Hibernating

Or at least I was until I received a notification of activity on my credit report.

It was down the rabbit hole after that … tracking the source of the activity, heading out to one bank to have a card cancelled, replaced with a new card.

Drive over to a different bank to start the process of getting an account I did not open closed and off my credit report.

Then two hours online talking to Customer Service, who talked to their fraud people, who communicated back who I needed to fax to get the mysterious account removed.

Fax? I haven’t faxed anything, wouldn’t know how to fax because I haven’t had access to a fax machine since I retired 15 years ago.

We have the internet … email. Do people really still fax things?

Given a snail mail address, tomorrow I’ll knock out a letter indicating what they told me to indicate and that should be that.

At least I got some good quizzes out of all that hassle.

One was from a few weeks ago that I didn’t get around to posting.

Why did the apple join the gym?

Todays was … What do snowmen eat for breakfast?

In other news, the rains are over for the time being, but now we’re having strong winds … street signs are down, trash cans are rolling down the street.

Made for some scary driving and, I must head out into the wind again tomorrow for a dental appointment.

Good thing I managed to get Christmas back in storage, otherwise decorations would have been blown to Kansas by now. The side table and patio’s faux grass are taking a beating, knocked about but still there.

Cable was knocked out for a few hours but, knock on wood, we’ve not had any power outages. With the price of groceries, what I have in the freezer costs way too much to be spoiled by a power outage.

Plan for tomorrow is to survive the wind to and from the dentist, after which I can return to hibernating mode, put in time on my new read that grabs the reader’s attention right out the gate from the Introduction and Dedication.

Why did the apple join the gym? To work on its core.

What do snowmen eat for breakfast? Frosted flakes.

Fool Me Once

I’m reticent to say the storms have passed because, after a dry yesterday, it rained during the night.

Today was all blue skies and a bit of sun, but there's snow on the mountains.

I spied a couple cars coming down from there with snow falling off the roof.

I'm actually hoping some of that snow makes it down like last year and we get a snow day.

Expecting it to be so, I some time ago invested in insulated boots.

She ready.

The houses on the hill are still standing, but it does look like there's some erosion going on.

If I were they, I'd be worried.

In case you heard about today's earthquake, thankfully it didn't reach this far. It was a 4.6 centered 90 miles away in Malibu — Barbie land, one the areas already experiencing devastation due to the storms.

A 4.6, after we just had that 4.1, would have done some damage to us for sure.

Just in case today’s calm weather was fooling me — calm before the next storm, I wore myself out after this morning’s workout — multitasking like nobody’s business.

After replenishing a few things at the market, I didn’t even take time to change out of workout clothes, as I first dropped off two of four bags upstairs, popped into the laundry room and got a load started on my way to check mail, circled around to the car to bring the other two bags upstairs, started sushi rice cooking and, in preparation for steam cleaning the bathroom, pulled the steamer from the hall closet, loaded it with water and, while the water was getting hot, put the groceries away, finished cooking the sushi rice and, in-between going back and forth to the laundry room, made sushi, steam cleaned the bathroom, and rearranged the hall closet.

I kinda sorta had to redo the closet because, in order to get to the steamer, I had to pull everything out.

I was a real whirling dervish.

Before I ran out of energy for the day and put the steamer away, I steam cleaned the kitchen floor.

Goal for tomorrow is to make albondigas soup, shampoo the carpet, then crash.

No updates on Red Light’s situation.

I did see her for a hot second, when I was out on the patio, pulling the carpet cleaner out of storage, but I was too busy to get into a discussion with her.

She looked woebegone, so I did ask if her situation had been resolved. She said "no". I responded with an "Oh" as I shook my head sympathetically and rushed back to my cleaning duties.

Speaking of fooling me once … Randy Rainbow has a new book coming out.

I’m still sore about paying extra for an autographed copy of his first book, only to receive what is obviously his having signed a page before the book went to print, and that page being copied and included in the book as a "signed copy".

So, sorry Randy. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice won’t be happening.

