Halloween 2020

That jack-o-lantern looks frightened.

I feel its fright.

Three days until Election Day and, as bad as this year has been, we’ve no idea if No 45, in a fit of anger, will push the red button to screw us over if he loses and/or how much worse things will get if he wins.

Many are on edge. Myself included.

Instead of training on Thursday of this week, I trained on Friday and would have worn a Halloween costume. Last year, I trained in my 2019 Batman 5k costume. However, because I’d planned to stop by the grocery store after, I dressed in regular workout gear, with the exception that I wore the top I plan to wear every time I go to the market.

No one said anything, but I caught a few amused understanding smiling eyes.

All I needed from the market was potatoes, spinach, tomatoes, gluten free pasta, ground turkey. But, when I saw others with overflowing carts, realizing they were preparing for the worst, I began to wonder if I shouldn’t also panic and prepare for the worst.

But I didn’t because, whichever way the wind blows, I don’t think things will go back to those first few months of the pandemic, when supplies were scarce and hard to get.

If I’m wrong, then oh well. At least I’ve got potatoes, spinach, tomatoes, gluten free pasta, ground turkey. LOL.

Though there hasn’t been much Halloween spirit around here, I’m not ready to put Halloween to bed at the stroke of midnight tonight.

I’m redoing my candy corn nails today and won’t be removing the candy corn doormat and door wreath until after Thanksgiving, when it’s time to put the Christmas stuff out.

After having enjoyed a month of old horror movies like Joan Crawford’s Berserk, The Bat, Wasp Woman, Billy the Kid vs. Dracula, Frankenstein, Frankenstein’s Revenge etc., I’ll now have to find something else to occupy my tv viewing time other than those dreaded holiday movies.

I actually love all the Food Network Holiday Competitions, but those sickly sweet Hallmark type movies make me ill, especially James Stewart’s “It’s a Wonderful Life”.

Billy the Kid vs. Dracula was a hoot!

The network really dug into the archives to pull out that 1966 “horror/western” starring John Carradine Sr.

Bless his heart, Carradine was so old and feeble that, when he stooped over to kidnap the girl from her bed, he almost dropped her.

And, instead of quickly fleeing, cape flying in the wind, girl in his arms, he drove off with her in a horse drawn buggy.

The part that really killed me was when bullets, of course, failed to stop Dracula, how Billy the Kid came up with the most ridiculous way of ending Dracula's reign of terror. So funny, though not meant to be funny, that you've got to see it.

 

That Gray Area

It took two days for management to clean up all the mess caused by the heavy winds and sand storm.

We had tree limbs breaking off, and all kinds of debris finding its way onto the property from everywhere and anywhere, including tumbleweeds.

As to where all that dirt and sand came from, I hadn’t noticed previously, but it looks like all the foliage in the vacant lot across the street had been removed, in preparation for constructing whatever it is that’s being built on that property.

 

That left all that dirt/sand/top soil coming directly at us from force of wind.

Quite a lot of that dirt and debris landed in the pool which, in turn, turned the clear blue water into a muddy swamp.

 

The poor pool cleaner was doing his best to remove the gunk to where one can now tell it’s water, not mud, but there is still quite a lot of mess at the bottom.

 

Enough mess, hopefully, to turn the homeless visitors away from climbing the fence to swim late at night, early morning.

Checking on the mailbox situation, it does indeed look like someone made good headway into breaking into the outgoing mail slot.

 

I don’t think Carol’s son has returned to camping out on the hillside, coming down to plague us. He’s been long gone from the area. So it’s probably someone new targeting us. Hopefully they’ll stop at the outgoing slot, leave the actual mailboxes alone so we can continue to, at least, receive mail.

It’s not an imposition for me to drop off my outgoing at the UPS Store, because the store is three doors down from the market. But other less mobile seniors may have to take their chances with using the slot and having their outgoing mail pinched, as I don’t think management is going to do much about repairing the slot, or weld the damaged area to make it safe to use again.

And speaking of management, remember that new senior complex I’d watched go up behind the new shopping center near Sprouts? I’d signed up as interested, so I could get an invite to the open house.

Covid put an end to the idea of an open house, but I did periodically receive updates and lost interest once the building was completed because the building looked like a Plantation House, and didn’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 for me. I’d also deduced, from updates, the building was for the very very poor, that I was probably over income.

I’m in what I call a Gray Area.

