Catching Up With The Homies

Heading for the mail box yesterday, I ran into my buddy Apache and Church Lady. News is that another resident has passed away. Someone on the far side of the complex, according to Apache; and it is unknown as to whether the death was Covid related.

In other news from Apache, he had his court date with Bicycle Boy over their mutual restraining orders. The outcome was not what any of us residents would have expected ─ Apache’s restraining order against Bicycle Boy, who continues to harass other residents, was lifted. Bicycle Boy’s restraining order against Apache has been extended to cover a three-year period.

As to how and why that outcome happened, inasmuch as Apache had so much evidence, is nuts; but I can guess it’s because Bicycle Boy knows how to play the game ─ stay calm, speak rationally. On the other hand, Apache probably came across as his regular self when he’s angry ─ speaking loud, with emphasis, so mad that he gets all red in the face, and becomes all over the place in trying to express himself.

Oh well, it is what it is.

Apache says Bicycle Boy is now gloating and trying to get him to react so he (Apache) will get in further trouble over violating the restraining order.

There is no way Apache can refrain from reacting for three years, soooooooo.......

Having not seen Church Lady’s friend (the nice old guy who lives upstairs across the quad) for months and months and months, I asked her if he was okay. “I don’t know” said she. “I don’t see him no more. You know how that is”.

Well, I don’t exactly know how that is, but I take it they broke up.

Inasmuch as I’ve not seen hide nor hair of him in months, and learning Church Lady is no longer in contact with him, has me wondering if Old Guy is okay.

His blinds are open to allow sunlight in this morning, but his blinds are always open like that ─ day and night.

Before heading to bed last night, I checked to see if his lights were on.

They were.

Checking again this morning to make sure lights had been turned off, so I know he’s okay in there, I can’t tell whether on or off ... because of the sunlight.

Having not seen him getting groceries or picking up mail, I'm wondering IF he's getting groceries and mail.

I imagine the mail carrier would alert the office if mail is not getting picked up and, not to be indelicate but, if he's not okay up there, we would have smelled him by now.

At any rate, before I go any further with checking on him, when I head for the Pain Cave tomorrow, I'll check to see if his car is covered in dirt, looks unmoved. If the car looks okay, then he’s okay, has been moving around and about unseen late at night, and I'll stop worrying about him.

After my conversations with Apache and Church Lady, I continued on down the path toward the mailbox and who comes down the stairs, walking towards me, but Head Maintenance Guy.

Although he was wearing a mask, I did just as I said I would. I turned around, ran back, ducked into a corner by the Laundry Room until he passed. LOL.

Having avoided being anywhere near him, I headed back on the path only to see his two boys, his daughter and his wife walking towards me.

None were wearing masks.

Again, I turn around and run back to that corner until they too pass.

You have three children to raise, three kids that need you to stay alive to raise them, live with their father ─ who tested positive, and you don’t wear a mask or mask your kids?

I just don’t get it.

Me myself I’m being overly cautious, if there is such a thing as being “overly” .

Taking advantage of a break in the winter storm during the week, I took that long drive out to Twin 2’s place and dropped off the needlepoint.

Didn’t let anyone come near me, did not go in. Just dropped the bubble wrapped frame off on the lawn, told her to bring a chair out, sit so I could watch her reaction as I stood more than six-feet away, then jumped back in the car and drove back to the complex.

So that brings you all up-to-date on what’s happening around here.

I've got a new coffee cup.

If I knew how to bake, I'd make this Bernie Cake to go with my coffee.

Who's Counting

The world of politics having momentarily moved on from complete insanity (with No. 45's exit) to b.s. and nonsense as usual, I’ve turned away from the news and I’m back to my true crime dramas.

I am, however, keeping an eye on how many Capitol rioters have been arrested.

According to the Crowd Counting Consortium, anywhere between 3,000 and 10,000 people participated and, to date, 85 arrests have been made.

Big Whoop!

Still nowhere near the 1,400 BLM protestors arrested.

So, as for who’s counting … that would be me. I’m counting, and still laughing to keep from crying.

After this morning’s workout, I headed to the market for a few items and, after entering, began walking towards the refrigerated section for eggs.

Turning that corner, I saw the isle was empty except for two women. One was a matronly looking woman and alongside of her, just about the required six feet distance, was another woman who I immediately read as sketchy.