Be Careful What You Wish For

I didn’t exactly wish, it was more like I’ve been craving more time. Time enough in a day to do all that I do — cooking, cleaning, working out, Creative Memory scrapbooking, Needlepoint, blogging, TikTok, Pokémon GO, Candy Crush. All those things and more, with time left over to read, as books are piling up.

Author Walter Mosley is coming out with a new installment of the Easy Rawlings series, which I’ve already preordered, so I do need to finish one or two of these books.

I’d have preferred more time would come in the form of days miraculously becoming longer. Instead, it's come as waking up this morning to the cable box malfunctioning. It won’t connect to the source, says I need Internet to view TV, which I do have internet because here I am blogging over the Internet.

So, anyway, a call to the provider for a technician to come out turned into the same old same old of them trying to get me to fix it myself … questions, answers, disconnect this, wait, reconnect that, so on and so forth.

All I wanted was a technician, so when questions continued, and it got to "Can you tell me which HDMI channel you are on" is when I had to use my tried-and-true ace — the Age Card.

Playing the helpless little old lady, I replied, "No, I can't. I’m 80 years old. Hardly know which planet I’m on. Can you please just set up someone to come out".

Worked, like a charm ... always does.

Questions and instructions ceased instantly.

Technician will be arriving between 11 and 12 tomorrow, which means I’ll have to give up tomorrow’s workout, but oh well. Getting the cable box up and running trumps working out.

Heading outside to pick up mail, over the wall I could see flashing lights in the area where our Outside Neighbor has been residing last few days.

I suspect it’s one of those trucks the cops show up with to haul away property belonging to the unhoused in order to get them out of the area, but since they can’t do that for the time being (which I doubt the person in the tent knows) maybe it was just an intimidation tactic or maybe, when the truck initially pulled to the curb to haul what looked like junk away, the driver hadn't initially realized there was a person inside.

At any rate, no cops showed up, I never saw the driver exit the truck, and the person in the tent didn’t seem perturbed. The truck eventually drove away.

Talking to the guy standing in the smoking section, while we both watched the goings on, without thinking he did what I assume he always does ... pulled out a cigarette, put it to his lips. Except, it was a joint.

As he went to fire up, I got ready to surreptitiously snap a photo, but he seemed to suddenly realize I wasn't of the usual gather on the lawn for a smoke type and quickly pulled it away from his lips, tried to hide it between his fingers. So, I left so the guy could enjoy his smoke.

Before he pulled out his smoke however, he'd informed me the occupant of the tent is a female.

He further said people driving by have been pulling over to the curb, dropping off containers with food, which I said was nice and that I'd thought about taking food and a warm blanket out myself, but didn't because one never knows what kind of reception one will get these days, how good deeds go bad, and one gets hurt.

He said something about my having done so would have been like feeding a cat, caused it to hang around, come back.

I dunno.

Somebody has got to do something, and it was the second time in two weeks that my heart told me to be that somebody, but my head said don't be stupid.

The other incident was when I picked up photographs from the photo lab, found someone else's photos mixed in with mine.

I didn't want to just toss them in the trash so, when I saw there was a telephone number on the summary sheet, I picked up the phone to call, see if the person wanted mailed to them.

But then, my head said I'd end up with a headache. That the person would probably think it was some kind of trick, a scam, don't get involved. So, I didn't complete the call.

My heart wouldn't let me toss the photos in the trash, so I instead drove back to the photo lab, turned the photos over knowing full well they are not going to call the person, will themselves toss in the trash but better they than I, my hands are clean.

It's a sad commentary on life when one has to harden one's heart and listen to one's head.

The guy hiding the joint also said that one day, when a group of the smokers were out on the lawn, the woman in the tent came out, walked back to the wall, and there in plain view, pulled down her pants, squatted, and did a No. 2.

Ewwwwwww.

He also pointed out areas where people have been parked, living in campers for weeks.

At least they have shelter.

