TGIF!!!

And not just any Friday, but a bingo free Friday. Which meant that, after the morning workout, I did not have to rush back to the complex, waste three hours on bingo.

Instead, I stopped by the market for supplies, returned, locked myself inside, did as I pleased the remainder of the day.

It was difficult to decide what to wear to the morning workout, because it was raining when I awoke.

Thinking long sleeve top, boots, rain jacket, umbrella, I was thrown off when rain stopped and the sun came out.

Just when I pivoted to regular wear, the sun went away and the rain started again.

From there it was rain then sun shining — vacillating off/on minute by minute, and even rain with the sun shining at the same time.

It was wild.

Then came a downpour, followed shortly by the sun shining, outside quickly drying up.

I took it all to mean the Heavens are just as upset, disturbed, pissed off as we are about what’s going on down here.

When all was said and done, I stepped out in boots, a warm hoodie, carried an umbrella and, of course the weather changed. I needed none of that and was burning up in that warm hoodie by the time I walked into the Pain Cave.

Trainer’s class of fighters-in-training were ending their session as I entered and, as usual, I greeted all with "Namaste!". Which, in my world translates to "The Christ in me salutes the Christ in You" and then I added "TGIF".

Trainer looked amused, said "They don’t know what TGIF means".

"Really? They don’t?", asked I.

Trainer took a poll, and many did not know what TGIF stood for.

They’re all young teens and 20 somethings, which may be why. But still, I’m flabbergasted, because TGIF is a universal thing.

So, anyway, it’s been a nice leisurely afternoon of crafting — trying to catch up on photos that need to be added to the Creative Memory book.

This one page I completed today is likely to get me in trouble with the family, as the Playdate Summer of Science photos led me to build a design around them that’s based on an Emmy Award winning TV series.

I tried to go in a less controversial, more kid-friendly direction, but the photos kept leading me to be designed thusly.

I myself am pleased with the layout, it makes me giggle, and though family might not find the layout amusing, it will probably fly over the heads of future generations .... be puzzling, just like TGIF is to this generation.

So it is what it is.

Which of you get it? Know the Emmy Award winning show that inspired me to go in this direction?

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.

T.G.I.F.

I live for Friday, what some would say is "Wishing my life away".

Not that the week was bad. It’s just that my favorite thing to do is to stay inside, not leave the unit unless I want to and Friday signifies my having two whole days in a row — rather than a day here, a day there to indulge myself in doing my favorite thing.

Yesterday was one of those rare days when I was able to stay indoors and, while sitting in my perch on the couch, it occurred to me that, but for the fact I must leave the unit on Monday, Wednesday, Friday to work out, I could easily turn into a complete recluse. Be perfectly content opening the windows to the sun, spotting neighbors out and about during the day while I myself meditated, watched television, worked on that needlepoint project (now in its third year with it looking like another three to completion) and, when the sun goes down, leaving insufficient lighting to continue needlepointing, switching to work on the scrapbook of the most photographed child in America, my great grandbaby.

Having been too sleepy Monday to watch this season’s Summer Baking Championship, on Food Network, I’d recorded it and while catching up yesterday, seeing the new crop of bakers, how they’d fared, I couldn’t help but wonder how embarrassing it must have been for a baker who introduced herself as "Executive Pastry Chef ……… previously nominated for a James Beard award as Best Pastry Chef", to be the first to go home — before a home baker even, and before a guy who didn’t finish decorating or get the mandatory twist on his cake.

First round, the James Beard baker produced a cake donut, which Duff pronounced as "really chewy, tasting like a pretzel that’s not done".

Elimination round, she produced a cake Damaris evaluated as "Leany"; Carla said her water feature gelatin was "Rubbery, looked like a piece of salami". So, the James Beard baker was eliminated, the first to go home from the competition.

Calling 'em as I see 'em, when she first introduced herself, there was something about her that caused me to think I’d not choose her to bake a cake for me. She seemed stern, dry, humorless.

Further judging her book by its cover, I guessed she, as Executive Chef, might be difficult to work alongside of, that she was probably a pill, pompous, arrogant, lording over those she was in charge of, throwing her James Beard nomination in their face.

Going home first had to be the absolute worst humbling experience ever for her.

Thinking about her returning to work, after having failed so miserably, opened the vault and made me think of a guy I worked for at the law firm.

Some kind of personal friend of the General Counsel, who was head attorney over all attorneys in the firm, this guy had just finished law school, not yet taken the bar exam but, because of whatever relationship he had with the GC, was hired on with the expectation he would pass the bar.