Over income for most “affordable” living situations, but not so flush that I’m willing to pay the exorbitant sums being charged elsewhere. The only reason I have this unit is because I was just shy of the Gray Area when I moved in and, having now crossed over into it, I'm grandfather in so long as I don't get very much further into the Gray.

At any rate, having lost interest in that new building, I wasn’t disappointed when the update I received two months ago was that occupants were moving in — 500 were on the list, 250 were chosen and I wasn’t among the 250.

Then, yesterday, I get a call from management that they have a one-bedroom unit for me, $846 a month, that I had to have a guaranteed income of at least $1262 coming in, can I come to their office at 2:00.

I would have loved to go, just to see what the units look like inside, but didn’t want to waste the woman’s time. So, instead of saying I was no longer interested, I told her I was over income and that was that.

But think of what a struggle is must be for seniors below the Gray Area, those who — though rent at $846 is low by comparison, it doesn’t leave much room for the necessities in life when one just barely meets the required income of $1262.

Gray area or not, I’m feeling very blessed.

 

All Hell Broke Lose

After a blissful week of weather so enjoyable that I got out and was active every single day, all hell broke loose.

Monday, Tuesday, Thursday were cross fit training days.

Wednesday was that 5K at the fancy mall.

Friday, Saturday, Sunday, I drove back to that mall for leisurely 2+ mile walks where, on one of those days, I found myself captivated by this topiary.

Because, as I walked by, tiny little heads suddenly appeared.

The mall is a bird sanctuary of sort, as I noticed not just this topiary, but most, if not all, of the hedges in the mall were sheltering places for birds.

Nearing the cultural center library, an interesting poke stop pinged on my phone.

Detouring to check it out, I spotted Shakespeare himself, looking all alone and inviting.

So all alone and so inviting that I sat a spell and gave him some love.

So, while I’ve been enjoying myself with working out and leisurely walks at this mall, there was chaos over at the other mall ─ the indoor mall that I’d walked the perimeters just the week before.

Then, four miles from the complex was an officer involved shooting, which shooting resulted in the death of yet another Black man and a facebook warning, from my friend The Archeologist.

Avoid due to an active protest with pedestrians walking into the roadways.

But, not to worry. My route didn’t take me though that area and, after reading the specifics of the shooting, viewing the video, I have to ask my people ... “Why are you protesting? ... Why are you marching”. Fair is fair. The shooting was clearly justified.

As is the recent one in Philadelphia, resulting in protests, looting, burning, where the dead guy is described as having refused to drop a knife, had “seven children, another on the way”.

Because of experiences in my own family, folks having a plethora of children they can’t afford to have is a pet peeve of mine. Though it may seem heartlessness, I make no apology that, hearing the dead guy, at 27 years of age, had fathered seven, had another on the way, my thinking of it was as an incident of suicide by cop to get out from under and/or some guy who goes around impregnating women, who couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, and needed to be put down.

Then there was further chaos in the area when the winds kicked up, the complex was caught in the middle of a dust storm, and the utility company shut down power .... all day yesterday.

Power was restored at 3:00 this morning and, taking no chances on how long before it was cut again, I was up at 3:00 when I heard the lights go on, to clear the refrigerator of that which had not survived, cook what I could before the next cut off.

How did I hear the lights go on you ask?

The smoke detector woke me up and told me.

When power gets cut, the detector goes off, whereupon I remove the battery to stop the beeping.

When power gets restored, the detector goes off, whereupon I put the battery back in place to stop the beeping.

It’s a never ending cycle with that detector, but it beats the annoyances I recently read about in other housing situations.

Yesterday’s dust storm wreaked havoc. Dirt even snaked its way up the stairs, through the door, into the unit.

Makes me wonder how the downstairs units are faring.

Also, filed under the category of all hell breaking lose, yesterday’s mail was left at my door, instead of the mailbox.

As to why the mail carrier would go to so much trouble, I went down to check the mail area to see what was going on, and also to mail off the rent check, and found the outgoing box had been taped up with a note to not use.

That means, I’ll have to drive down to the UPS Office to mail my check this morning.

Evidently, someone is once again trying to break into boxes.

But really sweet of the mail carrier to drop off my mail and the package, which was my new 6 Feet Tee, to the door.

I’ll have to get her a thank you Starbucks Gift Card.

It Was a Dark and Foggy Morning ...

 Sounds like the beginning of a scary movie, but no.

