"Out, Damned Spot"

It’s looking like we’ll soon be getting a new resident in the quad because, yesterday and this morning, I saw the maintenance guys going in/out of Red Light’s vacant unit.

Cleaning I assume.

What remains to be seen is if paint and new carpeting follows.

As near as I can figure, the unit became vacant in June of 2020, when the resident going by the handle of Nosey on the blog was sent to rehab after a second fall and never made it back.

As an aside, my use of the pseudonym "Nosey" was not to disparage that neighbor. She was a perfectly sweet lady, but I call 'em as I see 'em and with her blinds positioned for her to see what was going on outside without leaving the couch (much like my own, LOL), watching everything that goes on, her getting up, rushing to her patio to eavesdrop on conversations if she heard talking going on outside (which I don't do), what else could I lovingly name her but Nosey.

At any rate, that means Red Light moved in shortly after June 2020, moved out last month, occupied the unit some 4 years.

I don’t know if there’s a law that says a landlord must paint and install new carpeting after a unit becomes vacant before someone else moves in, but it can’t be too much work prepping for another tenant as Red Light didn’t smoke, had no pet, so maybe painting and new carpeting will be replaced with washing the walls and running a carpet cleaner.

We’ll see.

Also remaining to be seen is whether the new resident will come to us from outside or from within the complex, as those who can no longer handle stairs, have been requesting downstairs units.

I fear the level of cleaning won’t be as thorough if it’s a transfer. That management will do the basics and say here you go, take it or leave it.

BTW, why is the responsibility of the maintenance guys to do the cleaning, rather than management engaging a cleaning crew?

I seriously doubt the guys can or will do as good a job of cleaning as professional cleaners.

Speaking of cleaning, over the years, I’ve tried every product known to mankind to clean the kitchen tiles. I’ve got down on my hands and knees to scrub troubling areas, used various hacks suggested by commenters — like a combination of vinegar with Dawn, Bar Keeper’s Friend, straight up vinegar left for an hour or so, Clorox blue gel toilet bowl cleaner as suggested by my former dermatologist’s assistant, Tik Tok’s suggestion to scrub with a degreaser to remove the buildup, et. al., and still the tile ends up clean but with spots that look like dirt.

I’ve given up and pivoted to another solution to my Lady Macbeth's lament to out the damned spot(s) …… a non-slip kitchen rug.

I made a mistake with the first rug by ordering one I thought would closely match the dish drying mat.

Nice, does the job, but not really my aesthetics; so, gave it away and replaced with one that is more like me — rustic.

No more worrying about scrubbing the kitchen tile, plus it feels so nice and warm under my bare feet.

Only problem now is I need a drying mat that more closely matches the new kitchen flooring.

TikTok to the Rescue … Maybe

We got some rain on Monday. Not a downpour, just enough to dirty up the car I’d taken the time to wash while out and about on Saturday.

Returning from Monday’s workout, while in the bedroom changing out of workout clothes, I spotted a hoody wearing resident struggling down the walkway on one of those canes that have three feet/prongs on the end. She had mail in her hand, so I deduced she was headed back to wherever from the mail center.

Just as she reached the crossroad by the bench, where the walkways meet, she stopped, looked down, picked something up from the edge of the grass, sticking whatever it was into her pocket.

As she than began to look around, picking up things from surrounding areas, making it further up the walkway along the grass line, picking up, putting into her pocket, I began thinking OH NO! NOT ANOTHER ONE.

Then it hit me — it wasn’t another one, it was our Karen character and, sure enough, she ended up working her way into the Karen’s unit.

She’s still at it — gleaning tree droppings, only the cat was not with her this time AND she all of a sudden is using a cane.

What that’s about?

Wouldn’t it be weird if she turns out to be an insurance cheat. Collecting money for being "weak, sick, disabled".

I realize that not all physical ailments are visible, but she doesn’t appear all that weak or sick when she’s out in front of her unit chasing the cat or picking up tree droppings and, whatever ailment it is she says she has, there is no longer the caregiver — either through no longer needing one or none will put up with her.

This being the first time I’ve seen her go further than the front of her own unit, perhaps the cane is for show to bolster her claim of being "weak, sick" if observed by others elsewhere.

Something to think about, but who knows. It could be the wet rainy weather is truly having an impact on her physicality.

Remainder of the afternoon was steam cleaning the kitchen tile in yet another attempt to get the tiles looking spot free, brand spanking new.

