On the 12th Day of Christmas

I’m beginning to worry about me because, since last Friday, I’ve had three senior moments.

First was when, cleaning out the car at the coin car wash, I tossed the second pair of trekking poles that turned out to be useless.

The first sets I purchased wouldn’t tighten. Returned ‘em.

The second set tightened, but kept coming loose and collapsing. I made ‘em work by using crazy glue, but the glue didn’t hold for long.

The third set were keepers — got me through the rough terrain of the Mission Inn 5K. So, cleaning out the car at the coin wash on Friday, seeing the useless second set still in the car, I tossed them in the trash, went on my way.

A day later, when I went to use one pole from the third set, because I felt a little unsteady on my feet, I realized I’d toss the wrong ones — the third set of poles instead of the useless second set.

Next senior moment was when I addressed the Talker by another resident’s name.

Third senior moment was when I arrived at the dentist this morning for my 10:00 cleaning, only to learn my appointment is for 10:00 Thursday not today, Tuesday.

Luckily for me the 10:00 cancelled, so they were able to take me in her place.

I caught a break and it worked out for me but, with three senior moments so close together, I’m thinking I need to slow down. I’m closing in on 80 years of age and need things to slow down.

A meditation retreat would be appreciated — not like at that cold dreary location where a session was held last year, but something at the beach, like was held back in 2018.

I'm not holding out hope for such a session, as the seers/gurus/spiritual teachers have passed on. So, meditation retreats are now as rare as in-person live 5Ks are becoming.

Things will slow down tomorrow, as that’s the day we have a power outage for maintenance. However, Trainer’s Wife tells me they had the planned outage at their place last Wednesday, and 8:00 to 11:00 am turned out to be 8:00 to 3:00 pm.

So, with no TV and TikTok to distract me after tomorrow’s workout, I may be able to finally finish reading The In-Between get started on The Old Gays.

Though I really hate having to go to the dentist, the fact that Umbrella Alley is at the backside of the office made me feel a little better about having to go.

I offered to take a photo for the couple and they accepted, so that’s my good deed for the day.

Dropout

The weekend meditation retreat turned into an overnighter. I dropped out and am now back in my comfortable quiet little unit while class is still in session — doesn’t end until noon today.

Having developed (through years of study and working with enlightened teachers) the tools to handle whatever life throws at me without losing my shiz, I didn’t really need a retreat, but I’d nevertheless been looking forward to experiencing the rise meditating with a group of like-minded souls usually brings.

Then, just two weeks before I was to leave for the retreat, all hell broke loose in the area I’d be staying.

If you’ve been reading my blog for any length of time, you know I believe in signs.

First sign was the Coastal Fire that took with it homes in the upscale neighborhood of Laguna Hills; and when I say upscale, I mean waaaay upscale … mansions … price range $10 million and more.

It gave me pause that the fire was raging out of control only 9 miles away from where I'd be staying, and I watched over the days as it went from 15% to 25% to 70% contained whereupon I decided not to cancel the trip because it would be 100% by the time I headed out that way.

Then came the mass shooting at a church only 5 miles away from where I’d be staying.

I didn’t feel as though I’d be driving into danger, but I did speak to the universe to give me a clear yes or no if these were signs I wasn't to go since whatever was going on appeared to be getting closer to where I would be.

Then, just days before I was to leave, my credit card got hacked …. again.

The sums were minimal — $18 at Overstock, $13 at some Motor Club and my spidey sense told me it’s one of the girls at the new dental office making the charges.

She just didn’t expect I’d notice and be on it so fast, but no matter. I cancelled the card, will pay cash at this dental office in future, and had a new card issued, Fed Ex’d to me in time to not interfere with my plans and again spoke to the universe. Only this time, I asked the universe to do something specific, like flatten a tire, as a clear sign I was not to go to the meditation retreat.