Those were the words running through my head when I started out early Wednesday morning to walk the DC Batman Virtual 5K.

Driving the 17 miles to a different mall than I walked last week, I ran into fog almost as thick as pea soup. Arriving at the mall, it felt even more like the beginning of a scary movie when I walked up on a funeral being set up.

But actually, the mall walk was great ... safe. So safe that I felt comfortable with the pepper spray canister placed in my fanny pack, rather than lock and loaded, at the ready in my hand.

With not the usual mall traffic one would experience before the pandemic, the mall was taken over by us walkers. And there were a lot of us. All giving friendly waves as we passed at a distance. And all wearing masks, because it’s a requirement to be masked to even be on the property. Not just to enter any of the shops/stores, but to be on the property ... period.

My Runkeeper app failed halfway through the walk, so I didn’t get a reading showing route, time. However, inasmuch as that’s happened before ─ when an app failed, I carry a backup fitbit as a precaution, which backup indicated I ended up walking three and a half miles. Didn’t indicate how long it took me though, but I’m guessing a while because I stopped to take pics of interesting window displays.

Like this one at H&M of the spooky twins in The Shinning.

And there with this Christmas tree, gifts, snow at Anthropologie, the chain which sells boho-chic womenswear, shoes, accessories & home décor.

Too Soon?

Passing the posters at the movie theatre, I stopped to take a selfie ─ to show off the Batman Hair Buff I was wearing, which came in the race packet.

I also liked the message on the movie poster.

So, at three and a half miles, I’ve more than earned my race swag  ─ medal, cap, jacket, hair buff.
 

I’m passing on the Halloween Spooktacular 5K, opting instead to do the Run for Claus in December.

In the interim, I'll probably drive the 17 miles to take short walks though the mall and it's surrounding neighborhood.

Speaking of which, I so enjoyed the area that I looked into what it would be like to live close by.

Turned out to be the perfect examples of why we shouldn't judge a book by it's cover AND all that glitters is not gold.

The senior complex in the area had the WORSE reviews and, though already charging a fortune to live there, raise the rent on the seniors every six months.

The regular apartment buildings I spied in the area, also costing an arm and two legs, are plagued by car thefts, burglaries. Plus, parking is commented multiple times as being "a nightmare".

Here isn't perfect, but upscale appears to be disappointing and far far worse.

I'll continue to live here, drive the miles.

Does This Candy Corn Look Familiar?

And I just read that tonight’s moderator is a FEMALE.

A BLACK female.

Can’t wait to read about how he manages being moderated by a Black woman.

That is all. LOL.

Smarter, Not Harder

Being a first-time voter, finding it so easy to fill in the ballot, drop it off at a “official” official box ─ not that GOP trick box, I was looking at the news this morning, seeing all these folks in line waiting to vote, I can’t but wonder WHY?

Under the theory of doing things "smarter, not harder", why put yourself through a long line when there was an easier option?

I also saw on the news that ─ if No. 45 doesn’t come up with a way to avoid doing so, there’s to be another debate. I of course won’t be watching, but thought I’d share with you the clever way a friend of a friend on facebook came up with to stomach No. 45 at the last debate.
 

Nothing new on the drama between Bicycle Boy and Apache. I’ve not seen either one since, but The Baker ─ whom I ran into as I was returning from the Pain Cave, said Bicycle Boy is maintaining a low profile. Not speaking to anyone ... as if anyone cares.

Monday was roof gutter cleaning day around here. There were men climbing long ladders to gain access to the roof, knocking down all kinds of debris onto the patio.

I was totally expecting to have a mess to clean up but, once done with an area, the guys actually climbed onto the patio and used a leaf blower to clean up the mess.

That was thoughtful. Obviously, a separate service from our maintenance people, who couldn’t care less, as witnessed by the smoke detector still dangling from the ceiling since well-before the pandemic prevented maintenance entering units.

Believe it or not, the situation may get rectified this Friday, because notices were posted to our doors that Friday is “inspection and testing to ensure all smoke detectors are working properly and identifying whether your heating/air conditioning unit require a new air filter”.

It’s going to take great willpower not to go postal on the guys if they ask me something stupid like, “When did this happen” or “What happened here” because I’ve told them and told them and told them there’s something wrong with the detector ─ beeping every few days, with there being hours and hours and hours of beeping torture before maintenance shows up to change the battery they’d changed just the week before.