Over the years, I’ve tried every product known to man. Even tried various hacks suggested by commenters and my dermatologist’s assistant — Clorox blue gel toilet bowl cleaner, combination of vinegar with Dawn, Bar Keeper's Friend, straight up vinegar left for an hour or so, all with some results, but still not the results I’m looking for.

Tik Tok to the rescue … maybe. A house cleaner suggested scrubbing with a degreaser to remove the buildup of Mop and Go. The steamer has a brass brush, so I began working on tiles yesterday.

So far so MEH, so the plan is to continue steam cleaning today, see how it goes.

While running the steamer, I suddenly flashed back to my cleaning mom’s kitchen floor the way she taught me to — which was how she was taught to do as a kid growing up in the country.

I was around 10/12 years old, when we lived in a one-story house that was extremely low to the ground.

I don’t recall what kind of kitchen flooring was in the house — probably linoleum but, when called upon to clean the floor, I’d grab the garden hose, drag it inside, run water from the hose onto the floor, around and under appliances, direct the dirt and grime out the kitchen door, then sweep any remaining water out the door.

It was effective and fun.

I also remember us kids waxing the living room floor by skating around with socks on our feet.

One country taught baking system had the girls at work in stitches when, having a cake baking discussion, I mentioned my method for checking doneness was to put my ear close to the pan — careful to move my hair out of the way, not burn the side of my face and just listen to the cake.

Hearing sizzling, it was back in the oven. No sizzling, the cake was done.

Their jaws dropped in disbelief. They said they’d never heard of the listening method, and laughed their butts off.

Didn’t bother me because my coworkers were all years younger than I. Millenniums and Generation Z’s all born into fancy doodads, fancy ways and kitchen appliances that were not available when I was growing up.

At any rate, if I could still eat cake, I’d bake one and use the listening method yet and still to test doneness.

In fact, that memory has me so craving cake that I think I’ll head to the market for pineapple to try my hand at making a gluten-free upside down cake using brown rice flour.

I don't think brown rice flour can do my gut much harm, but I'm about to find out.

Field of Dreams

Because of the drought, grass here at the senior complex is dying. It’s not unusual to see small patches of brown spots appearing and, on the grassy knoll, there is one huge patch of brown …. or at least there was.

Returning to my unit one day last week, I noticed there was something different about the grassy knoll. Couldn’t put my finger on it but, once back upstairs, I went to my bedroom window, which gives me the best view, looked out and noticed the brown patch was gone. Had mysteriously disappeared. 

Before

After

How is that possible? thought I. Did they paint it? Can grass be painted?

Evidently yes, grass can be painted because, heading out to run a quick errand today, I saw a landscaper on the knoll doing just that … painting the grass.

Quite a clever hack.

Speaking of grass, I’ve been hearing so much about some kind of baseball game where Kevin Costner reenacted Field of Dreams.

Wanting to see what the hubbub was all about, I looked it up on YouTube and though some said Costner’s coming through the corn, walking onto the field, looking around, and then baseball players coming through the corn was cheesy, I found it touching, emotional. Especially when some of the players walked over to Costner, shook his hand (even though we’re not supposed to be doing that in his pandemic age — shake hands).

Of course, with no interest in baseball, I stopped watching after someone said “Play ball”.

Speaking of hacks, I spent majority of the day trying out that tile cleaning hack given me by the Dermatologist’s assistant (nurse?) of using Clorox Blue Toilet Bowl Gel.

Turned out to be just another fail in a long line of fails I’ve tried over the years to get the tiles looking spot free, brand spanking new.

That business of her telling me there was no scrubbing, turned out to not be the case. I did see some little difference once I applied the usual elbow grease, but I wasn’t about to wear myself out vigorously scrubbing tile all day/half the night — been there done that.

Instead, I pulled out the steam cleaner, which has a scrubbing attachment.

Still, at the end of the day, this hack — just like all of the many products I’ve tried over the years to get into the creases/crevices of tile, didn’t work any better than anything else.

Oh well. Maybe the tile is not as pretty as I would like, but definitely clean. Plus, on a non-workout day I logged in 4,665 steps, burned 1,350 calories.

It's a win/win.

Nothing to See Here

My life is back to being quiet and uneventful, nothing interesting or entertaining going on ─ and I like it like this.

The latest needlepoint project ─ now 11 months, 1500 hours in, is coming along.