Even with no TV eating up the hours, time seems to be slipping away without my having picked up one book to finish reading, and tonight will be watching the last two episodes of Fool Me Once on the phone.

The Netflix series is not as slow as I thought it would be, and nowhere near as predictable as it first seemed. So full of red herrings that I'm completely clueless as to who, what, why, but soon to find out.

Monday Already?

Time is flying by at warp speed.

It was busy busy busy over the weekend, as I finished the great grandbaby's 3rd Creative Memories scrapbook.

Can't say that meant I was all caught up because, with so many pics of the world’s most photographed baby, I had to start a 4th.

Then, with so many photos of the baby shower/Sprinkle and prenatal photos of the soon to be born baby sister, I decided to start a separate Bump to Baby scrapbook and began toying around with materials for the beginning title page.

Bump to Baby: We're Cooking up Something Special

I really truly need a 2nd bedroom to be used for crafts but, inasmuch as I'm already over income would not be able to effectuate such a transfer.

When residents need more space, transfer from a 1-bedroom to a 2-bedroom, they apply as a new tenant, then go on a waiting list to vie with others around here who want more space.

The fact that I am over income would disqualify me from applying as a new tenant.

In fact, the only reason I'm still able to remain living here is because I'm grandfathered in by reason of becoming over income a few years AFTER qualifying and moving in.

Assistant Manager once told me that I could win the lottery and still remain living here because of grandfathered status. That being said, it bugs me that I still have to go through the annual recertificate process where the office gets into my financials on the basis of deciding if I still qualify, then make statements such as "I don't have what you have".

I technically don't still qualify but, since I'm grandfathered in, why go through the process?

It's illogical.

So anyway, rents being so outrageous elsewhere, annoying as management can sometimes be, I feel fortunate to be in this, currently for me, affordable living situation.

Over the weekend, I also put the almost finishing touches on my Holiday shopping.

Starbucks

Two gift cards, both for Trainer … one for Thanksgiving, another for Christmas.

I passed on the usual gift card for the mail carrier because every day it’s a new face lately. I’m constantly on pins and needles as to whether the key to the lock box, where packages are stored, will get to my mailbox or be misdelivered. So, unless and until we get some consistently good service around here, I’m done with giving gift cards in appreciation, like I used to do for our former carrier.

The great grandbaby — aka Young Skywalker as I like to call him, not yet two years old, already has everything, including a spaceship.

His mom and dad, already pressed for space for the new baby — expected to be delivered soon, will now have to find space for the airplane I’ll be gifting to Young Skywalker.

Fearing the airplane would sell out if I waited closer to the holiday, I purchased it in late September.

The only holiday gift thing left to do is to purchase wrapping paper for the baby’s gift, and then I am done.

I won’t be heading to Long Beach this Thanksgiving because the family unit is now irretrievable broken, no family for me to celebrate Thanksgiving now or any time in the future with.

The grandsons have morphed into manipulative self-centered liars that think the world owes them a living. They no longer get along with their mom, tried to use me until I put the brakes on. The twins no longer have a relationship with each other or with the boys or with granddaughter.

It's just an unfixable mess.

The only folks likely to show up at granddaughter's place, should she host Thanksgiving, would be the youngest of her manipulative lying brothers, my deceased sister's husband ...... Nice man but bores me to tears and always wants to give me a sisterly hug when we meet, which I'd rather not. Also, White Grandpa and White Grandma.

White Grandpa vibes very well, is fine to be around; White Grandma flat lines, is empty, does not generate a pleasant aura at all, so I'd rather not with her.

All in all, a family Thanksgiving get-together is not for me.

I will however head to Long Beach, around Christmas to deliver the great grandbaby’s gift, see his new sister.

Since I now have the Thanksgiving holiday open to do so, I’ve been debating whether or not I want to register for the local Turkey Trot.

Even purchased a cute pair of non-thanksgiving themed leggings to wear.

Wednesday Addams … how could I resist.

At any rate, I’m leaning towards not doing the 5K. Use the day to set up patio Christmas decorations instead.