She was bundled up in baggy pants, a baggy top with a hood, was holding her mask to her face and, frankly looked like a homeless street person. The way she was so completely covered, to where her identity was hidden, was more than a little suspicious.

Where she was standing, it could have been she was waiting her turn to get into the refrigerated case that Matronly was browsing. But something told me otherwise and, when I saw Matronly had her back to her shopping cart, purse in cart — purse open, completely oblivious to Sketchy hovering, I slowed down and began keeping an eye on what my spidey sense discerned as a crime about to happen.

Pretending to consider products in that area, all the while trying to talk myself out of getting involved, I nevertheless kept a side eye on Sketchy and watched as she never moved — that is not until Matronly moved to the next case. That made me think well maybe they’re together. You don't want to make a fool of yourself by getting involved if there's nothing to get involved with, so I moved on to the end of the isle for the eggs I’d come for.

Now at the end of the isle, I took my time picking up a carton of eggs, so I could observe Sketchy. She never moved away from Matronly, they never spoke and Matronly didn't seem to know Sketchy was there. So not together.

Sketchy began glancing right then left, appearing to be checking on who was around and waiting for the right time.

She became aware I was watching her and then, a worker appeared from the back, dropped off a carton, looked up from her work, saw Sketchy and, like I, thinking something might not be right began paying attention, Sketchy moved away from Matronly to about halfway down the isle — between where I was standing and where Matronly was shopping.

Then Sketchy just stood there, staring at the refrigerated section, making no attempt to select a product … waiting for the coast to clear.

Worker didn’t do anything, just looked quizzically at Sketchy for a second, then went back to working in the back. I then picked up the eggs and, instead of turning the corner to head for what was next on my list, I retraced my steps towards where I came in so I could pass Matronly.

When I got to where she was, head still in a refrigerated case, still oblivious, cart still to her back, purse still open, I stopped next to her, said “Excuse me”. When she turned to face me, I said, “You see that person at the other end. She appears to be stalking you. Watch your purse”.

She said, “Oh! Thank you” and, insofar as I was concerned, my work was done. It was on her if she didn’t begin paying attention to her surroundings after that.

Leaving the market, I saw neither Matronly or Sketchy.

Wish I’d thought to take a photo of Sketchy’s outfit. The way she was dressed, so as not to be identified, could not have been more obvious. Had she not been so extra cautious, I would not have given it a second thought and she could have walked out with Matronly’s purse without anyone knowing … not even Matronly because she was so careless and so clueless.

Please Sir, May I Have Some More?

Due to the rain, thus far the weekend has been cold and dreary.

Having secured groceries in advance of the rain, I had no need to leave my warm little unit and decided to be a slouch in that, after soothing bubble baths, I’ve been getting right back into a pair of onesie pajamas. Then, of course, I do my usual makeup and perfume ─ because I’ll only go so far with being a slouch. LOL.

Scrapbook supplies had been arriving so, with photos sorted out, timeline developed, I’ve been able to play catch up with the Creative Memory album. I’m now current as of August 2019. There are a few events in early 2020 to input but, inasmuch as life slowed down after that ─ due to the pandemic, then came to a screeching halt, only a handful of virtual 5Ks will need to be added. After that, future generations, looking through my album, will see a series of blank pages.

Who knew?

Who could have expected?

Now that the body has recovered from that full body workout, I’m anxious to try again ─ thinking that, if I perform the movements in slow motion, the body will eventually adjust to the harder routine. So, at tomorrow’s session with Trainer, I’m going to propose we give it another go ─ maybe on a Friday, so I’ll have the weekend to recover.

In other words ... Please Sir, May I Have Some More?

I’ll leave you with a few Bernie memes that cracked me up.

This last one is actually from a crochet pattern on Etsy. I didn't make it ... a friend did, BUT how did whoever came up with the pattern, get this out there so quickly after Bernie's appearance set off the memes?

It's a mystery.

Everything Hurts

This morning’s session in the Pain Cave was easy breezy, simple. Just a slow walk on the treadmill, pushing pulling stretching with ten pounds of weight, because I had a come-to-Jesus talk with Trainer about which routines he thinks I can, and my body says HAHAHAHAHA.