Believe it or not, the morning I was to leave, the car alerted that the rear tire — that previously had a leak, was losing air again. So, on the way out of town I stopped at the tire place to double check. The tire guy said the car was giving me a wrong reading, the tire was fine so, instead of turning around and going back home, I kept going — drove to Laguna.

The weather was cold and dreary when I arrived and walking into the hotel room was like walking into a refrigerator.

Maintenance showed up, MacGyvered the A/C equipment to where it would put out heat but only with the fan running.

So much for a 5-Star hotel.

The hotel was fully booked, there wasn't a room I could switch to, so I had to tough it out.

First meditation session that evening at 7:45 was a raucous affair.

It was a much smaller group than I’m accustomed to ─ around 30 souls and they were a chatty group of elderly students so happy at seeing other students and old friends that they couldn’t contain themselves.

Some came from local cities ─ some flew in. One said he came from Florida, one from San Francisco.

I’m trying to meditate and it’s yakety yak as others asked where I was from. One guy introduced himself as Claire.

Seriously.

He said he wasn’t the only guy in his family named Claire. It was some sort of tradition to carry the name down through generations ─ though he said his grandfather flatly refused to call him Claire. His grandad called him Carl.

Fascinating, but I wasn't there for a meet and greet.

Protocol is when one enters the room, one is to be quiet, begin meditating, set the atmosphere for when the teacher arrives.

Most didn’t stop yakking until the teacher walked in. The mood had not been set, I was thrown off center from the yakety yak and, consequently, wasn’t getting anywhere once the teacher began meditating to lift us. I was stuck taxiing on the runway, when I should have been taking off.

Back in the room after that session, I had to contend with the droning of the fan and woke up Saturday with the beginnings of a sore throat from the heat level not being where I needed it to be.

At least the microwave worked, so I was able to feed myself before heading to the 10am session, where it was once again yakety yakety yak when there should have been silence.

The woman who’d arranged for the retreat asked everyone to please quiet down, meditate, set the mood as the teacher was to arrive in 15 minutes.

Most, not all, complied.

In addition to the unruly elderly students inside the room, there were also some unruly children running up and down the hallway.

As I closed my eyes and tried to block everyone out, center myself, I heard one of the kids in the hallway say, "Is someone dead?".

Evidently, he’d peeked in through the open door, saw what he interpreted as having to do with a funeral.

Opening my eyes, looking at the stage where the teacher was to sit, I noticed it kinda did look like a coffin, draped in a black cloth, old people sitting around.

With what the kid said and that image in my mind as the session began, my getting anywhere was again a lost cause. "Is someone dead" suddenly became funny to the point where I had to stiffle an out loud laugh and kept thinking I’ve got to get a photo of what the kid saw to post on the blog (which I did sneak back later, when few were around, and snapped a photo).

While my mind was wandering as a result of what the kid said, I remembered when I was sitting on the steps of a pool and it was so peaceful, so quiet that I began to meditate.

All of a sudden I’m snapped back to earth by the sound of a kid calling out to me "Excuse me Ma’am! Ma’am! Ma’am!".

"Yes?" I replied.

"Oh. Just checking. You weren’t moving so I thought you were dead".

When that incident came to mind, I had to once again stifle an inappropriate laugh out loud. Instead, I started smiling, grinning like the Cheshire Cat at the memory. If any of the students happened to be watching me at the time, they probably thought I’d reached the level of supreme joy in meditation, when in actuality my mind was actually a million miles away from the space we were in.

So, anyway, I survived Saturday morning’s session, which ended at noon and inasmuch as it was still cold and dreary outside, it was back to the hotel room — throat still sore and beginning to sniffle where I put in some reading time — finally finished the book I’d started on last year, and took a nap.

I did attend the 3:45 afternoon session, got a few takeaways to ponder, but never left the ground, spiritually speaking. So, heading back to the hotel room knowing there was no point to hanging around for this morning’s session and that if I spent another night in that room’s fan I was going to get very sick, I packed my bags, checked out and was back in my comfortable little unit where, after immediately gargling with warm water and vinegar to heal my throat, I was comfortably on the couch in time to see Midsomer Murders on the BBC channel.