Backtracking a bit, I’m doubting the results of the Radio Frequency Identification (RFID) Race Timing System used at the Mission Inn 5K.

No doubt I did do well, but I did say to Trainer that "I was shocked" at how well the system said I did.

Since then, I've learned a much younger client of his saw me cross the finish line AFTER her, and further stated her results did not get posted. Consequently, I’m doubting the validity of the results, that I did as well as the system calculated.

Oh well, insofar as it now officially stands, I remain a 79-year-old 5K beast — at least until next year when I participate in that race again, see if the systems says I'm less beastly.

I wasn’t planning on treating myself to anything special for Christmas, but having learned the Old Gays have published a book, even though I've not yet had time to finish The In-Between, and have My Life at Grey Gardens on the bedside table to get to, I preordered their book as a gift to myself.

If you’re unfamiliar with the Old Gays, they are a group of gay social media personalities and LGBT rights activists that I first discovered on TikTok doing cosplay including ……… what else, the Wednesday dance.

They’ve become enormously popular, and I later saw them as guests on an episode of Ru Paul’s Drag Race.

Like I said, busy busy busy this weekend and maybe, if the weekends were longer, Mondays wouldn't come so soon, I could squeeze in some reading time.

Indictment Day, Round Three

Set alarm to get up early, watch the news, not miss a moment of No. 45’s third perp walk, only to learn his Arraignment wasn't until later this afternoon.

I do appreciate how 45 has scheduled his arraignments to occur on my non workout days, so I don’t have to call Trainer and cancel so I can glue myself to the tube.

Today’s late arraignment gave me time to get the popcorn ready as I listened to the various pundits explain the charges and express their amazement at how so many of his supporters remain convinced his lies are truth and he’s being persecuted for political reasons rather than for his criminal behavior.

"There are none so blind than those that will not see" came to mind.

It’s depressing, demoralizing, discouraging.

I’m scared.

Rents are out of control, the economy is out of control, homelessness is running rampant, racism and crime is escalating, the cops are most definitely out of control, health care is broken, politicians are self-serving, there is just so much already broken that, if he gets reelected, it might be the last straw.

I may have go for a walk ... in traffic ... on the freeway and hope for the worst.

Show time arrived shortly after noon, my time, and found me all set with popcorn and coffee in my indictment cup.

As I watched his plane arriving in D.C., I found myself regressing — from being completely spiritual minded, trusting the Universe, to knowing the Universe has a plan for all that we see as discord/disharmony, from believing that even though the appearances are bleak, after all is said and done, things will work out in the end to the benefit of all to regressing back to Wishcraft and Visualizing.

In the 90’s, when I was in that toxic work situation with the three witches I’ve blogged about, I was so desperate as to Wish and Visualize something so awful that I should be ashamed but am not.

Desperate times call for desperate measures and Henrietta was the worst of the three so, when she had me set up weekend business airline travel for her, I knew when she'd be in the air.

At that time, I was shopping in the Del Amo Mall, but took a seat, closed my eyes and began visualizing her in the plane, mechanical issues, the plane going down.

And yes, I felt bad about the other passengers, but had to write them off as collateral damage.

Color me beyond pissed, snappish even rude when, arriving back in the office on Monday, Henrietta called to check in.

So, even though it didn’t work then, and even though it’s against what I’ve been taught as a spiritualist, a Contemplative, I found myself regressing this morning to Wishcraft and Visualization when I saw his plane arriving in D.C.

It landed just fine, but not yet ready to give up, I remembered the sad circumstances of my old boyfriend Jim’s life ending as the result of a fall down his basement stairs.

Looking at those steep steps 45 had to navigate from the plane, I began thinking and visualizing fall fall fall.

As you all saw, that didn’t happen either.

I gave it my worst y'all.

The thought of this man ruling and ruining the country even more than he's already ruined it is making me lose my religion.