Having been pushed a little with a full body workout on Wednesday, rather than the usual different body parts on different days, I felt okay leaving the Pain Cave. However, about an hour later, that full body workout hit me like a mac truck. My body locked up, I suddenly found myself walking stiff ─ like Frankenstein, and everything began to hurt ─ back, hips, knees, shoulders, wrists.

The body has recovered to where I’m feeling a teenie bit less stiff and sore today, and no longer walking like Frankenstein, but moving slow ─ like most of the residents in the complex. Nevertheless, though better, I came thisclose to calling in sick today, but was afraid I’d not get over this hump if I didn’t physically work it out.

This morning’s pushing pulling stretching helped a little, so I’m glad I showed up, and Trainer has crossed full body exercises off his schedule of routines for me.

One step at a time.

One body part at a time.

I’m expecting/hoping to be back to my normal self by Monday.

The frame arrived for Twin 2’s needlepoint, so that project is all done and off my bucket list.

I affixed one of my labels to the back.

In the mood for a nice long leisurely drive, I thought Sunday would be a good day for a drive-by ─ keep my distance, just drop it off, turn around and drive back. But now I’m hearing rain is expected this weekend. So, looks like it will get delivered when I have free time and good weather.

The Day the Power Went Out

Winds howling through the quad at 60 mph yesterday, the utility company carried through with its Public Safety Power Shutoff and cut power at the complex, and in the area for miles, at 8:30 a.m.

At least they let me get through breakfast and a cup of coffee before shutting me down.

The unseasonably hot weather had calmed down so, also at least, my unit didn’t feel like I was living in a microwave oven as I waited out the utility company’s discretion.

Day before the outage, I’d settled down on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, a cup of coffee, and watched the final 24 hours of No. 45 playing out on the screen.

It was delicious ─ not the popcorn, but seeing the would be king with yet another fail on his record.

I had to laugh to keep from crying when coverage switched to after mat of the riot because, out of the thousands and thousands involved, 50 arrests had been made.

Big Whoop! thought I, inasmuch as there weren’t nearly that many involved in the BLM protests, but 1,400 arrests had been made.

Fifty is better than the zero I’d expected and, having no access to the internet or television yesterday, those numbers may have risen, but I’ll stop laughing to keep from crying when it gets into the thousands.

At any rate, instead of sitting on the couch yesterday, feet on the oak chest, enjoying seeing 45’s last few hours, moving vans at the White House, it was sitting on the couch, wearing my camo onesie p.j’s, having a cup of coffee by candlelight with John Wick.

Today is touch and go.

Power was restored around 11:00 last night. It’s still on this morning as I get through breakfast and post to the blog; BUT, the wind continues to kick up. So I imagine power will be shut down again sometime today and it will be one day at a time, for the next few days.

No matter, as I had no plans to watch the Inauguration anyway. All I’m interest in is seeing No. 45 gone and the homegrown terrorists take a hit to their white privilege.

It’ll be just a hit, not an end to their privilege, but what I see now insofar as consequences is more than I’ve seen in all my time on earth, so it is what it is.

Windy Days and Mondays

The cool weather has been replaced by heat, the wind is howling so, of course, the utility company has us on the proposed outage list again ─ which will leave me not only without lights but, more importantly, the A/C.

My not all that old cellphone is on the blink, in that I can’t answer incoming calls AND the battery is dead on my almost brand new Apple iPod.

I refuse to put myself at risk by making an appointment to sit in the cellphone office, with an associate picking out a new phone, when there is no reason the one I have should be failing so soon ─ especially since I paid an arm and a leg for it.

I also refuse to put myself at risk with an appointment, with an associate, at an Apple Store or Best Buy to get the overly expensive iPod up and running again.

It's a conspiracy, LOL. I'm slowly being taken off the grid.

Creative Memory scrapbook project is on hold, as I await supplies coming from various sources, because the local scrapbook store I’ve done business with for years and years and years, has shut down.

With all signs pointing to this week being a stressful one, I may have to order a box of calming meds from See’s Candy Store.

I can hear Karen Carpenter singing Rainy Days and Mondays in my head, only it ain’t raining.