Retreat

New rollers on patio screen ... done.

Lock box ... still attached to railing.

Candy Crush Saga ... false alarm. Twas a temporary glitz that left me with more time for reading when CCS disappeared from Facebook. CCS is back on the platform. I'm once again wasting time gaming instead of reading.

Me ... on the road heading for weekend meditation retreat.

Off the grid until Monday.

Burnt Bridges

I’ve been busy with working out, cooking against my will (trying out recipes that won’t upset my gut), and needlepoint. My schedule is free of reading material, as I've nothing new to read since finishing up Vicky Ward’s book.

Finished It

Such a sad pathetic family No 45 has.

They have money, power, some not all have looks, but all are so warped, damaged by greed that I feel pity, rather than disgust.

At any rate, my favorite author Walter Mosley had two new books come out while I was reading Kushner Inc. and these other three ....

Finished 'Em

But, what with my other activities, I’ve not the time for catching up with Mosley’s books right now.

Except for Friday when, after that trip to the desolate looking senior center, I returned home and jumped directly on the indoor bike and did six miles, I let Trainer and myself down remainder of the weekend.

The fitbit, on days not with him, generally register some activity, at least 55 – 60%, but I didn’t do any moving on Saturday. Just sat on the couch thinking/meditating, staring out the patio window into space, occasionally seeing residents go here/there/up/down the pathway.

Sunday was more of the same ─ thinking, meditating, staring into space, glimpses of seniors, except I did put the fitbit on and managed to register 32% puttering around in the unit.

During my sabbatical from activity, I heard sirens approaching and seem to stop out front.

That happens so often with the old people suffering falls, heat exhaustion, death, that I no longer head outside to see who/what. It’s sad to say, but I’ve become desensitized. I never left my perch on the couch.

Then, on Sunday, seeing residents walk down the pathway obviously, from how dressed, heading off to church, it occurred to me .... I haven’t seen The Seer or Shadow on the pathway. In fact, I’ve not seen either of then since Apache’s birthday when they gave him the unwrapped gift of a watch.

Not seeing either of them is a pretty big deal because, regular as clockwork, Shadow was on the pathway, coffee cup in hand, heading to The Seer’s unit for breakfast. Along about noon, you’d see the two of them heading for his unit and/or off somewhere for lunch/an excursion. On Sundays, it was off to church for the two of them.

So thick were they that I’d prophesized a wedding in their future.

And seeing their comings/goings on the path, it’s not that I’m spying on them. More like they put themselves in my line of vision when I’m staring off into space, looking at nothing.

At any rate, I’ll have to catch up with Apache, ask what’s happened to them, do they even still live here, thought I.

During this morning’s training session, Trainer said, “There was some trouble at your building on Saturday”.

Don’t know if he was driving by and spotted police and fire rescue, or saw from his studio, but I admitted hearing the commotion but that I was too desensitized to go outside and check on who/what, but guessed it was probably a death.

It was.

Immediately after working out, I’d popped into the market and who did I see but my buddy Apache.

He tells me the death was a woman who lived on the opposite side of the complex. Long time readers might recall her as the Woman Who Runs into Things ─ she backed into the decorative median in front of the complex, ran over the flowers, backed into and bent the tree, then almost hit the back end of a car she was following through the gate.

Her car has all kinds of dents and dings from other things she’s obviously hit, all of which is how she’s been tagged with the name Nancy The One Who Runs into Things (NWRiT), in order to distinguish her from the other Nancy we have 0n the property.

NWRiT was found deceased fairly quickly by a neighbor who’d heard noise in her unit, described as bumps and banging around.

Accustomed to Nancy running into things, inside and outside, the neighbor didn’t check right away but said, a little while later, something told her to. The door to Nancy’s unit is always unlocked, so the neighbor went in, found her sprawled out in the front room, called authorities.