And not only have I repeatedly complained about the detector being faulty but, at the Residents/Management meeting we had in February, I brought up the issue the detector had gone off at 3:30 a.m. one morning AND not wanting to be tortured all morning and half the day until Head Maintenance Guy showed up with his lazy arse to put in yet another battery, I figured it out and put in a battery my own self. However, in the process, that the detector had dislodged from the ceiling.

So, they knew. Said “We’ll look into it”. Never did. So don’t ask me What, When, How.

At any rate, the detector has been working just fine since it dislodged from the ceiling, Which tells me, rather than Maintenance, an Electrician is required. It also tells me, once Maintenance reposition the thing, whatever is wrong with the wiring will cause the beeping to start up again.

If it does, I’ll just accidently cause it to dangle again and hope management will get in really hot water if and when the fire department follows up with its annual inspection.

I’m actually not too thrilled about the guys coming into my place after visiting other units, but the notice indicates the guys will be wearing protective equipment, that “includes a face covering, shoe coverings and gloves” And that they’ll be “changing protective equipment after each apartment inspection”.

We’ll see. But my plan is to mask myself, step outside onto the patio until they're gone, and then to Lysol spray the heck out of the unit once they leave, before I unmask to the inside air.

So, anyway, after the gutter cleaners finished their work in my area yesterday, I headed off to the Pain Cave and spotted a white dove on the railing across the quad.

Dislodged from its resting place by the commotion on the roof, thought I.

I wanted to stop and film the rare sight, but was running late.

Lo and behold, the dove waited for me to return.

 

 I’ve been watching for the dove to reappear since, but I guess his/her performance was for one day only.

The weather is cooling, so the plan for tomorrow is to get up early, head to a different mall ─ still miles away, complete the DC Batman 5K.

True Story

Debra over at She Who Seeks had me in stitches this morning with some of the Halloween themed images she’d posted.

One in particular, having to do with, instead of an Elf on the Shelf, do an Annabel Doll in the Hall ─ “that your kids already believe is haunted and keep secretly moving it around the house” had me ROFLMAO.

It also brought up a memory from when I was a kid.

I scare easily, so easily that when my own girls wanted to do a Halloween Haunted House, I put my big girl panties on and did the house for their sake; BUT, I sent them in ahead of me AND as the first spooky character showed itself, I closed my eyes, buried my head in the back of whichever of my girls was ahead of me, clung to her, eyes closed, and screamed my way through the haunt until I felt her lead us through the maze and outside.

After that, when they wanted to do haunted ─ and they did, I’d send them in alone and wait outside at the exit.

So, anyway, though I scare easily, don’t like to be scared, as a kid I did enjoy scaring others and Debra’s doll prank reminded me of when I had my brothers and sister convinced that I was cursed to, at times, become a werewolf.

As the oldest, left in charge when mom was working ─ now I don’t know if I did this to keep the others in line OR just for the hell of it, but I convinced them I had no control over when the change from human to werewolf would occur, that I didn’t want to hurt them so, when I felt the change coming, I’d lock myself in the bathroom to keep them safe.

Once locked in the bathroom, I’d howl and growl as they huddled up outside the door listening.

Once, and this was the last time I pulled that prank on them, I’d taken my mom’s cheap fur coat into the bathroom with me, wrapped my arm with the fur, howled, growled, then stuck my fur covered arm outside the door.

That was IT insofar as they were concerned. Hearing is one thing, seeing and thinking the beast already had an arm outside the door, not knowing what was next, had the kids running out of the house. Looking out the bathroom window, I could see them running down the street.

Where they were headed to, I do not know; but, I called them back saying I was myself again, it was safe to return.

I was cured me of becoming a werewolf after that, and I don’t think mom ever knew of the shenanigans.

But get this .... at my sister’s place for Thanksgiving back in 2011 ─ in her 60’s by then, I overheard her say to someone that “Shirley used to turn into a werewolf”. Whoever she was speaking with must have given sister a look of skepticism because sister followed up with “It’s true! I really saw it”.

I said not a word but, inasmuch as sister passed away that next year, every time I think of not speaking up, I feel guilty for having not dispelled sister of that belief, tell her how I'd tricked her and the others by covering my arm with mom’s fur.

I was much too gentle a mom to pull any scares on my own girls but, for reasons I can’t explain, Twin 1 must have believed I had powers that could not be explained because there was an event she and her BFF wanted to attend and was afraid would be rained out because it was raining so hard that day ... the day before.

