beeping was resolved – peaceful and quiet.

However, by the time the dust had settled yesterday, it was too late to head down to the Community Room to people watch and learn what else is going on in the complex during Pizza Tuesday delivery.

I also opted not to head down at 2:00 to take photos for the residents Facebook page at cake celebration for February birthdays. Instead, once it was quiet in my unit, I curled up on the couch, heater on (because I felt chilled to the bone), bundled up in the afghan my daughter made for me, watched television and occasionally glanced out the patio window at people going in and out of Cranky neighbor’s unit, helping her pack up to move.

You remember Cranky – the older lady who took the upstairs unit across the quad in December of 2016.

After 20 years of living in Nevada, she relocated to Sacramento, came to us from there and, a week after moving in, was threatening to move back to Henderson, Nevada, because “I like my unit but I don’t know where anything is in the area … I’m too old to make new friends … I don’t like how things are done here in California as opposed to New York”.

She also didn’t like the fact that she’d driven all the way to the post office on a Monday (Holiday), found it closed, doors open, but no forms in the counter area.

When she didn’t get the parking space she wanted, already angry about all the paperwork she’d had to provide to get a unit in the complex, it was complaints about how the office had no legal right to intrude into her financial privacy to the extent they did and “I’m so fed up with the office, so frustrated. I’m going to get an attorney, send a letter to the Attorney General.” 

Stating she’d previously contacted the Attorney General about a parking situation at the university where she’d taught, I was intrigued and asked “How’d THAT go?”

"I got a call at home. My husband picked up the phone and said, 'A Mr. ____ would like to speak with you.'"

"That's the Dean!" she said she’d uttered in surprise and, with a faraway look in her eyes, like she was remembering something very unpleasant, responded to my inquiry with, "He (the dean) was not happy with me".

I can’t image the Office of the Attorney General was any too happy with her either -- bothering them over such a trivial matter.

Another thing Cranky complained to me about was the son who’d moved her in. He was getting married, Cranky did not care for the woman and brought it up as another reason to move because, as she says she told her son “You’ve got two kids. She’s got two. You won’t need me anymore”.

Stopping into Starbucks at the new location one day, I spotted Cranky wiping a table down and made the mistake of making myself known, instead of sneaking away so as not to hear her complaints, by walking over and jokingly saying, “Are you the cleaning lady?”

That opened the door for her to complain about how “I can’t stand this that and the other” on a table. Which led to complaints about the new location, “I don’t like that the door doesn’t open properly and there’s this long wall of windows with no tables that have plug ins. All the plug-in stations are on that (indicating) wall and those (indicating) tables. Why couldn’t they have blocked off this (indicating) and yada yada yada.”

Since then, I’d been pretty successful at avoiding Cranky until she began attending Community Room events a few months ago. Lo and Behold, she wasn’t complaining (at least not to me), seemed to have settled into Community life and was having a good complaint-free time here.

But now she’s packing up and on the go yet again. This time to the Long Island area of New York, telling me she likes us but still hates California.

Oh well.

I’m once again hoping we’ll get some good-looking testosterone in that unit to balance out all the estrogen in the quad.

But I’m not holding my breath.