NWRiT was lucky to have been checked on and handled so quickly.

When I asked Apache if The Seer and Shadow still live here, the answer was yes, but Shadow is no longer attending church with Seer, no longer even driving The Seer to church. Neither ever comes to Bingo now, and Shadow no longer comes to the game room to shoot pool with the guys.

I haven't even seen him outside smoking", as is his habit, said I.

"He's in his unit drinking", said Apache.

It appears both are keeping a low profile.

Awkward!

Whatever happened between the two, I imagine The Seer is embarrassed because she got on her high horse at landing a man, angry and defensive because she'd settled on a man who made her look desperate to be in a relationship, and burned so many bridges.

And this explains why, on Sunday, I saw the other Nancy on that walkway.

What’s she up to; she’s never down this way was my immediate thought, as I saw her pushing her walker on the path.

Dollars to donuts, it’s because Shadow lives down that way.

She’d pressed up on him when he first moved in, but had come on so strong that she scared him away and into the arms of The Seer. I wouldn’t put it past him to be more amenable now, making it even more awkward for The Seer.

Looks like the beginning of an interesting soap opera.

Good Friday It Was Not!

Arriving early for this morning’s dental procedure, the plan was to calm myself by meditating in the car before heading in. However, seeing a crowd at the end of the road, thinking it was a Farmer’s Market, I parked, walked over.

Definitely not a Farmer’s Market. Instead, it was a “Turn Back” abortion protest at the Planned Parenthood building.

I didn’t know people still did that sort of thing.

The posters they held up as they chanted and prayed were something out of nightmares, so one glance had me heading back to check in at the dental office. 

Speaking of nightmares, the procedure was not fun and, just when I made it through, thinking it was over, glad it was over, that I’d put it behind me, Mc Dreamy said, “I’ll turn you over to Jenny and see you in two weeks”.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’LL SEE ME IN TWO WEEKS !!!!”

“Jenny will put in a temporary”.

“WHAT?! WHY?!”

“The lab has to make the permanent”.

“%#!$!”

“The next part should be easy. No needle”.

I had no idea this was a two-stage process. 

In fact, I don’t remember ever having a cap done in the first place, and the putting in of a temporary (in my previous dentist's office), returning two weeks later for a permanent, is something I'm not likely to forget. I’ve had fillings where they slap in some metal and you’re outta there, but they are assuring me it was a cap not a filling, and at one time I must have experienced this before.

It must have been in another life, or I was so traumatized I'd pushed it out of my memory bank, but whatever. I'm just hoping nothing else goes wrong because I can’t go through this again.

By early afternoon, my jaw hurt. I was in tears, and I'm a person that never cries. 

By late afternoon, the pain had subsided and it was business as usual.

I skipped today’s Pain Cave activity homework. My poor body had suffered enough trauma for one day.

Springing Forward

It doesn’t seem logical that time springing forward one hour would throw me so off center but with that time change, along with all the chaos going on in the world running through my head, the day has been challenging. Starting with my not being able to fall asleep last night.

There I was ─ tossing, turning.

Sleep wouldn't come, so I turned on the lights and put in some reading time.

Unlike Bob Woodward’s book Fear, which was so boring that I’d get sleepy after a page or two, Cliff Sim’s book made not being sleepy worse because it’s so interesting, stimulating, a lot of laugh out loud funny.

It must have been around 1:00/2:00 that I put down the book, picked up the tape player and popped in a meditation tape.

That did the trick because next thing I knew, I was waking up ... but late, very late ─ 9:30 a.m.

Waking up so late didn’t give me the time to putter around that I usually need before I decide to start living. And, but for the fact I HAD to make a Sprout’s and Ralphs market run, because I was out of staples and also needed to pick up something for tomorrow’s Saint Patrick’s Day potluck, I’d have blown off the entire day.