Other than that, it’s been a pretty good week thus far. With no errands I must run, no place I must go — other than to my workouts, and no medical emergencies to deal with, I’ve had time to listen to myself think, catch up on the baby’s latest scrapbook, even got to work on sewing that quilt for the new baby expected in December.

Not much reading of The In-Between happening because, though like I said, it’s not a sad book, it is an emotional read. I get through a few pages, tears fill my eyes to where I have to put the book down. Pick up where I left off a few days later, read a few more pages and again I have to put the book down because of tears in my eyes, so on and so forth.

It's a really good read, but going to take a while for me to get through it.

At least my normally dry eyes are getting a good watering.

Speaking of medical emergencies, in response to the complaint I filed against my doctor’s care team for dicking me around to the point where I had to go to a clinic down the street for a simple prescription refill, I received a letter from a Senior Consultant of the medical center indicating my grievance has been shared with the Family Practice Department Chief and Department Administrator "for review and action, as appropriate. We strive to consistently provide high-quality health care and service to our members and appreciate this opportunity to learn how we can do better".

I don’t know if this is just more bull crap, but it sounds good.

At the very least, that intake nurse that got on her high horse, talked down to me, acted like she knew more than I did about my own body, has been put on notice to not play doctor or God, to stay in her lane and just do her freaking job next time she deals with a member.

I Read Books and I Know Things

Maybe it’s just me, but this last week has been the longest week ever, felt like it took forever for today, Friday, to come.

The good news is that, because I seemed to have more hours to each day of this week, a lot got done.

Along with my normal schedule of working out, blogging, running errands, needlepoint, scrapbooking, TV watching, playing Candy Crush and the hours and hours and hours spent on TikTok, I was able to finish reading Walter Mosley’s Every Man a King and got well into The In-Between by hospice nurse Hadley Vlahos.

Hadley, who started her career as a nursing intern in the ER, segued into hospice care and shares visitations/spiritual encounters she’s observed her patience experience in their final moments.

It’s a fascinating read — not sad but, inasmuch as I empath, I’ll be reading along, find tears running down my face and, at other times, I’ll be smiling and/or laughing out loud.

It’s definitely a book that makes you think and brought up from the memory vault a visitation dream I had in October of 2021.

I dream a lot a lot a lot, which is exhausting. I wake up tired more often than not and mostly, when I awaken, the dream escapes me, is completely forgotten.

However, there are times when, upon awakening, remembering every aspect of the dream, I immediately reach over for the pen and journal I keep by the side of the bed to write it down before it too disappears into the ethers.

Such was the case when, in 2021, I’d written "M came to me in a dream last night. He was still about 3 years old. I hugged him, kissed him over and over. There was also a lean white guy present. Gay. Fun. Said he didn’t drive his car. So, when time for him to leave asked if I could drive him to the pier to catch his boat back home. I said okay".

The journal entry went on to say that, for some reason, after agreeing to drive the guy to the pier, I decided instead to call him an Uber and that later, thinking back on the dream, I deduced the guy was a "Grim Reaper. A fun reaper."

It seemed logical to me that, if a Grim Reaper did come to take me away, it would be a gay guy because I’d not trust or feel comfortable with a straight.

For a while after the dream, I pondered what would have happened had I gone through with driving the Reaper guy to the "pier", then I forgot all about it.

Reading The In-Between is bringing it all back and has me once again pondering ...... Was his asking me to drive him to the pier my opportunity to exit out of here? What would have happened had I followed through?

Say It With Your Chest

Trainer accused me of trying to get him cancelled — always coming in with edgy messages on my chest, like the anti-No. 45 shirt, a Straight Outta Compton shirt, and now Blackity Black.

Wait until he sees the "Drag Is Not a Crime" tee, I plan to make and wear at Long Beach Pride — that is if I decide I have the energy to attend the 2-day festival and parade.

Trainer himself was kinda sorta paying homage to Juneteenth with a tat commemorating the birth of his daughter, which date happens to coincide with the now federal holiday.