Progress: January - May

Progress: May - July

Other than needlepoint, it’s been cooking ─ which I hate to cook and cleaning ─ which oddly enough I don’t mind at all, probably because cleaning is like exercise, burns a lot of calories.

When I say a lot of calories, I do mean a LOT. For instance, the day I steam cleaned the bathroom, the fitbit tracker logged 3,577 steps, 1.7 miles, 1,348 calories. The day I washed kitchen cabinets, steam cleaned the tile floor, and shampooed the carpet, fitbit logged 2,859 steps, 1.3 miles, 1,274 calories. I even managed to log in 1.5 miles, 3,161 steps, 1,125 calories just grocery shopping. Probably because of walking up and down the stairs to/from the car, unloading, then putting groceries away.

And I need to burn as many extra calories as I can right now because, following the Gut Specialists orders to “Eat gluten free and low Fodmap” I put on a few pounds.

I don’t need a Specialist to charge my plan $1700 for one session and a follow up phone call to gain weight, as I can gain weight all by myself ... for free. Plus, the Specialist tried her hardest to set me up with a Dietician. No telling how much that was going to cost ... and she tried so hard to get me to sign up for it that I began to wonder if she was getting a kickback.

At any rate, after enjoying gluten free eating ─ and I did enjoy it because I was able to eat cereals, pasta, cake, etc., so long as it was gluten free or I myself made it with gluten free flour, but I didn’t enjoy loosening the belt on my fanny pack ─ twice. So I took what seemed logical from what I learned on Fodmap, dropped anything having to do with gluten free, and became my own Dietician ─ with good results, as I’m having no gut episodes of late, slowly coming back down on the weight side and don’t feel hungry all the time which, I learned from the experience, was another offshoot of gluten free eating.

During that last telephone appointment with the Specialist ─ the one wherein she tried to get me to sign up with a Dietician, she indicated she’d check back with me in a few months to see if I was ready to sign up for it. I think she knew following her instructions was going to cause weight gain, resulting in getting more money out of me with a Dietician, but the joke is on her. I’m good now. Don’t need either of them. So, I’ll not accept the telephone appointment.

Speaking of appointments ─ deciding that if the world did not end on the scheduled Dooms Day of Wednesday, July 22nd, that early morning dental appointment on Friday was going to be too much of a hassle. So, I called the dental office and asked that my 7 a.m., with D on the 24th be scheduled to the next available appointment at a more reasonable time of day.

“We don’t show you with an appointment on the 24th and we don’t have a D”.

“That’s impossible. I just scheduled it. This is Dr T’s office is it not?”

“Yes, Dr. T is still here, but your hygienist was M and she’s no longer with us.”

Long story short, after much confusion as to who my hygienist was/is, I did get a rescheduled appointment and a new hygienist, but you can’t imagine how upset I would have been had I pushed myself to get up early and to the dental office by 7 a.m. only to find out I had no appointment.

If I don’t get a card from them verifying the rescheduled appointment, I’ll be sure to call the day before ─ just in case.

Living to 76 years of age, I’ve seen three well-liked hygienist move on with their lives through retirement. I’m surprised Dr. T ─ whom I’ve referred to in the blog as Dr. McDreamy because he’s a silver fox, hasn’t retired. On the other hand, he probably can’t retire because he became a father late in life. He’ll probably have to hang on until his son, now about 15, gets through college.

So along with outliving three hygienists, if the world does not end on Wednesday, I will have also made it through three End of the World predicted Dooms Days.

There’s probably been more, but I only remember one when I was in my early 20’s, another back in 2011 labeled “The Rapture/Day of Judgment” when “the chosen” were to be lifted.

Pranksters got a good laugh out of that one.

Living in Long Beach at the time, where I’d interrupted my retirement to relocate so granddaughter could have a place to live and finish school after her mom ─ deep into her lost period, had gone off the deep end, deserted and left granddaughter on her own. A move I came to deeply regret as granddaughter, instead of blaming her mom, took it out on me ─ spurred on by her mom, unable to accept responsibility for where she found herself in life, would call granddaughter, instill blame for the way she’d screwed her own life on me, furthering granddaughters cruel words and mistreatment. After all I'd been through and was giving up at that time, it was the unkindest cut of all and cut so deep that it broke me emotionally, mentally and darn near financially to where I had no choice but to Let Go and Let God with the both of them in order to survive.

