I Smell a Rat

It’s inspection time here on the complex. The landscapers are tidying up the outside, the Maintenance guys are changing out the A/C filters, the Assistant Manager is inspecting units to make certain everything works in advance of the State and Federal inspectors.

The most recent Assistant Manager is a cute little young lady that seemed to be enjoying seeing inside our units. When I opened the door, she immediately said, "Oh how cute".

"Wait until you see my Next-Door Neighbor’s unit. Mine is a mish mash of things I like. Hers is like a museum", said I.

I was actually heading out when she and the Maintenance guy arrived — on my way to Pizza Tuesday in the Community Room. So, I told her to feel free to inspect, lock up when they leave.

Arriving at the Community Room, I found Kesha was hosting a Resolution Conflict session with a few seniors — reading from some handout, and the counter free of pizzas.

I positioned myself at a table next to them, whereupon the Baker leaned over, whispered "There are no pizzas …… from now on".

"Why?" asked I.

"We don’t know".

I smell a sabotaging rat.

It doesn’t seem coincidental that, after all these years, when we get a Kesha as Activity Director, all of a sudden the tradition of free pizzas on Tuesday comes to an end.

Not only that, but the Calendar indicates Kesha would today be hosting "Social: Chips and Salsa Social" 12:30 to 1:30, but that too wasn’t happening because Management didn’t give her the money for the chips and salsa.

I definitely smell a sabotaging rat. Kesha’s days are numbered.

Before I arrived, the ladies said they were asked to fill out a Needs Assessment Survey, which is to justify Kesha’s position.

Uh huh.

So, nothing that was scheduled to happen this morning came to fruition, no fault of Kesha’s, but the newer resident (Crafty Lady) that occasionally hosts crafts for us, had us making art out of cut up paper towel rolls.

First, Crafty Lady provided us with strips of paper cut from paper towel tubes, and circles cut from a cardboard box.

Then we folded a strip, nestled the folded strip inside the unfolded strip to produce a flower like design, hot glued the designs around the cardboard circle however we saw fit.

The Other Wheelchair Lady is trying to make a bunny.

I didn't stay long enough to see her finished bunny, or the finished product of others, but inasmuch as the session is to continue tomorrow, I'll get to see how the projects turn out, and will post the results.

I'm a crafter, so I was quick to position my little designs in the middle of the board, paint and be out, back to my needlepoint.

As we were crafting, Kesha (who had been working on something in the office) came back into the room, began taking pictures of our craft session.

"She’s going to turn those photos into Corporate, take credit for what we’re doing", said Crafty Lady.

"Doesn’t matter", said I. "Won’t help her" (because I see far, know her position is about to be eliminated and there’s nothing she can do to save it).

It’s great to be retired, not have to worry about downsizing, layoffs, and sabotage because you’re Black.

In fact, last Sunday, September 7, marked my 15th year of sliding the chute.

Other than discussing the obvious impending dissolution of Kesha’s position, conversation at the table was how those of us who are familiar with Not Dead Nancy, from the old days, were shocked at her appearance; all saying, like I, that they did not recognize her, and how sad it is.

Someone finally asked me about that photo of my sitting on Meat Man's lap — it was Crafty Lady. She said she’d been browsing the photos of last Friday’s event, posted to the residents’ FB page, saw the photo and wondered what’s going on with him and I.

"Not a thing", said I. That H_____ (Meat Man) is just someone I like to clown around with.

She said she’s run into him a few times, he told her he was single.

Those of us who have known Meat Man for years — the Baker and I, laughed.

I didn’t go into detail — that he actually has an off-site fiancé, just said Meat Man is like a dog chasing cars, goes after every new woman on the complex, and I'm surprised he hasn't already pitched himself to her.

"He’d be wasting his time", said she.

"He usually is wasting his time", said I, "But that doesn’t stop him from chasing".

That’s pretty much all the news, except there was a box set up in the room where we could drop topics for the upcoming Community Meeting.