Twin 1 comes to me (she was around 13 or 14 years of age by then) and says, “Mom, can you make it not rain tomorrow?”

“I’ll do my best” says I.

The BFF asks, “How’s she supposed to do that?”

“She has her ways” was Twin 1’s reply.

I thought about the rain stopping, that the sun would indeed come out the next day and guess what .... it didn’t rain that next day. Pure happenstance, but Twin 1 and her BFF didn't know that. LOL

Whatever so-called powers, or just dumb luck, I had must have dissipated over the years, because the plan this past weekend was to do the DC Batman 5K in some nice cool walking weather.

The 5K didn’t happen because cool weather didn't manifest, it was just too hot outside.

 

The Most Dangerous Place

In this age of the pandemic, the most dangerous place for me seems to be the egg department of the local market.

People just seem to bottleneck in that corner.

I, of course, stand back until the area clears, reach in, check the date on the egg carton then — to maintain social distance, not get caught up in the next wave of customers, step away to a safe distance, where I open the carton, check to make sure the eggs are in pristine condition.

That generally works for me, but not always.

There have been a few occasions when some impatient someone got too close, even reached over and/or around me to grab something, and I’m just SICK OF IT!

Like yesterday.

I was already in a mood because Illusive Unfriendly had, for the first time since moving here three years ago, was actually out on the patio sweeping away the many cobwebs.

She’d rebuffed my welcoming her to the quad when she first moved in by yelling at me that, “I DON’T LIKE PEOPLE!”, doesn’t and hasn’t spoken to any of us since, so I walked by as though she wasn’t there — walked by without the usual good morning and friendly wave I give to other residents.

As I passed, I hear her say, “Hello, how are you”.

Say what?

I am not a forgiving person.

Being a spiritual student, I’ve tried but, depending on the offense, I just can’t get there.

And it wasn’t just her chasing me off when I was trying to welcome her. It was also that she complained to the office and complained to the office and complained to the office about “That woman upstairs disturbing my peace at 3:30 in the morning bouncing a ball”. Of course, the only thing I was doing at 3:30 a.m. was sleeping but, when she learned it was noise coming from someone doing laundry in the laundry room, the complaints stopped, the noise no longer bothered her.

That really chapped my hide that the noise was a big deal for her when she thought it was I making the noise, but it no longer mattered to her when she learned it was not me.

I concluded from that, and chasing me off, plus the fact the people she purports to not liking doesn’t seem to include men, that it’s women she doesn’t like, and me in particular because of jealousy — in that I’m old and pretty, she’s young and ugly.

That’s okay by me.

She doesn’t have to like me, so long as she doesn’t bother me, and she doesn’t — no further complaints, no nothing, until yesterday’s “Hello, how are you”.

I wasn’t having it.

She had her chance.

It’s too late now.

So, I dead eyed her and continued on to the market … angry because, how frigging dare she.

At the market, I wait my turn in the egg department and, after grabbing a carton of eggs, I turned around to step away and check the eggs, only to see some teen girl had come out of nowhere and was so all up on me that I almost ran into her face, with my face, when I turned.

I LOST IT!

I began to curse a blue streak.

“GODDAMN IT! ... SIX FUCKING FEET!”.

Walking away, filled with rage, I didn’t see her reaction or the reaction of the person with her holding the cart (her mom maybe).

Back at the complex, unloading groceries, I spied Illusive Unfriendly leading two people through the gate, towards her unit.

Her mom and dad I assumed, as she looked just like her mom and, once again, for me it was you don’t exist — I dead eyed her. But that explains sweeping of the patio — relatives were coming.

Her mom and dad, catching my cold dark energy, are probably thinking people around here are so unfriendly, so rude, not knowing their daughter is getting what she gives.

At any rate, deciding I needed to come up with an iron-on transfer for the back of my top, something to the effect of reminding people to back up off me at the market, so I don’t have to curse, I went online and found not a transfer but a top I’ll be wearing every time I go to market.

So, other than the events of yesterday, it’s been a good week.

I’ve decided it’s far too risky to participate in Thanksgiving at granddaughter’s place, so I told her I’d drive up the week before to see their new home.

She understood, seemed okay with that, but the thing is … I probably won’t drive up the week before.

I’ve really no interest in seeing their home.

I know they’re proud because they paid an obscene amount of money for the place. I’m assuming because of the location because, looking at photos of the home, I don’t see three quarters of a million dollars’ worth of house.