This guy came in like gangbusters. He wasn’t mean or cruel to me, it was just that he was pompous, arrogant, pushy, creepy, always had a blank look in his eyes as though the lights were on but no one was home.

My skin crawled when he’d call me into his office to give instructions, because he never looked in my face, never talked to ME. He talked to my pelvic area. With a creepy smirk on his lips and a faraway look in his blank eyes, it was like he had x-ray vision and was undressing me as he gave instructions to my pelvis.

I didn’t like him — no one really did, but being assigned as his secretary, working so closely with him, I saw what others did not see, was witness to the weird things he did.

Like the time, we received a very big bill for the rental car I’d ordered for a business trip he'd taken.

I couldn’t figure out how it was he’d returned from that business trip weeks and weeks and weeks already, but the rental place was still charging us.

Getting to the bottom of it, he said he didn’t understand it either because, upon his return, he’d parked the car on the back lot of the airport rental place, left the keys in it.

He didn’t seem to know or understand that just parking the car somewhere on the lot, without notifying one of the agents, did not serve as having checked the car back in.

Also, any part of his job that he could push off on me, he did. Up to and including, when it was time for him to take the bar exam, he gave me his paperwork, told me to fill it out and submit.

It was an odd request but, of course, I did as I was told ..... except, there was a check yes or no question on the paperwork that I couldn’t just assume, so I asked. He didn’t answer my inquiry. Instead, he just smiled his creepy smirky smile at my pelvic until standing in his office became so uncomfortable for me, as I waited for his reply, that I just exited the office and left the yes/no question blank.

The yes/no question was "Have you ever been in a mental institution" or something to that effect.

I remember thinking it very telling that he would not give me an answer.

At any rate, the paperwork was accepted, he took the exam and failed it miserably.

I can still see the look on his face, and his frantic body language, when he returned to the office the morning after being notified of failing to pass the bar.

He was frantic, running back/forth to the GC's office, here/there like a chicken with its head cut off, and I didn't know why.

Word quickly spread, and it was a secretary in another section that called me to say, "God does not like ugly".

"What do you mean?", asked I.

"He didn’t pass the bar", said she.

The guy never said a word to me about failing, and the General Counsel removed him immediately from being assigned to my Environmental section, into an obscure office closer to his own (the GC’s) office, which was great that I didn’t have to deal with him any longer.

The secretary that got stuck with him called me one day but, for the life of me, I can't remember what it was he'd done that she needed to talk out with me; but she didn't have to suffer long because, from what I recall, the fiasco was such an embarrassment for the GC that the guy just disappeared one day, without a word as to whether he was let go or quit.

I doubt he ever retook the bar exam or, if he did, passed because had he done so, the GC would have wanted to save face, found a way to bring him back.

I know another who failed the bar. It was early in my career, and I didn't work for this second guy per se.

I was working for a small municipality, where he was a member of the City Counsel.

Very nice man, he became a legend for having failed the bar exam 47 times before passing, but his job wasn’t incumbent upon his passing. Passing was a personal goal he was determined to accomplish and, after 25 years, he passed on his 48th try.

Sometimes bad things happen to sketchy people, even when they have a GC carving a path for them, and good happens for good people who persist on their own.

So, anyway, if my assumptions of the James Beard baker are correct and she's not a sweetheart who is highly favored by those she's in charge of, I would have loved to be a fly on the wall when she returned to the workplace.

Shock and Awe

Waking up feeling crummy this morning — moving slow, feeling sluggish and loopy, I decided today was a good day to sit on my arse and do nothing but scrapbook, with the TV providing background noise.

I was pleasantly doing so when, all of a sudden around 11:00, everything went quiet, the power went out.

Taking it as a sign to go outside, get some fresh air, I suited up and started off with a slow stroll around the complex.

You could have knocked me over with a feather when, just as I’d predicted — that "My luck … now that I’ve taken the car out of storage, the crew will magically reappear", there they were, working on the back and right side of the complex.

Not only were they working but, still with a lot to do compared to what more needs to be done, they were working fast, picking up momentum.

Figuring that, at the pace they were paving and striping, they’d reach my side by tomorrow — that is if they show up, I later moved the car to one of the spot they’d managed to complete so it wouldn’t be in the way of wherever they next went.

The slow walk invigorated me. By the third time around, whatever had weighed me down in the morning was gone and I was moving at a pretty good clip.