Google went all out with raised fists marching across the home screen and confetti drops, which led to the most celebrating I did today, which was to entertain myself by clicking on the flag icon, watch the confetti drop over and over and over.

Doesn’t take much to captivate me.

Other than that, it’s just another Monday as I contemplate if I really need to get the car serviced on Thursday.

According to the manual, regular service should be every 10,000 miles BUT inasmuch as I’m driving just a little over 2,000 miles per year, I’m guessing it’s best to get service based on an annual basis regardless of miles.

Sitting in the dealer’s waiting room is a pain no matter how I look at it, but at least it will give me down time to get back to the Walter Mosley’s book I’ve not yet had time to finish, exciting a read though it is.

If the wait is long, I might finish Every Man’s a King and start on my next read — The In-Between (unforgettable encounters during life’s final moments by Hadley Viahos, RN).

But Wait …. There’s More

No golden parachute for this bozo.

And no soft landing into another gig.

In other news ...... Standing in line outside Assistant Manager’s door yesterday afternoon, with a group of residents waiting to turn in requested paperwork to get a new parking permit, I peered into the Game Room to see if the book I’d donated to our Library last month was still on the shelf.

It wasn’t.

Then

Now

The book (by George Dawson, son of slaves) is now in the hands of someone with a stronger constitution than I. Someone not so easily triggered as I when reading, in the first few pages, how a white girl’s lies caused an innocent Black man to be beaten by a racist mob and unalived by hanging.

I wonder if people who committed those kinds of atrocities, based on racial hatred, ever felt guilt or shame or regret?

Probably not and, since I don't believe in hell, but believe we transition into another life, they've somehow shapeshifted into those living amongst us now who still harbor that kind of hatred. The kind of people who shoot to kill when they see a Black face knocking on their door looking to pick up his siblings at the wrong address, the kind of people who shoot at a Black Fedex driver they feel doesn't belong in their neighborhood, so on and so forth.

Oh, well. I'll file these thoughts under reasons why I don't want to save the planet.

As for why us residents are being issued new parking permits …… a few weeks ago, as I was logging in miles around the complex, I saw a corporate looking guy walking around, with a clipboard, looking at the back of cars and writing stuff down.

I knew something was up, not sure what, but I’d guessed he was checking to make sure all cars parked on the premise had a permit, updated registration sticker and I was equally sure he found quite a few that had neither.

Sure enough, attached to our doors yesterday morning was a notice saying "New parking permits will be issued. All open parking spaces will no longer be assigned. Please come to the Leasing Office to receive your new parking sticker by Monday, May 1. Vehicle registration and insurance are required".

In order to weed out those cars which are not in compliance with having proper insurance and registration, they're issuing new permits AND, if you don't have one, you are SOL and will lose your ride — get towed.

As for doing away with assigned parking spots, fortunately I pay extra for a carport, but those with a free assigned parking spot are fit to be tied that they will have to now scramble for parking.

I don’t see the logic of aggravating the seniors thusly, that is unless the problem is there’s not enough parking spots for the number of residents who have cars OR it could be Corporate just wants to bring in more money by putting residents in the position of where, if they don’t want to scramble, they'll have to pay for a carport or garage.

I’m leaning toward their motive being the latter.

Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head

Thought I was going to have to swim to this morning’s workout and this afternoon’s bingo, but it hasn’t been pouring down drenching yet.

During the week, in thinking about what to do with that Life is Good book that I found too triggering to continue reading, I remembered we have a Library in the Game Room, so I dropped the book off on my way to bingo.

It’s been so long since I’ve been in the Game Room — not since it reopened after the Pandemic, that I’d forgotten having previously donated several books, and this would be a good addition.

I didn’t see any of the other books I’d donated, so will be interesting to see how long this one stays on the shelf before it disappears into the unit of an avid reader.

Once again, what rain there was kept many of the regulars away, which improved my chances of winning a game and, after a long dry spell, I finally did pull out a win.

From the prize table, I chose a Rapid Egg Cooker that I can use for cooking eggs in the microwave when travelling to my next 5K.