On another note .... ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

A “military-style sendoff from Joint Base Andrews, complete with a military band and a red-carpet walk flanked by troops as he boards Air Force One for the last time, and even possibly a flyover by Air Force fighter jets” for No. 45???

In addition to sedition, what about the bone spurs, and what about ignoring the Afghan bounty on U.S. Troops.

Then there's being impeached, not once but twice.

Not prone to headaches, I can feel a doozie coming on.

17 Months 3,594+ Hours Later

I finally finished the needlepoint I’ve been working on, daily, for what seems like forever — the one for Twin 2.

The frame I ordered is way too big, so I’ll save the reveal for when the new frame arrives and this masterpiece is ready to be presented.

There will be none for other family members, because my girls are the only ones who can appreciate possessing something made by me. Cash is the only thing the grandkids treasure.

Back in the day, when fabric was cheap ─ which made it more economical to sew rather than purchase, I made most of what the girls wore.

They loved it, bragged “My mom made this” until they hit that period in life of not wanting to be matchy matchy twins.

Leftover fabric went into quilts for the two of them, which quilts the girls hung onto into adulthood.

These many years later, Twin 2 probably has her quilt in storage somewhere. Twin 1’s quilt was stolen when, at one point during her prodigal experience, she had to move back in with me when I was living in that now super expensive heart of town building with the loft.

The quilt had been washed, was in the laundry room dryer and, when Twin 1 returned to retrieve, it was gone … stolen.

She posted a notice in the laundry room, imploring the thief to return it, saying, “My mom made that quilt for me when I was a little girl”.

No go. The quilt was never returned.

What some people do, for no rational reason, astounds me.

A neighbor in that building said, when she’d removed her clothes from the dryer, her panties were gone. No kidding. Someone had gone through and stolen all her panties.

Weird as that seems, that is something I can understand, it had a reason. The thief was probably a panty sniffing pervert — though he wasn’t likely to get much out of clean ones. But the quilt was old and worn by then, so taking it made no sense whatsoever.

Even here ... we’ve been warned to stay with our clothes as they wash and dry in the laundry room, because someone was stealing sheets and towels.

Pathetic.

At any rate, though I won’t be making a needlepoint for anyone else, including granddaughter, I did make her a doll ─ when she was little which, surprisingly, she’s held onto.

Then

Now

Laundered so many times over the years, fabric old and worn, the doll needs a hair transplant, leg surgery, not to mention some clothes.

Though, I can and do occasionally sew, I’ve grown out of it and don’t like sewing that much. So, granddaughter will either have to find a doll hospital (do they still have those?) to do the surgery or learn to sew, fix it herself. 

Nowadays it’s the easy way out for me with granddaughter, and other family members other than my girls, which is cash for birthdays ─ though granddaughter hardly needs it now that she’s married to that rich white boy, and nothing for Christmas.

Speaking of dolls, the voodoo doll has three new additional pins. One in the head for Sandra, one in each knee for Dawn the Bohemian.

That guy has made so much trouble for himself, that sticking pins in a doll with his likeness seems redundant. From what I’m hearing on the news, if we really want to cause him grief, we only have to shout “Richard Nixon, Richard Nixon, Richard Nixon” at him. LOL.

I’d essentially put all other things around here on hold last two years, as I worked on first, that needlepoint project for Twin 1, then Twin 2. It now feels strange to not have a needle in my hands when sitting on the couch watching television. 

A multitasker by nature, I’m rarely doing just one thing ─ either simultaneously listening to/watching television while crafting or reading or browsing the internet, reading blogs, or on the computer entering data into my budget tracker or playing Candy Crush or checking video on tiktok.

So, It feels strange to now not be multitasking, needle in hand, but my hands won’t be needle-free for long, because I already have my next project at the ready.

However, I’m being strict with me — forcing myself to wait until I get caught up on, first, my neglected Creative Memory Album then a few other things that require updating, because I can get lost in needlepoint and never get anything else done for another few years.

I’ve already started in on sorting photos, trying to make sense of where they belong in the timeline, and it ain’t easy since photos are cued up as far back as late 2018, with no notations as to date.

The blog is helpful in that I’ve posted activities, with photos, can scroll back, match, and get a handle on things. In fact, waking up early this morning, I began browsing old posts, beginning November 2018, looking to match photos and ended up reading those old posts, cracking myself up, as I had no idea my day-to-day existence could be so entertaining. 