Just as I was ready to head back upstairs, see if power had been restored, I ran into Red Light who said Activity Director had something going on in the Community Room — a Mother’s Day Luncheon, so I pivoted over to the event.

The room was packed. Even a few guys showed up, which is fair because just like I was both mother and father, some guys are both fathers and mothers.

The lunch was not the dainty little tea sandwiches one would expect for Mother’s Day, but instead were huge sub sandwiches from Jersey Mike, which I thought more appropriate for Father’s Day.

No matter to the residents. They will eat anything from anyone who makes free food available to them but, when I noticed Red Light and newer resident Homegirl, with whom I was seated, were not eating their sandwiches and inquired why. Red Light said it tasted funny. Homegirl just said she wasn’t hungry.

Interesting.

As with most things management arranges for us, there were strings. We didn’t have to listen to a lecture, but the luncheon was funded by a Medical Group that is setting up an office in one of the offices across the street.

Since it takes three months to get an appointment with my doctor, and nothing is done but her try to push pills, medications, expensive unnecessary procedures, I may do some due diligence and check the medical group out for emergencies.

There was also a woman promoting her Insurance Agency. She provided us with cookies and roses.

I don’t need an insurance agent, but accepted the rose.

Homegirl, being the open friendly type, previously shared with me that she’d been in property management and sees a lot of things wrong with how this complex is run — no surprise.

She’s also a very talented artist, attended art school and, besides painting, creates all manner of items that she sometimes sells at art fairs and cultural events.

She showed me photos of her work, but she does so much and so many different art forms that I can’t begin to tell you what I was shown, except that some is beadwork and painting on cups, designer water bottles.

This cup that I won at bingo last week is her work.

Though I didn't so much as win it as it was she gifted it to me.

Spotting it on the prize table when I walked in, I was immediately drawn to it, coveted it, hid it under a kitchen towel so no one else would see and win it before I did. Evidently Homegirl was watching and, when she won the first game, she took the cup as prize and gave it to me.

At any rate, conversation today was about trouble she was having with two of the guys. One — who she named/described but I can’t picture him, kept coming onto her, hung around outside her unit, came into the laundry room when he saw her there, which prompted her to hold her keys between her fingers to use as a weapon if need be.

The way she described how he hit on her, the guy sounded ignorant, uneducated and, when she got her keys ready and told him to buzz off, he dropped a note into her laundry basket that she didn’t see until later. The note saying, with misspellings, how is was that he wanted to get to know her.

I’m not clear on whether he’s given up the pursuit, whether she’s reported him to the office (as if that would do any good) but she said she’d had quite enough and went off on the other one.

Whereas the first guy came across as ignorant/uneducated, the other guy’s approach shocked me — and I don’t shock easily.

He’d been following her around, camping out on a bench in front of the Laundry Room across the quad, which is where he can spot her comings/goings, telling her how he’s a minister, a barber, does security work on the side.

"WAIT! I know this one", said I.

It’s Handsome Guy, the same guy I'd blogged about, just a few days ago, who had come onto me again.

Just to be certain it was the same guy, I told her his name and where he lived. Bingo! same guy.

Shock and Awe.

What shocked me was not so much his playing the odds, throwing feelers out for more than one of us hoping to reel someone in. What shocked me was how he’s always been polite and gentlemanly in his approach to me, but some of the things she shared about how he talked to her in his approach was pure sleaze, insulting, trying to be slick like a pimp.

He tried to talk himself into her unit by, after observing her young nephew often visiting, offering to come into her unit and cut the child’s hair for free.

When that didn’t produce, he somehow knew she’d be in the Community Room on Pizza Tuesday, or followed here there, and made a point of also being there.

Now Homegirl is a big girl, a really big girl — boobs, hips and whereas I dress to hide/downplay my features so as to not draw unwanted attention, there's no way to hide/downplay what she's got.

At any rate, she appears to be driving the men wild and, Handsome Guy is reading her as cheap, easy, on display, someone he can approach at a street level and, when he followed her to Pizza Tuesday, he said something so suggestive, looked her up/down with a nasty smirk while saying it, that she blew her top and began cursing at him in front of everyone — "loudly" said she.

What he said was .... when Activity Director was describing the pizza options — cheese, vegie, meat, Handsome Guy had replied, "Meat" turned looked up/down at Homegirl’s bodacious body and pointedly said, "Cause I like meat".

He’s a chameleon. Approaches me like a respectful man trying to date me, approaches her like a down and dirty sleezy scummy guy wanting to jump her bones.