I have a suspicion I won another game, as I was only one number away, but had to leave the room to take a telephone call. When I returned, that game was still in progress, which made me certain the number I was waiting for probably had been called, but I didn’t want to disrupt the game by asking for a readback.

Buttons — the now 86-year-old who recently had a birthday, whom I learned today has been living here 24 years in the same unit, and I were the only two sitting at our regular table. Before the games began, she shared with me her latest creation.

Front

Back Working Side

I was gagged that a 86-year-old had the eyes and dexterity to do such delicate embroidery work, on a thin piece of silk paper no less.

Her plan is to back it onto cardstock, frame and send as a gift to a friend.

The only tea to come out of this afternoon’s bingo wasn’t really tea, more like a snipe.

The resident I’ve not yet given a proper blog name to, the one who had been a brilliant woman, employed in a high-functioning job, something to do with working in a lab, until an automobile accident left her brain damaged, prone to seizures and whom I suspect of having injured a puppy she adopted during the shutdown, then opting to put the puppy to sleep because she could not afford the vet bill to correct the injury she caused, made chili and cornbread muffins for the group.

Stories are legendary about the deplorable hoarder conditions of her unit.

She came close to being evicted because the county said they would no longer pay her rent unless and until she made the place habitable, which she did just enough to get a pass then went back to as it was before.

The maintenance guys complain about her unit but, much like Smoker, management can't just toss people with issues out into the street. Especially if they're well liked and not violent, unlike the one resident they did toss into the street — Cat Lady who was a menace.

At any rate, Red Light sidled up to me, sniped about the offering … "I’m not eating that".

I wouldn’t either, not even if I could, but some did.

Not pretended to eat so as to not hurt her feelings, but actually consumed, swallowed.

Some people will eat anything.

Will be interesting to see if anyone gets sick.

This is awful I know, but the chili reminded me that, after the puppy incident, she was given custody of the kitten residents rescued from Next Door Neighbor's car engine.

Worried that the kitten might not be safe, I'd followed up, asked how it was doing and felt relieved when her face lit up and she began gushing about how sweet the kitten was, how the kitten has changed her life, how much she loved and was enjoying having the kitten.

That was in 2021 and, looking at the chili, I thought to get a more recent update on the kitten, ask if she still had it, but thought today was not the right time for that conversation, as she might put 2 and 2 together, figure out what I was thinking.

I'm sure to see her on Wednesday, when we have a St. Patrick's Day cookie decorating event, where I can work the kitten into conversation with no suspicion of a hidden agenda.

I wanted to wear my St. Patrick’s Day tee to bingo, but it’s too cold, so I bundled up.

I did get a kick out of the non-English speaking couple, who always show up for bingo that we’ve somehow managed to show how the various games work.

They dressed for the occasion and were so cute that I just have to show you.

Another Winter Storm

With a weather forecast of heavy rain — which started today, through next Wednesday, it’s not looking good for plans to tackle Devil’s Canyon Road this weekend.

I do have makeup refills to pick up at the mall this weekend, before the orders gets cancelled. So, hopefully there’s a lull long enough to let me venture out.

The good news is, I made a fortuitous mistake and placed the order with a store in a mall other than my preferred location. The mall I mistakenly placed the orders with is one I can reach by street travel, no traversing the freeway in a storm required and I’ll be able to put in some walking miles as this mall is covered, while my preferred mall is not.

The fact this fortunate mistake was made kind of takes me out of the "Trouble Trouble Boil and Bubble" worrying frame of mind and into thinking that "All Things Work Together for Good" — that what looks bad on the surface, a mistake, may be a step in the right direction.

At any rate, curious as to how Devil’s Canyon Road got it’s name, I did a little research and learned a man by the name of Daniel Sexton, who arrived here in 1841, was working for a Colonel Isaac Williams on Williams’ Chino Ranch.