So, other than completing one project, starting in on another, and continuing to workout with trainer, I’m transfixed to CNN’s reporting on the after mat of the insurrection. 

It is so interesting to see the reaction of those tracked down by the FBI. 

Talk about having one’s white privilege bubble burst. 

When confronted by the FBI, they seem so surprised to be tracked down and for why. It’s like “What? … Me? … I’m no terrorist … I’m just a regular person”. One arrestee (Rick Saccone, the former Pennsylvania state lawmaker who handed his cell phone to his wife and recorded , ‘We are trying to run out all the evil people and RINOs that have betrayed our president’) said, when tracked down by the FBI, “We were just playing, having fun”.

People died, people were injured, terrorized, traumatized and “We were just playing, having fun”?

Listening to the politicians refusing to uphold their oath of office, either out of party affiliation or out of fear and a desire to appease their racists constituents ─ so they can keep their jobs, get reelected, it occurs to me these cowards are making the same mistake No. 45 made in satisfying the few, forgetting about the country as a whole.

Forgetting about people like me, who took no interest in politics, never voted before, satisfied to get along by going along so long as going along was somewhat tolerable. But then No. 45 gave a green light to the racists to openly show themselves, to the degree where going along became so egregious that people like me had no choice but to get involved ... vote. 

These complicit and cowardly politicians are repeating No. 45’s pattern, counting on the few, their racist constituents, and can ultimately kiss their careers goodbye. There are more good people than bad and those good people, together with minority voters who, like me, are now awake, will turn out, as they did with No. 45, and vote for the opponent, whether they like the opponent or not.

Watching all the protective measures set up for next Wednesday’s inauguration ─ the walls, the show of force, my thought is it’s too late. Especially since the threat is not only from the outside, but from the inside ─ members of congress themselves.

The Devil Made Me Do It

Sick of all the rhetoric not going anywhere, because politicians are too afraid of their constituents and fellow party members to do their jobs, I took a deep dive into the occult and tried my hands at making a voodoo doll.

Locating an image on the internet that I could work with, after ironing that image onto muslin, I pulled out my trusty sewing machine and came up with this.

Meanwhile, as expected, those homegrown terrorists are being severely punished with slaps on the wrists.

The Capitol rioter pictured walking away with Pelosi's lectern has been released on bond.

The “horned” Capitol rioter has demanded, and a judge has so ordered that, instead of jail food, he be supplied with organic.

I guess next they'll be punishing insurrectionists with cupcakes and Starbucks coffee.

THIS

That is all.

Consequences Part 2

Waking up early this morning, too early to tune into TV news about the ongoing fallout from the Capitol insurrection — without disturbing my neighbors by the noise, as sound does carry early mornings when all is still quiet, I instead booted up the computer and browsed through several news sources.

Rather than being disturbed by the happenings, as some of you are, I find it fascinating, can’t stop watching — probably because of the contrast between what I’ve observed all my life when minorities are involved.

I captured a comment from facebook which seems to nicely sum it up.

As to what the consequences will be other than fines, job loss, possibly Covid from being in a crowd, one commenter wrote “Everyone who gets charged and convicted for the attack on the Capitol should lose their right to vote”.

That would be Divine Justice.

It’s interesting to see that the FBI actually is investigating individuals identified as involved which, sadly, involves not just low lifes that lack good sense, old opinionated fools, a bunch of nothings trying to be something, but lawyers, police officers (no surprise there), a fireman, lawmakers, school personnel.

There are actually videos posted by news sources, in various cities where these people reside, of the FBI searching their homes.

Can you imagine?

Back at home, thinking you’d gotten away scot free, only to have the FBI knock on your door … and the operative word here is “knock”, not bang, batter ram or shoot through.

Can you imagine?

The shame, the embarrassment of your neighbors seeing the FBI going in/out of your home, carrying boxes, your face in the news.

I myself actually had a visit from those guys.

It was back-in-the-day when I was too naive to understand it was the friggin FBI and I should be concerned, embarrassed or afraid.

It was shortly after I graduated from high school, had a job and was taking night college classes.

Not yet on my own — still living at home with my mom, brothers, sister, I returned home from work and was met outside, as I approached the door, by two big Caucasian guys in suits.