Getting dressed turned into a circus because, after picking out a pair of warm socks, I lost one between the bedroom sock drawer and the couch.

After looking here, there, back/forth from one room to another, I gave up, sat down on the couch to collect my thoughts and ......

There the missing sock was, on my left foot.

I began to reconsider trusting myself outside, but carried on.

The wind was howling so, not wanting to drive 20 miles, I took a chance on that new Sprout’s ─ where the parking lot had been so crazy.

No problem today. There was not a line at that chicken place, no armed guards, and plenty of parking. However, I did see a sign on the door of Sprout’s that I’ve never seen in any market anywhere, any time.

I got in, out and on to my next stop without getting shot, but what the heck is that sign about?

Did someone actually come in and do their grocery shopping while carrying a gun?

At any rate, I hurriedly picked up what few items I couldn’t get at Sprouts, and something easy peasy for tomorrow’s potluck at the next stop.

It’s a good thing that Sweet Tooth had run its course, and I’m now not remotely tempted, because these on my counter overnight would have been dangerous.

At any rate, as I turned to push my purchases away, after going through the checkout line, the casher got my attention with “Ma’am, Ma’am”.

I turned, puzzled and asked, “Did I not give you enough (money)?”

“You didn’t give me any”, said she.

Still puzzled, trying to put it all together, I realized the cash was still in my hand.

“Oh”, said I. “That’s why I’m carrying this in my hand”.

I made it home without further incident, but I can’t wait for this day to end, and will probably stay home until my mind, body, spirit adjusts to this time change.

Countdown to 2019

Except for fending off an invitation to join in on feeding the homeless this past Saturday, on the streets of Skid Row in Los Angeles, the past week has been totally absolutely completely uneventful as I head into a new year.

There’s a superstition I’ve been careful not to test that what you do at the end of one year, the people you are in contact with, as you go into the next year, is a portent of that next year.

I can remember not answering the phone on New Years Eve, because I didn’t want my last contact to be the person I knew was probably making the call. A certain someone I didn’t want to be the last person I spoke with because I didn’t want that person in my life the next year.

So, the idea of standing for hours in filth and squalor, no place to sit, no bathroom, surrounded by the downtrodden ─ many who are so sick and unappreciative (hurling insults, calling you all kinds of beoches) and so dangerous that a motorcycle club has to stand guard as security while you put yourself out to help. No thanks!

I didn’t want or need that experience and the images of Skid Row in my head as 2018 ends and 2019 begins, so I opted to spend this past week being quiet, reflective, meditative, listening to the thoughts running through my head as I was being quiet, reflective, meditative.

The seniors are getting an early start (2:00 today) to their New Year’s Eve party.

Because I’m on the verge of no longer qualifying to live in this limited income community, because my income is not all that limited any longer, I don’t want to jinx myself that the superstition of no contact means not taking this community with me into 2019, so I’ll go down to see what’s shaking just so I can hopefully lock myself in for another year. However, looking at all the hugging that went on when I dropped into the party last New Year's Eve, I’ll be certain to lie and say I’m coming back when I slip away.

I can no longer cap off the year with my favorite indulgence, Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia, because of gut issues.

Fortunately, I’ve learned the gut likes champagne and I’ve got a stash of those little Martinelli’s, so I’ll spend tonight being quiet, reflective, meditative, drinking Martinelli, toasting to a Happy and Prosperous New Year to you all.

Fire Weather

Waking up this morning, feeling like I’d had a full night’s sleep, out of bed I popped, feeling energetic and ready to get the day started.

Then I looked at the clock.

It was 1:45!

I don’t usually wake up that early unless my subconscious is telling me there’s a disturbance in the force, so I looked around the unit, outside through the windows, perked my ears, but saw and heard nothing.

Not ready to try to go back to sleep, I booted up the computer, logged onto facebook and saw my Archeologist friend had posted this …

That’s behind the University, where I’d planned to go walking today.