I’d worry for their getting in so deep, except they were smart enough to put enough down so that their payments are just about what they were paying for renting that apartment on the beach.

At any rate, I’m a simple living person. Opulence doesn’t impress me so, though I told her I’d drive up to see the house, I don’t really want to and probably won’t.

Maybe next Thanksgiving, if the pandemic is over and done with by then.

Just Because

 

Better Late Than Never

The OC Fair Virtual 5K, which was to have been completed between July 17 and August 16, got off my bucket list this morning.

I took my time and still made fairly good time.

Looking at the way my online results compare to what looks to be five others in the 75-99 age range, I came in fourth.

I didn’t see a Bib No. in the swag bag. Don’t know if this was an error on the part of the organizers, or none were issued. I’ll have to check to see if my friend The Archeologist, who completed the virtual some time ago, also did not receive or was issued a Bib.

A Bib is really not all that important. It’s just that I don’t have one to match the medal on the Bib and Medal board.

At any rate, the swag bag was nice.

A little stuffed piglet, Medal, Cool Hair Buff and Free Ticket for next year’s fair ... that is if the world is completely Covid over by next summer.

Reasons for not having completed this race in a timely fashion was mostly weather ─ it’s just been too darn hot to walk; not to mention low energy and lack of motivation.

However, whatever dark cloud was hovering, causing me to not want to go anywhere, do anything other than sit on the couch all day watching television and working on that needlepoint project ─ even getting out to the Pain Cave had been a challenge, whatever that was suddenly began to lift yesterday.

Waking up this morning, feeling unburdened, unfettered, ready to seize the day, I headed to the mall to walk the walk.

That sign didn’t mean I couldn’t walk outside ... around the mall, so after having driven the 25 miles to get there, that’s what I did. And, up until 10:00 ─ when shoppers and employees began to arrive, it was quite pleasant as I had the parking areas around the mall free of cars, all to myself.

The only signs of life before people began to arrive, seemed to only be the Security Guard driving around the parking lot, to keep the displaced from camping out on the property, was the line of cars at the Krispy Kreme. It looked to be about 25 to 30 cars patiently waiting to buy donuts.

I haven't seen lines like this at Krispy Kreme since they first opened up in the area some fifteen years ago. At that time, folks began lining up at 4 a.m. to get donuts for the office.

The area smelled delicious, but I wasn’t even tempted. Mainly because, though my gut will accept a little See’s Candy now and then, a donut would be pain for days, so no.

Back at the complex, I ran into Apache. He has his arm in a sling. He broke his hand in a fight.

You read that correctly.

Apache had a fist fight with the resident he’s been feuding with for years.

The resident, let’s call him Bicycle Boy (BB), is kinda crazy. He's feuded with not only Apache, but others, including Big Linda ─ who he used to mock on the streets by doing the chicken dance and sneak around her area at night to leave spittle on her car.

Management, for whatever reason, won’t do anything about BB ─ other than he was banned long ago from the Community Room for stealing popcorn.

I guess, to management, stealing popcorn is a worse offense than being a danger to other residents, and BB IS a danger. I stay out of his way ─ even though he once told me he liked me and I was "nice".

BB and Apache have been at it to the point where Apache tells me he recently had to go to court, because BB had taken out a restraining order on him. Both were granted restraining orders against each other, but BB immediately violated, so his against Apache was removed, but Apache’s against him remains in force.

BB all along has been the aggressor. He won’t stay away from Apache and, when neighbors phoned Apache to tell him BB had climbed over Apache’s first floor balcony railing and was on his patio, Apache open his patio window, went outside to the patio, and throttled BB, who managed to break away, jump back over the railing, get on his bike and flee the scene, leaving Apache with a broken hand.

Management, I understand, still doesn’t want to get involved. Probably because management doesn’t like either one of them, Apache or BB, and is waiting for the worst to happen to eliminate one, the other, or both.

That’s senior living for you.

That Fly Tho

There she goes, down the slot, my first time voting EVER!

I hope it helps the push towards a positive outcome, but I am in no way confident it will and that, instead, it’s more likely I’ve just wasted my time.

Trainer took his family to the San Diego Zoo over the weekend and says that, as they took a scenic route through neighborhoods ─ to see how the privileged live, they saw lawns plastered with 2020 signs pro No. 45.