They identified themselves, named a certain individual, said they were looking for him because he’d joined the Navy, decided he didn’t like it, and had walked off.

I forget the technical word they used for it but, evidently, you can’t do that. LOL.

I did not recognize the name they gave me but, upon being shown a photo, I recognized him as someone I’d seen at the high school I attended in my first year of high school.

The kids at that school were too fast and too rough for the quiet, naïve, studious person I was, so mom moved us to a house across the line to put me in a school district more my speed.

At any rate, though I remembered seeing the guy at that first high school (Black guy), I didn’t know him … not his name, had never spoken to him.

They believed me, that was that, and I really hadn’t thought about it until this morning, watching the FBI hunt Capitol terrorists down.

If I could go back, I’d ask the FBI what brought them to my door.

Someone had to have given them my name, but why?

Had the guy been lying to his friends, trying to boost his resume by saying I was his girlfriend?

I don’t see his face now, but I do remember he wasn’t anyone I’d have been attracted to. Not just because I was a late bloomer, had not yet begun dating, but because he was butt ugly.

I must have been about ready to begin dating, however, because I do remember being attracted to the two white FBI guys.

At any rate, as faces are shown in the news, I’m keeping an eye out to see if I recognize some of the Klan girls and Klan guys from that group I dealt with at the job I retired from.

If I do recognize a face from that group, I’ll be posting “Ha! I knew this was what you were” to their facebook page, then turning ‘em in.

Meanwhile, in Calhoun County, a deputy arrested a Black man — in front of his children, for going door-to-door, in his own neighborhood, trying to collect signatures for his tenant’s association.

I’m sure the man had his children with him because he figured it would be safer for him, that the optics of his being out and about — even though in his own neighborhood, would look less threatening to observers.

It didn’t.

The cop said they received a call about a “suspicious person” and, instead of investigating, the cop immediately went to handcuffs and arrest … even adding that age old ploy (lie) of using the word “gun” in the arrest report, which there was not.

The man is lucky not to have been shot on sight, in front of his children; and probably would have been, had he not been arrested on a resident’s porch, in full view of the resident and her home security cam taking vid.

Every single time I see a politician saying that, after what’s happened with the Capitol riot, we should look forward, not back, healing, unity, come together, I roll my eyes.

It’s never ever going to happen.

The most we can hope for is people will go back to keeping their opinions and prejudices to themselves.

Live and let live in our separate but not equal corners.

Consequences

Glued to the news, watching everything happening since chaos broke out at the Capitol.

I imagine quite a few in that crowd, knowing that the FBI is hunting them down, members of the public are assisting in identifying them, have now awakened and realize there might be consequences for their actions.

Some have already lost their jobs.

Good on their employers for that.

Others are lowlifes with no jobs to lose, don’t care if they spend a few hours in jail, as it won’t be their first time nor their last.

As to what consequences might be for those who’ve never gone awry of the law before involving themselves in this insurrection, I’m expecting it to be a soft slap on the wrist in the form of a tiny fine and community service.

Nothing new when it's not a minority group.

The only good thing I see coming from this is that I will no longer have to worry about No. 45’s threat to run again in 4 years.

Though stranger things have happened, coming from the Maga Hats, I can’t believe they’d be THAT stupid as to throw their support behind him yet again.

He's done, fried, cooked, over.

Speaking of consequences, Grandson-in-law, being a health care worker, got his vaccination yesterday.

Thus far, his only side effect is that his arm is “super sore”.

My doctor’s office left a message that, because of my age, I’m on the waiting list for next up ... call to set up an appointment.

I won’t be doing that.

My gut is telling me there will be side effects, that the drug was developed way too fast to know what those side effects will be.

I don’t want to die of Covid but, dealing with daily gut issues, I also don’t want to risk additional health problems.

Besides, I’ve lived long enough. I’d planned to make my final exit around the age of 35. Now here I am 42 years beyond my projected date of expiration.

Grandson-in-law is young. Can probably handle whatever side effects are to come. But, I’ll take my chances by staying away from crowds, wearing a mask, obsessively washing my hands. They can give my vaccination to someone who really needs it.

