Ice Cream for Breakfast

Activity Director scheduled some fun events for the seniors this month.

First on the calendar was an Ice Cream Social, last Tuesday, at 10:00 in the morning.

That’s a little early for ice cream, thought I. But even though early, and I can’t eat ice cream, I went down to the Community Room anyway because that gave me an hour and a half to socialize, take photos for our facebook page before I had to leave for the Pain Cave.

Arriving shortly after 10:00, I found the room packed but no Activity Director.

I stuck around for a bit, then The Baker came in around 10:30 to say Activity Director had called to say 10:00 was a typo, she’d be arriving at 11:00.

My initial thought was to stay until Activity Director arrived, take a few quick photos, head back to my unit, get ready to leave for that morning’s workout. However, something within told me to leave now, maybe check back at 11:00.

It’s a good thing I’m in tune with and listens to that something within because, when I opened the door, I could hear the sound of something percolating, and there was the strong smell of over boiled coffee.

I’d forgotten I had the 2-cup stainless steel stovetop percolator on the burner when I left the unit.

It wasn’t the coffee boiling off that stunned me. It was the thought of how I could have been so careless as to leave a pot on the burner and what could have happened had I stayed longer ... and the pot percolated until it was empty of water.

The week before, while oven roasting veggies, I caught wisp of a burning smell. Checking the oven, I saw it was the smell of the oven mitt on fire because I’d left it on the handle of the cast iron griddle.

Of course, the smoke detector was silent when I caught the burning smell. It only works when it wants to annoy me.

At any rate, remembering how it was my mother burned down her kitchen three times by forgetting she was cooking, my goal now is to not be my mother. To slow down, be more mindful of what I’m doing, be in the moment rather than allowing my hands to do one thing while my mind ruminates … and also to check the stove, make sure everything is turned off, before I leave the unit.

Worst case scenario, inasmuch as we’ve had several close calls from fires on Little Mountain, I did finally invest in renter’s insurance two years ago, but I’d really rather not have to use it because I myself started a fire.

Other than those two serious senior moments, with no fun 5Ks until end of November, my life continues to be the peaceful rut of housework, needlepoint, working out.

Looking up from needlepoint, eyes landing on that wood bib/medal board I’d made, I decided it wasn’t working for me, so I tossed it and replaced with an additional two medal displays.

Before "One Mile at a Time" and wooden board

After "Beast Mode and Think Strong, Be Strong, Finish Strong"

Needing a 3/16 drill bit to get them up, I drove to Walmart where I found that area, and most of everywhere else in the store, to be behind locked cabinets.

I must have waited a full 15/20 minutes, pressing the little red button. waiting for assistance, pressing again, more waiting, pressing, waiting, pressing, waiting. Finally, I became so frustrated that I pressed, pressed, pressed, pressed, until finally a gentleman appeared — let’s call him The Talker because, while unlocking the cabinet, he told me his whole life story. How, as a teenager, learning to read had been a struggle. How he was bullied, doesn’t hear well. Has a close caption set up on his television, yada yada yada.

At the end of his tale of woe, I said “Bless your heart. You’ve had a challenging life” to which he replied, “Yes, but I’m okay now” and something to the effect that “It’s just me”, which made me think he’s a talker because he’s lonely.

Taking into consideration the incidents I’d blogged about earlier ─ the woman who stuck to me like glue at the drug store, the resident who, when I said “Good morning, how are you” unloaded her entire family’s drama, I’m beginning to feel a little like Lucy.

To top it off, last Monday, a 62-year-old resident I ran into in the hallway, said he was on his way to the office to ask them to evict him because he’d spent the night in jail for spousal abuse.

He said he'd blackened his 70-year-old wife’s eyes, beat her head into a wall, was arrested and was just returning to the complex, after being bailed out by their son, to find his wife gone with his car and credit card.

He looked quite defeated, said he’d snapped, never done anything like that before, and now, “I just don’t want to live here any longer”.

My thinking at the time was “Here” is not the problem. "Here" is not responsible for your actions and there is no escaping YOU because no matter where you go, there YOU are.

I’ve not seen him since. However, I did learn the office said they could not evict him, but he could have his name taken off the lease and leave, which is what he chose to do.

He left and seeing his wife, the very next day in the Community Room as us residents waited for Activity Director to show up, I gave her a hug and said I was sorry to hear what happened to her. She was a bit scratched up, with makeup covering her puffy eyes, and said not only that she was okay but that this has been going on throughout their 33-year marriage.

WHAT!?  So, he lied to me that it was a one-time occurrence, but staying in an abusive relationship for 33 years begged the question ... “Why did you stay with him?”, asked I.

“I always forgave him”.

I’m sorry if I sound callous but, now that I know and later learned neighbors had previously encouraged her to get a restraining order which she declined to do, it’s hard for me to sympathize with either one of them.

This is the dance they choose to live, and it won’t surprise me at all to see him forgiven and back.

At any rate, after listening to The Talker’s sad tale, he put the drill bit in my hand — an item so small that, had I been a thief, I could easily have slipped it out of the package and into my pocket.

So, what’s the point of locking it up behind a cabinet, thought I.

I don’t know if putting items behind locked cabinets as a loss prevention measure is going to help the bottom line because, after I removed the wooden board and saw the gaping holes the drywall anchors made in the wall, instead of running to Walmart for repair putty — so I could fill those holes, make new ones, and having to wait for someone to unlock a cabinet, I decided it wasn’t worth the hassle, ordered online and received what I needed the very next day.

So locked cabinets as a loss prevention measure helping vs hurting the bottom line???

I don’t know, because it results in loss of sales, as shoppers like me will go elsewhere for our needs.