Thinking my spidey sense had awakened me at 1:45 because I needed to be concerned, I opened the patio windows, stepped out, listened for sirens, smelled for smoke. Having neither heard nor seen either, I decided it was safe to go back to bed, only I wasn’t sleepy.

Knowing I was going to have a hard time falling back asleep, I meditated for a bit THEN pulled out something better than a sleeping pill --- Bob Woodward’s Fear.

I STILL haven’t finished that book, but it’s not that I’m a slow reader, it’s because, unless you’re a History buff, the book is soooooo bloody slow, soooooo boring, a snooze fest. I’m lucky if I can get through six pages without yawning and then getting too sleepy to continue reading.

At any rate, after the book put me back to sleep, I reawaken at 7:00, checked to see what was happening behind the University and found fire services had everything under control. The fire was out.

Strange though that I didn’t hear engines or helicopters.

Looking at what happened in Paradise California — where the entire town has burned to the ground, and seeing what's happening in Malibu, I’m taking last night’s sleepus interruptus as a warning and reevaluating my priorities.

There is nothing in this unit I value more than the 15 Creative Memory Albums and, considering the Jeep I bought back in March doesn’t have near as much trunk and back seat space as the Saturn I had before, those albums and important papers are my saves. The two laptops can be replaced and, much as I love my sewing machine, that too can be replaced. A couple pair of leggings, tops, pj’s and toiletries are in the go-bag, but the go-bag comes after the albums and important papers, only if time permits --- because I can always buy more clothes and toiletries.

Heading over to the campus to put in some walking miles, and collect Poké Balls, didn’t happen. It was way too windy for that. Instead, I joined the seniors for November Birthday Celebration in the Community Room.

Attendance was sparse. Actually, only one with a birthday this month made an appearance. Then there was myself, The Baker, younger sister, older sister, The Seer and, of course, her Shadow. We all came just to support the event. But, with the poor attendance, I doubt the new Community Manager, whose event it was, will bother with December birthdays.

Checking the bulletin board, I see 42 residents have signed up for the catered Thanksgiving affair.

That’s quite good. The room will be full.

The Pause that Refreshes

The three-day meditation retreat was a nice respite.

Checking into the room, pulling back the curtains, my view was Mother’s Beach/Marina Beach.

The Beach, being directly across the street, I immediately headed out to run my toes through the sand.

The sand was warm.

I wonder how long my footprints lasted.

The red arrow is a view of my room from the Beach side of the street.

There were fabulous restaurants in the hotel and within walking distance but, of course, I had to pass on eating out so as not to get sick during or after the session. What with my Instant Pot and Mini Toaster (to toast my self-made bagels), I turned a corner of the room into a kitchen.

It’s a good thing the hotel offered the option of Daily Maid Service or travel rewards for opting out because, even though the room was posted for "No Smoking" and not "No Cooking", I wasn’t sure if I’d get in trouble for cooking in the room, so I opted out because I didn’t want the Maid to see and turn me in.

I made a new enlightened friend at the session, caught up with an old enlightened friend, made it to the beach often ─ early morning before session and during the long lunch break, and made it to the Venice Boardwalk on Sunday afternoon, after the session was over.

Would you believe I grew up just a hop skip jump from the World-Famous Boardwalk and never went? 

I missed seeing the Boardwalk during those Muscle Beach days, because I was young, not street savvy, didn’t think it was safe ─ because I carried myself like a victim and consequently got myself victimized day and night.

Now that I’m old, street savvy and carry myself like I’m not to be messed with, I had no problem heading out alone for the Boardwalk during the day, but learned from the hotel concierge that the Boardwalk is not safe during evening and night hours for anyone.

From some of the people I saw, the ganja I smelled, he didn’t lie, but the Boardwalk was fun, interesting.