A Day That Will Live in Infamy

I woke up this morning thinking today would be special because the electoral count would once and for all end No. 45’s battle to overthrow the election and we could all breathe again.

I was taking it as a personal honor that this was happening on this particular day, because it would be happening on the day which marks my 77^th time around the sun.

Returning to the complex from the Pain Cave, I turn on the television and witness an ongoing assault on the U.S. Capitol.

One terrorist, a woman, was shot and later died.

Sorry, not sorry.

Especially since, on the whole — unlike the instances of police brutality against the BLM protestors, these domestic terrorists were handled with kid gloves.

Twitter has suspended No. 45's account for 12 hours.

Big Whoop!

Twelve lousy hours and way too late.

There's talk of removing 45 from office NOW, rather than later.

Sounds like a good idea to me.

He was impeached many moons ago, and had he been removed at that time, this day of infamy would not have occurred.

Business as Usual

With the holidays behind us, Christmas decorations packed up and back in storage, it’s been so far so quiet and uneventful as I returned to my regularly scheduled life yesterday.

No updates from management as to Head Maintenance Guy’s status after having tested positive. His name is still listed on the Monthly Calendar so, even though I’ve only seen him walking through the walkway just the one time since, it’s looking like he’s still here and on payroll.

Also, no updates on the resident that tested positive and supposedly is in quarantine.

We still don’t know who it is, which makes us all a little suspicious of neighbors we’ve not seen around for a while.

When Next Door Neighbor (NDN) knocked on my door New Year’s Day, I saw she was on the landing, looking down, chatting with the woman who lives in the unit beneath her. NDN said the woman wanted me to stick my head out the door so she could wish me a Happy New Year.

I suspected that neighbor, having not seen me in a while, was checking to see if I was the mysterious quarantined resident.

LOL.

Especially when, after saying “Happy New Year”, with a concerned look on her face she asked, “Are you okay?”.

Bless her heart.

“So far so good” was my reply.

That neighbor still works — part time at one of the stores in the mall, and our schedules usually gel in that, when she’s on her way to work, I’m on my way to the Pain Cave.

Knowing my schedule, it must have given her pause when I took two long weekends, didn’t leave the unit, gave Trainer days off, our paths (hers and mine) did not cross.

I saw she had her grandkids with her that day, still wearing their Halloween costumes, LOL. But I knew they were downstairs before I stuck my head out the door, because I’d heard the little girl screaming, most of the day, as she played with her brothers.

Nothing was wrong. It’s just that the child is loud and noisy.

Doesn’t bother me.

I like the sound of children playing, even if, out of the three of them, the little girl is the only one to be heard.

At any rate, it’s back to business as usual with me.

I texted family to alert them to the fact I might have rare books, so don’t just willy nilly go tossing things after I’m gone. Granddaughter thought that was especially interesting and said her husband, in addition to being in the medical field and rich, has a number of qualities, skills, attributes that make him sound like Superman, also collects books and knows how to research their value.

Though my grandson-in-law does appear to be all granddaughter says he is, I am not impressed.

I’m glad she’s with someone who can take care of her because, having not a normal upbringing with her mom (Twin 1), she grew up not really able to take care of herself by herself. Always needing myself, her aunt (Twin 2), sometimes living on the kindness of school friends when her mom was off being lost in her Prodigal experience.

It’s a relief to me that granddaughter is now married, has a stable living situation, but it bothers me that she’s still dependent on others — this time her husband.

Women should have something of their own, be independent, able to support themselves, not be completely and utterly dependent on anyone.

I’ve seen what can happen.

Some of the women on skid row are there because they fled abusive situation, but had not the skills or resources to land on their feet when they fled.

The worst was a woman I years ago met who told me the story of how she'd been married a number of years, worked in the home all those years, knew how to do nothing else but care for her husband. She had children but, for one reason or another, they didn't want anything to do with her. So here she was ... her youth was gone, her beauty was gone, the years of being not all that happy in the marriage had made her dumpy looking, downtrodden, pathetic.

Once the kids were grown, out of the house, her husband decided he wanted a younger version, got himself a girlfriend, moved the girlfriend into the house, telling the wife that if she didn’t like it, she could leave.

With nothing to fall back on, last I saw, she was too weak and afraid to leave, get an attorney, sue his arse, or Betty Broderick him and his girlfriend.