Cursing him out in public seems to have worked. Got his feelings hurt and embarrassed, humiliated, publicly put in his place by a female, so he dare not show his face on Pizza Tuesday again, and she says he doesn’t even speak to her now when seeing her out and about.

As for me, now that I know he’s a chameleon — takes on different personas dependent on who and what is before him, even though he never had a snowball's chance in hell with me, I'm disgusted by the way he approached and talked to Homegirl.

You just do not talk to women that way so, if and when I see him out/about, I’m gonna take off in the opposite direction. I do not want to hear anything he has to say.

Returning to my unit, I found the power back on and an email from the power company with no explanation for the outage other than "analyzing problem".

Judging by news I just heard on TV, I’m going to need a new cup — "I Love When I Wake Up and No. 45 is Liable for SA and Defamation".

What a day this has been, as I also see the DOJ is after Santos. Next up is Clarence Thomas.

Third Time is Not the Charm

Other than forgetting to take Blood Pressure medication two days in a row, waking up on Sunday to a reading of 166 over something or other, it was a great and productive weekend.

Saturday’s weather was perfect for walking, so I suited up, headed to the college campus to log in a few miles, test out the collapsible trekking poles — the third set I’ve purchased.

Finding something wrong with the first two sets — one had a joint locking issue, the second set was meant for short people and could not be adjusted to my arm height, not wanting the hassle of returning, both had been tossed in the trash.

The third set — the current ones, everything snapped into place per the diagram, so I assumed everything was hunky dory fine.

It wasn’t.

Third time was in no way the charm, because the collapsible poles kept collapsing on Saturday’s walk.

Is it me … Am I doing something wrong? thought I. This being the second set with locking issues, I began to think I was not connecting and tightening properly.

Looking at a few YouTube videos later that day, I couldn’t find anything I'd done wrong.

At any rate, where there’s a will there’s a way so, not wanting to waste money on another set, I decided to change the collapsible trekking poles to non-collapsible by crazy gluing all the joints.

Sunday’s weather was a lot less inviting than Saturday’s. It rained, so outside was wet and gloomy. Testing for staying locked, with crazy glue, will have to wait until outside is once again inviting.

After getting the BP down to 135 on Sunday, by taking the medication, passing on coffee in lieu of Saffron Tea, the day was spent catching up on recorded TV programs and crafting — mainly scrapbooking.

My personal Album is not only caught up but completed. Photos of activities I participated in last year are in the book — like Spa Day with my girls, The Mission Inn 5K, Halloween Costume parties here at the complex, my trip to Long Beach for Thanksmas. The last page ends the book with a fun little thing I did with the photo of Genie and I at bingo wearing outfits that could mix and match.

Somehow it felt like a fitting end — a place to end scrapbooking altogether, something I've been thinking about for a while because my scrapbooking no longer seems relevant.

Who but myself cares what I did in photos last year, the year before that, the year before that, so on and so forth.

With the family so fractured, no one talking to and/or getting along with each other, what’s the point with being the historian of sort. I've got all these albums of my life raising my girls and after; and I did all those albums of the grandkids growing up and, in someone's storage area, there's even an album or two of my mother's life, with photos of my now deceased brothers and sister and I when we were kids, but who now is around to care? Who's going to be around in future to care?

There's not enough crazy glue in the world to put this fractured family back together and, with everyone living their lives so differently, I'm not so sure it should be put back together — the theory of "Leave Well Enough Alone". However, the point is .... for whom am I continuing this scrapbooking thing?

No one cares.

No one is going to care.

As what's left of this family begin to die off, including myself, it's highly likely the albums will end up in a dumpster like Bonita's did.

So, this book is the last I'll do of my adventures.

The end page, where the video cuts off, is the fun thing I did with a photo of Genie and I at bingo wearing outfits that looked like they were meant to mix and match.

I titled the page "Genie and Shirley Paper Doll Cutouts", turned us into paper dolls and switched the outfits around, just as one would do with paper dolls.

The great grandson, now some seven months old, already has two albums so, when the one I'm currently working on (see cover page below) gets filled, it too will be the last I'll do of his adventures as well. I don't want to repeat what I did with the other kids — make a kazillion albums that eventually become no longer relevant.

In other news, after the police department posted that the body parts guy they were looking for had been located and identified, it was radio silence, no further information.

That kinda sucks to get us invested in this story — like who is this guy, how did you find him, where did the body parts come from, and then nothing; but I'll keep an eye out for further updates on the PD's page.

Family Heirloom?