And shockingly, as they prepared to enter the zoo itself, there was a huge 2020 banner, again pro No. 45, over the entrance.

It’s not that I don’t believe trainer, he has no reason to lie, but I found it so hard to believe the zoo would be so brazen that I went online to research and see a photo of said sign, but found nothing.

Oh well, one can only hope for the best on election day, but prepare oneself for the worse.

I, of course, did not watch last night’s debate. I’m finding it more informative and interesting to read the comments of others ABOUT the debates than to frustrate myself watching any one of ‘em.

I’m getting a kick out of what’s being posted about the appearance of a fly, starting off with these ....

Then came several references to flies loving turd.

The coup de gras has to be that a site allowing us to purchase souvenir fly swatters went live so quickly after the debate. 

I might grab a few for stocking stuffers.

So, anyway, that’s twice this year I came out of my “in the world but not of it” state of being and allowed myself to have a social conscious. First was when I completed the Census, now I’ve voted.

Hopefully that’s the end of it and I can go back to being somewhat detached from it all.

Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

Someone posted to facebook this morning that No. 45 was “not looking so hot”.

Seriously, when did he ever?

But anyway, fact or fiction, truth or lie, I’m over this interlude, want to get to the end of the movie. Before I moved on, however, I found a clever way to add my comment to the many others without saying a word.

Don’t you just love how it is that the uncaring things Mr. and Mrs. No. 45 sent out into the universe are coming back to haunt them — like the jacket Mrs. wore and how 45 is now catching so much crap for having made a big deal of Hilary’s pneumonia, as indication of her being weak as a candidate during the last election, when he himself is now supposedly hospitalized with Covid.

How interesting and ironic is all of this, but I’m tired of it and ready to move on with life.

Granddaughter called to see if I felt safe enough to do Thanksgiving at her place.

Good question.

She and her new hubby have bought a house already. So, instead of the gathering being at her mom’s place, Thanksgiving this year will be at granddaughter's new home. I could tell by the way she was speaking that she really wants me to show up.

It’s only a hour’s drive from here, so I can handle the drive up and back, won’t need a hotel and, since I declined the wedding, didn’t get to meet my new relatives on her husband’s side, it’s an opportunity to see and be seen.

After much discussion about her husband’s sister and her fiancé working from home, taking the pandemic seriously because the fiancé has MS; granddaughter’s husband also laying low because his dad had cancer a few years ago; one of my grandsons working in a hospital, checked regularly; another working at LAX, also checked regularly; Twin 2 safe to be around because she too is taking it seriously, that only leaves Twin 1, with her Skid Row activities, and the middle grandson, who doesn’t think Covid is real as the two wildcards.

Twin 1, though involved with the downtrodden and destitute of Skid Row, takes necessary precautions and, after I sent the wildcard grandson a message that his not thinking the pandemic is real, not being careful where he goes, not wearing a mask is putting the safety of others in jeopardy and that I thought he was an “asshole”, I don’t think he’ll test me by showing up not wearing a mask at Thanksgiving.

All things considered, I’ve decided to attend, especially since I asked, and granddaughter agreed, to get one of those temperature gadgets and take temps at the door — just like they do at the hair salon.

I won't be hugging anyone, no matter how great the temptation to do so. It'll be elbows and some distancing for me. And, if at any time I don’t feel comfortable, my attendance will be turned into a quick drop in and out.

Speaking of a picture being worth a thousand words, remember that old Willie Nelson country tune "Mama's Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys". Well, there's a new twist on that song and granddaughter posted a photo of  her tee with that twist.

I liked the twist so much that I scoured the net and found a more comfortable tank top version.

I don’t know how she managed to take a selfie and get all the words on the tee all in the same frame. Do I need a phone with a more expansive capture range? Do I need longer arms? Try as I might, I couldn’t manage it and had to end up with an almost full body shot with a selfie stick.

I’ll have to remember to ask how it’s done.

In response to Dkzody’s comment about the resident, standing outside the bank counting cash, having that cash snatched from her hands, as to the bank having a security guard on duty. Over in the vicinity the other day, I checked. Didn’t see one.

In response to JanF’s comment about the mystery death … if I ever found out what caused the unexpected death of the resident with the beautiful singing voice. I ran into The Baker at the market and totally forgot to ask. Lord knows when I’ll run into The Baker again.

And P.S. I just read 45 is out of the hospital already.

Dammit!

But such a quick recovery is all the more reason not to believe he ever had Covid.