Now Williams had been an Indian Fighter. He fought as a Captain under General Andrew Jackson "Old Hickory", along with Davy Crockett and Sam Houston in the Creek War, involving the Muscogee, the Choctaw (my people), Cherokee Nations, and Lower Creeks faction of the Muscogee — whoever they were.

The "hostilities" ended in 1814 with the signing of the treaty of Ford Jackson when Andrew Jackson "forced" the Creeks to "surrender" more than 21 million acres in what is now southern Georgia and central Alabama.

Stolen land, which has nothing to do with how Devil’s Canyon Road got its name, but was so interesting that I thought I’d add it in.

Back to Daniel Sexton working for Colonel Williams ...... one day Williams told Sexton he was tired of eating meat, and craved vegetables. He sent Sexton and two of "his Indians" (slaves???) to survey a road so that they might get up to timber lands, and there cut trees for fencing, so that he (Williams) could keep cattle out of a vegetable garden.

Sexton had not gone far when one of the Indians was bitten by a rattlesnake and died.

Sexton and the remaining Indian continued up the canyon, found a feasible route for the proposed road and, as they returned, the second Indian was also fatally bitten by another snake.

The Indian yelled "El Diablo" as he died, and so the Canyon received the name Devil’s Canyon and the path, from the college to the top, Devil’s Canyon Road.

At least that’s Sexton’s story as to why he started off with two Indians, then there were none.

I personally don’t believe him.

My spidey sense is telling me Sexton did something dastardly to the Indians and the yelling of "El Diablo" was that Indian's dying words towards Sexton — calling him the devil for having murdered the first Indian and now him, the second.

So other than exposing Sexton as an 18th Century serial killer, I’ve been a bit of a bookworm.

After sitting on the Faun of Grey Gardens for months, I started reading it early last week — around the 10th. Such an engrossing read that I couldn’t put it down. Finished reading a few days later … on the 17th.

Due to her many cruelties to Jerry, I ended up not liking Little Edie very much.

Yet another example of how it so often is that "No good deed goes unpunished". I never could or would have extended to Little Edie the patience and kindness Jerry did.

I also couldn’t believe Jerry gave a shoutout to his parents in the Acknowledgment — parents who did nothing for him besides giving birth and a terrible childhood.

At any rate, investigating online, I see the house still stands — though looking at photos of the renovation, it looks nothing like the house formerly inhabited by the Beales.

Little Edie passed away in 2002, while Jerry is pretty much all that’s left of that interesting saga.

Looking at Jerry’s Instagram page, I see that he just had (on February 6th) an event with the book’s co-author Tony Maietta. So, with his stoneware business, continuing book sales and related events, it all came together in good for Jerry.

Judging by the book title, this life of George Dawson — the grandson of slaves, turns out well. But the start of the book is so triggering that I don’t think I’ll get far enough to get to the good part.

First few pages begin with an incident much like the unaliving of Emmet Till — a crowd of angry Whites dragging an innocent Black man through the streets to the hanging tree because of a lie.

A young White girl, pregnant by her White boyfriend, lies and says the teenage Black farmhand is the father of the child.

Why?

Who knows. Especially since, when the child is born, everyone will see it’s a White baby, no color in it.

Which is exactly what happened. A White baby was born and there was not a care the girl had lied and caused the torture and death of an innocent young Black man.

The book, thus far, is too disturbing. So, I think I’ll get rid of it — drop it off at the Library.

It’s banned it some states, so I’ll drop it in the slot and let the Library do as they will with it, if it's banned here as well.

I’m not without reading material because Walter Mosley's latest book, which I preordered months ago, arrived in yesterday’s mail.

Most all of Mosley’s book are page turners, this one will be especially so as it's a continuation of Mosley's earlier novel — Down the River Unto the Sea, and solves the mystery of who it was that framed former NYPD Investigator Joe King Oliver for rape of a White woman, sending Oliver to Rikers prison.

Art imitating life, but this one isn't triggering because Joe King survived Rikers, became a Private Detective and is now about to take names, kick some arse.