A few days ago, my heartbeat skipped a little when I heard the announcement on TV that a lottery ticket worth $4 million was purchased at a liquor store in Southern California. Alas, looking up at the screen, the pictured liquor store was not the one where I purchase my tickets.

At least I won $20 on a scratch off and $4 on two Mega tickets. It isn’t much when one considers the pot was $1.35 billion at that time; but I’ll take it, roll it over, try again.

When Twin 2 dropped in on Tuesday, it wasn’t to meet Bear but to return a workout tee that’s been in use some 30+ years, saying she was "working on detachment, starting with tangible things".

Sounds very Zen of her.

At any rate, I said "Don’t donate or throw it away. Give it to me to be added to the t-shirt quilt I’ve been one day planning to make from my race shirts".

The tee in question is one I purchased and began wearing in my late 40’s. I don’t know how Twin 2 came into possession, but she’d sent me a photo in 2013 of her wearing it.

Twin 2 just celebrated her 55th birthday, so the shirt having served the both of us well all these many decades, it’s fitting to retire it, add it to the t-shirt quilt stack.

Once I get around to working on that quilt — which won’t be until I finish this never-ending needlepoint project, I’ll make this tee the centerpiece of the quilt.

I looked for similar tees for when I was pushing 60, then 70. There were none then, but there are a few out there now.

Seeing this tee reminded me to take a stab at one saying "Pushing 80 is enough exercise". I found one had been available, but was discontinued some time ago.

I could make one, but I’ve enough crafting projects on my plate.

So, anyway, as I was moving containers around to get to the t-shirt quilt stack so I could add this one, I ran across my own stuffed buddy — a horse I'd stored away a few years ago.

Ride ‘Em Cowboy

Along about 2:00, Bear and I spotted Yazzy, her grandma and another neighbor sitting on the walkway's bench.

How dare they, I thought. Bold a brass sitting there while I'm still Bearsitting (Thanks commenter).

I yell down to Talker, "Doesn't she want Bear back?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell her".

Sigh!

Once told, Yazzy couldn't get up here fast enough.

She missed Bear just as much as he missed her.

Yazzy loved the book, grandma Talker and the other neighbor gushed over it, talked about how creative it was.

So, there you have it folks. A happy ending.

End of the saga.

Bear has left the unit.

Further Adventures

Looking at all the weather related chaos of the last two weeks on the news, I’ve been very fortunate. Even to the point that on the days when it was a downpour, those were days I had nothing planned, did not have to leave the unit ─ like yesterday. On days I had to head for the Pain Cave, it was either just overcast and drizzling or a complete break in the rain, with the sun shining ─ like today.

During yesterday’s downpour, Bear sat at the window all day watching and waiting for Yazzy to come down the walkway, take him home, but no Yazzy.

It wasn’t raining the day before, when Yazzy was on the complex visiting her grandma, but still no Yazzy.

I say "visiting".

Trainer says "babysitting".

I’d not thought of it that way before, but he’s right.

Did grandma not tell her, or does Yazzy not care?

Could this be the thing to steer her away from knocking on my door — the idea of having to take Bear home?

Time will tell, but if Bear isn’t picked up by Friday, he will be playing bingo; and, if Talker shows up, I’ll hand him over before I have to start charging him rent, or billing Yazzy and her grandma for caregiver services.

Speaking of caregivers, Trainer had me ROFLMAO on Monday when he asked, "What’s the oldest age over there?"

"I honestly don’t know, but I do know we have a few in their 90’s", said I.

"What kind of shape are they in?"

"Some still have a degree of mobility, with the use of canes and walkers, but aren't seen out and about often. Some still drive. Others are pretty much bedridden, have people who check on them daily ─ bring in food, water, pick up their mail, do their laundry and some are checked on by visiting nurses. Others have relatives living with them".

Trainer was surprised … "THEY CAN DO THAT?! HAVE RELATIVES LIVING WITH THEM???!!!"

"Sure. They sign up as caregivers, get paid by the county".

"FREE RENT AND A CHECK????!!!! If you ever need a caregiver, I’m telling V___ (his wife) I’m out, I’m leaving you. Shirley needs a caregiver".

ROFLMAO!

So anyway, Bear got to meet Twin 2 when she stopped by yesterday.

Bear still with me this morning, I belted him in the Jeep — safety first, and off we went to the Pain Cave, where he got in the ring and spared with Trainer's Baby Yoda, worked out on the battle ropes, planked with me and took a group photo with those arriving for the next class ─ Trainer's elite fighters. After which we popped into the market, and are now back in the unit waiting for Yazzy.