My deceased ex thought he had me in that trap — what they used to call back in the day “barefoot and pregnant”. I had no job, no money and had just given birth to twin girls. He was pretty pleased with himself, thinking I had no way out, but I yet and still outwitted, outplayed and escaped when the girls were six months old, had the skills that allowed me to get a job right away and never looked back.

It would be smart for granddaughter to not just be a housewife, further locked into dependency once they have children, but to build skills and a career for herself … just in case.

So, anyway, once the pandemic ends — if it ever does end, granddaughter and her husband will free up some space for me here by taking over the containers of books. She says they have the room.

I’ll be happy to see those containers gone, in good hands, so I can move more towards my goal of minimalist living.

Welcome 2021

The New Year started off on a good foot.

That good foot being, I found the book and doll I’d intermittently searched over a year for.

The items turned up when I’d given up and wasn’t even looking for them.

Isn’t that always the way.

Instead, on Christmas Eve, while reorganizing and decluttering — making some hard decisions about letting go of items no longer of use to me now or in the future, but which I’d been holding onto because letting go is so tough, I was moving a container of craft items and spotted a container of books I didn’t know I had, did not see in all my other searches.

Lo and behold, the book and doll, both items I’d searched for all year because I wanted to display in October for Halloween, were right on top.

Too late for Halloween now, but at least they’ve been located and can be put on display October this year.

I’d purchased the book in 1969 and, when I learned the author — Louise Huebner, the Official Witch of Los Angeles at that time, was making an appearance near my workplace, I used my lunch break to walk over, make her acquaintance, ask her sign my book.

I’ve no idea what those symbols mean, but maybe Debra at She Who Seeks and/or one of her knowledgeable friends can decipher and let me know.

The symbols could be wishing me good fortune or thanking me for paying full price for the book because, oddly enough, that was one thing the author asked, “Did you pay full price for this?”.

Evidently, she wasn’t selling many copies back then.

I don’t remember what full price was 50 years ago — it can’t have been much compared to book prices today, but turns out it was a nice investment because, researching the author to see what she’s up to, I find she died in 2014, published several books that sold well, and this particular book is considered rare. So rare that —a used hardback copy is listed on one site for $70, another for $110.

Inasmuch as those prices are low, I’m assuming the books are not in good condition.

There being a resurgence of interest in this particular book, there's been a mass reprint, and a new hardback on Amazon can be purchased for a whopping $768.57! Strangely enough, two used copies are available through Amazon for $884.44. 

They must be in better condition than those going for $70/$100.

My copy is used, has a 1969 publishing date, is in excellent condition AND autographed, so who knows.

The book was my anchor during some very hard times, so I’d never sell it, but I’d better let the twins know it’s rare, don’t toss it in the trash when I die; and to check, with reputable dealers, for other rare books in my stash, as I’ve got everything written by or about Edgar Cayce, Joel Goldsmith and a few other new age teachers from back in the day.

Me being such a generous employer, I gave Trainer today off. That means with another three-days (Friday through Sunday) of no training, no off-premises errands, nowhere to go until Monday, in between binge watching episodes of Dr. Who, I’ve been tackling a few to-do’s on my list, including reorganizing the bibs and medals area.

I tossed the wooden boards, put up a new medal holder for future 5K.

Bibs have been relocated to a bib folio.

Cover

Inside

Medals previously hanging from the wooden boards are now on a tabletop medal display, and the area looks a lot less cluttered now, more feng shui compliant — though not exactly.

Before

After

The floor plan of this unit doesn’t give me the option of exactly. Instead of medals in what feng shui designates as “the Fame corner”, they are located in the Wealth/Prosperity corner, but it must be working — giving me chi that draws in abundance and harmony, because I've been blessed with both.

In fact, placement of everything in this unit, because of the layout, is a little off, feng shui speaking. However, I’ve a lot of wood furniture, and with the help of stones and candles to balance, the rooms feel comfortable and peacefully Zen.

On tap for today is needlepoint, while watching more of Dr. Who on BBCAmerica until the marathon ends this evening, or until it’s time to switch channels to the new season of RuPaul’s Drag Race.

If the wind dies down, I might head out onto the patio and begin the process of putting Christmas back in storage.

So far so good, how's it going for you?