Sand Sculpture

???? Your guess is as good as mine

Looks like the beginning of a mermaid

Definitely a mermaid

Driving on the freeway to the retreat, I spied a mural I just had to take a photo of. Traffic was too thick to exit then, but I made a point of finding my way to the building where I’d seen that mural on the way home this morning.

Found it.

Fabulous!

So returning to the complex feeling refreshed, energetic, emotionally lite, I don’t want to come down just yet -- get bogged down by the seniors with their complaints and dramas, so I doubt I’ll be checking in for a while.

The Sage is Always Quiet

Except for the Funeral and Cemetery Scams, Tuesday’s scam workshop wasn’t anything I didn’t already know about.

I don’t answer my cellphone if it’s a number I do not recognize, so that keeps me clear of telemarketing/phone scammers.

I’m not trying to stay young forever and I don’t like pain or needles, so I’m not likely to get caught up in fraudulent Anti-Aging Products or renegade Botox.

As for the Grandparent Scam, I did just recently get a call from granddaughter that she was in a bind and needed money, but I knew for sure it was she, and feel comfortable I’d be wise enough to recognize a voice and/or double check if a scammer posed as a fake family member in need, requesting money be sent via Western Union or MoneyGram. Plus, again, if the number popping up on my phone is not one I recognize, I wouldn’t even take the call.

The Email/Phishing Scams are a tougher trap to stay clear of, but I do try to be careful of where I go online, what I open and keep my virus protection up-to-date.

That Funeral and Cemetery Scam was totally new to me and involves scammers reading obituaries, calling or attending funeral services and taking advantage of the grieving by claiming the deceased had an outstanding debt with them.

Never heard of that one, have you? But, again, I don’t answer the phone when the caller’s number is unknown to me, and I seriously doubt the scammer would leave a message. As to attending the funeral ...  some of the folks in my family are on the rough side, so good luck to the scammer coming in, trying something like that and getting out alive.

All in all, the workshop was okay and could have been better if one of the residents hadn’t had to constantly interject her two cents in with long-winded boring comments.

I kept trying to catch her eye and send her shut up vibes, but she wasn’t positioned to where she could see me.

Her jibber jabber was so distracting and so annoying that I began to loudly sigh.

She paid no mind.

I began thinking it might be a good idea to bang my head on the table to make the pain stop.

She continued interrupting the speaker ever few seconds to tell of her knowledge and experience and what she’s seen, heard, read on that particular scam.

I began chanting “shut up shut up shut up” under my breath and, when I reached the point where I thought I might lose control and yell “SHUT UP” out loud, I decided it best to leave, which is what I did.

Heading back to my unit, I stopped to pick up mail (Damaged mail area still not repaired. Those impacted residents still have to pick up at the post office) and got into a conversation with a neighbor, not present at the workshop. She asked what was discussed, I gave her a recap and said I’d left early because Little Miss Jibber Jabber wouldn’t stop talking.

She immediately knew who I was speaking of, because Jibber Jabber is always getting told in Bingo and in meetings to quiet down, because she not only talks too much, but talks over speakers, talks over the Bingo caller and talks so loudly that others can’t hear.

At any rate, this neighbor thinks Jibber Jabber’s problem is she lives alone and people that live alone, once out, with an opportunity to communicate with others, can’t stop talking.

“I live alone”, said I “And I’m not out here running my mouth just to hear myself talk”.

“Good point”, said she.

Thinking about it later, I remembered years ago hearing a quote, something to the effect that “The sage is always quiet”. Sage being the quiet meditative deep thinkers of the world.

My mom, who never understood me or forgave me for having a personality that reminded her of my father’s side of the family, put my sage like peaceful quiet demeanor in a different context, “Still water runs dirty” she’d say of me.

I’d rather be known as a dirty deep thinker than a jibber jabbering air head.

And speaking of dirty, Stormy Daniels has written a tell-all book. I’m not the least bit interested in reading it, but I ran across an excerpt that describes the Orange Traitor’s very personal body part in terms that made me go “eweee” and think “poor Melania”. I can’t repeat what was said, but if you want to read it, go here.