I relocated to where I am now and divorced myself from family for a number of years, until I received an apology from granddaughter through Twin 2. Twin 1 never ever apologized because it’s not in her to do so ─ at least not to me because she sees the past differently than I do. Instead, she invited me to Thanksgiving in 2017. She'd had an awakening of sort, was on a more positive path, and Thanksgiving was her way of mending fences ─ to go on with life as usual, pretend as though nothing happened. LOL.

At any rate, it had taken years for me to mend, but I felt it was time, give the family thing another go and reconnected to where I now have a decent relationship with granddaughter and her mom. However, it will never be what it could have been had I not had the experiences I had with them. I wish I could forget, but some wounds won’t heal, so I play lip service to it all, play the game, go through the motion of giving a damn, act as a mother should, a grandmother should, but I’m happy all by myself ... alone.

For a minute there, I got so off track that I forgot where I was going with this, which was I was living in Long Beach, out walking that Day of Judgment, and lucked up on the work of a prankster.

"Lifted" right out of his clothes

Now here we are in 2020, with yet another Dooms Day End of the World prediction ─ this one with the caveat of a Second Coming.

I have my own theory about the Second Coming of Christ, which I’ll keep to myself, but I dare say that with all we’ve had to deal with thus far into 2020, and the possibility No. 45 might cheat himself into another win, some of us probably wish this really was the End.

Well, it looks like though I titled this post "Nothing to see here", I ended up saying quite a lot.

Out with the Old ...

In with the new, but only because I had no choice. 

My trusty little Hoover Carpet Steam Cleaner, warranted for only two years, actually lasted seven before finally breaking down middle of September.

The Hoover didn’t so much as break down as it was I broke it.

I saw some clumps of sludge inside the clear plastic circled area, didn’t know how to get the cover off to clean, so I began sticking thin objects up into openings at the bottom to pull the sludge out.

I successfully cleared that area out, but then the Hoover began moaning and groaning and, instead of squirting solution water, started to pour out onto the carpet, so I called it a loss and got rid of the old Hoover.

Since then, I’ve been going back and forth as to whether I should call in a professional carpet cleaning service or replace. 

I never did get that free professional cleaning I’d won at one of the Residents/Management meetings. The Complex Manager was fired before arrangements could be made, and knowing I’d have better luck winning the Powerball than getting Corporate to live up to the deal, I didn’t waste my time. I just continued to clean my own carpet until I killed the Hoover.

After research and reflection, I finally yesterday decided the less bothersome route is to replace.

Then the decision was ... do I head to Best Buy and struggle with getting a big heavy box up the stairs to my unit, or do I open the box in the car ─ to lighten the load, and try to get the new Hoover upstairs in pieces, or do I let my fingers do the work.

The choice was easy, I ordered online, so the delivery people can drop it at my front door which, I’m told, will be tomorrow.

So that out of the way, next on the bucket list is to recertify my eligibility to live here. I’m scheduled to meet with the Assistant Manager and submit eligibility paperwork at 3:00 today.

Eligibility is that 1) You’re 55 years of age or older 2) You have no criminal record and 3) You meet the financial guidelines, i.e., a good credit background and limited income.

I’m still over 55, haven’t been arrested yet, my credit score is okay, but I am over the income limit.

When I recertified last year, after being blessed with that windfall, Assistant Manager indicated I still qualified because I’m grandfathered in irregardless of my income. That being said, I don't see why I still have to go through this process. But it is what it is and, unless the rules have changed in regards to my being grandfathered, I should be good for another year or until I myself decide to move on.

Today is Pizza Tuesday and, because Apache texted me yesterday saying ICE was here and took Assistant Manager’s husband away, because he was in the country illegally (from British Honduras), I’d better go down to check on what the folks are up to and whether I still have a 3:00 appointment, because Apache also indicated she may not be here because of what happened to her husband.

When she took the job and moved into the unit Corporate provided, she was divorced from that guy. Then, all of a sudden, he began coming around, staying in the unit and she remarried him. Since then, it’s been one trauma after another for her. First, shortly after she remarried the guy, he got deathly ill, which my spidey sense tells me he knew he was ill, didn’t want to be alone, sweet talked his way back into her life to have someone to take care of him.

His illness so stressed her that she gained weight, got sick herself.

He began to recover, she recovered, he had a relapse and now there’s ICE.

Two lessons I’ve learned from watching her drama is 1) Never go back (as in take him back) and 2) Sometimes it’s better to be alone. Being alone is not always easy, but it’s easier.