On tap for today is a manicure/pedicure and tomorrow I’m off to that meditation retreat. I’ll return on Monday, just in time for the Senate Judiciary Hearing. Kavanaugh’s Accuser may or may not testify. I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t because I’m still traumatized by what I saw happen to Anita Hill. Either way, I won’t watch because I’m expecting to come back on a high and don’t want the Committee’s ignorance and abuse of the woman to bring me down.

Oh, and by the way, we do have a new Community Manager. I understand her first day in the office was last Friday.

I met her as I was walking out of the workshop. She seems nice, but let’s see how long before Corporate changes that.

Running on Empty

Just when my sleep pattern had returned to a more acceptable wake up time of 4:30, alert and raring to go, worry kept me awake all last night until around 5:00 this morning. I dozed off for a bit, but was awake and alert at 6:30, anxious to perform my morning ritual and head down to the mail room to check on that which kept me awake and worrying all night.

Though the mail carrier had indicated not to leave mail in the outgoing slot -- to give the mail directly to her because the mail thief tried to break into the outgoing, it wasn’t an easy request to comply with because delivery can be anywhere from 11:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m.

I don’t have much of an exciting life, but I do have better things to do than sit outside and wait for the mail truck to arrive.

I could have walked the correspondence to the UPS Store on the corner, but anxious to get the mail in the post and not able to leave my unit due to the announcement of yet another inspection between 8:00 and 5:00 (after we were told there would be no further inspections for three years), I took a chance and dropped the correspondence in the outgoing early Thursday morning, knowing the carrier would eventually arrive, take the outgoing, leaving nothing overnight and no reason for the mail thief to break into the outgoing slot.

Inasmuch as we have no Community Manager and no Assistant Manager, I was curious to see who was going to sphere head an inspection. My curiosity went unsatisfied, because no inspectors arrived, at least not on this end of the complex.

Total waste of a day when I had things to do in preparation for spending the Labor Day Weekend in Long Beach and the weekend after that at a meditation retreat.

At any rate, late Thursday evening, I went down to the mail room to pick up that day’s mail and double-check the outgoing had been picked up. Peeping into the outgoing slot, I saw the envelope I’d dropped off early that morning was still sitting right on top, just signaling the mail thief something important was there for the taking.

I’m the go-with-the-flow type, not the worrying kind but, all of a sudden, I tapped into worry, thinking that if the mail thief broke in overnight, I’d have to put a hold on what was in that envelope. But then, just in case the mail thief was sophisticated and “washed” the contents, changed the amount, he could clean my account out, so maybe it would be better to close the account altogether.

So many scenarios ran through my head as I stayed awake all night (worrying while playing Candy Crush, worrying while playing AlphaBetty Saga, worrying while reading Omarosa’s book, worrying while studying the DMV handbook in preparation for license renewal), worrying and waiting for daylight so I could go down and see if the slot was further damaged, the envelope gone.

Thankfully, there was no further damage to the slot, the envelope was still there, but not wanting to chance another night of worry, I posted the following to the mailboxes, as I headed out to get started on errands.

While out and about, I noticed I was walking funny ... slow, sluggish, balance off, felt a little dizzy. Driving back to the complex I struggled to stay alert.

Probably wasn’t the smartest idea to get out and about, taking care of business as usual while running on empty – an hour and a half’s sleep.

At any rate, I made it safely home around 2:00 without hurting myself or anyone else, and immediately went to see if outgoing mail had been picked up.

Thankfully, it was. But I don’t think the mail carrier appreciated my note.

I’m taking this to mean yesterday’s outgoing had been picked up yesterday, today’s outgoing picked up today.

Yesterday's mail was not picked up, and .... why is it so hard for people to accept having made a mistake?

Worrying now over, errands run, I’m off to catch up on my sleep.