Had I known, I’d have brought down a typed complaint about lateness of the Monthly Calendar. However, seeing sticky note paper available, I printed out my complaint — how frustrating it is to receive the Calendar after an event or on the day of and, while others said they didn’t sign their name to whatever issue they dropped in the box, I signed mine.

Bring It On.

Labor Day? It’s Still Monday

It’s been dead as a doornail here on the complex, and I don’t think it merely seems so just because I’ve morphed into a recluse, and thus out of the loop, but is an actuality.

Nothing interesting even popping up on the window cam, except I did see Gandalf showing up earlier in the week, performing that "this far and no further" ritual of walking to the edge of the walkway by the stairs, looking to his left then returning to the unit. However, strangely, he showed up just that one time.

So, is he still living down there with his mom or not? Who knows for sure, but I surmise so.

His brother Compton is no longer parking on the property, so I guess Manager got what she wanted — him gone …… or thinks she got what she wanted because he’s still on camera heading to/from work, but it’s during hours when the office is closed, no management personnel around to know any different.

He must be parking/hiding his car nearby.

All in all, it appears Ms. Neighbor's two sons are on the downlow, keeping a low profile, staying away from prying eyes and out of the crosshairs of management.

With the resident known as Red Light having moved and no one willing to take over her self-motivated job of planning BBQs for us residents, it’s not going to look much like a holiday around here today, except for the absence of staff.

For me, it’s just another Monday anyway — a workout this morning and a grocery run after.

I did however manage to have a three-day weekend, because Trainer rescheduled me beastmode last week (back-to-back workouts Wednesday and Thursday), so he and his team could travel out-of-town Friday for a weekend Muay Thai fighting event.

Unmotivated, and the weather still too hot, I did not leave the unit, train for a 5K that might be coming up at the University. Instead, it was three days of needlepoint and prison break. In addition to which, a great deal of time was devoted to putting out fires, as I received notification sensitive data had made it to the Dark Web.

Back in May, when I returned from Pride Week in Long Beach, I received a fraud alert on my credit card, which alert necessitated cancelling the card. This latest breach seems to have stemmed from that incident, and I have a sense it was a bank employee, the one that assisted me in cancelled the card, who leaked/sold other even more sensitive data he collected during that conversation.

At any rate, all I could do this time was to put a lock on everything it was possible to lock, change passwords, and cross my fingers the scammers will find I'm not financially worth the effort.

It boggles my mind that there are people whose job it is to run phishing scams, find ways and means to defraud/take advantage of others.

If the scammers plan to use the information to file next year’s taxes in my name, reap the reward, they’re in for a surprise — find themselves liable for a bill to pay rather than a return, LOL.

Speaking of jobs, this Labor Day also marks the 14th year of my sliding the chute, or close enough as I officially retired on September 7.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again ……… Time flies when one is not having to deal, on a daily basis, with functionally insane employers, various forms of racism and abuse of authority.

Though the flashbacks and trauma lives on, I consider myself one of the lucky ones to have gotten out alive, as I once thought I’d be like the 60-year-old Wells Fargo employee who was recently found dead at her desk, four days after she’d last clocked in.

I fully expected to be a little old lady keeling over dying at my desk, but would have hoped my death would have been noticed before people were alerted by the smell, as was the case with this employee.

A worse fate would have been coworkers trying to get rid of me by taking me on a hike and leaving me behind, as was the case for the insurance underwriter on a work retreat, who also made the news this weekend — rescued after a night stuck on 14,230 foot Mt. Shavano during a freezing rainstorm after being left behind by his 14 coworkers.

If I understand the story correctly, those coworkers did not report him missing for 8 hours, which was after the guy miraculously survived the night, managed to get a cell signal and call for help his own darn self.

Just goes to show, though the struggle to retirement is real, and leaves one with lingering trauma, it's better than dying at one's desk or being downsized out by coworkers.

Labor Day? It’s Still Monday

Just another Monday for me, which means my regular routine — a workout this morning and a stop by the market after.

Of course, complex management has the day off, which isn't saying much because the office has been closed since the day after Carnival, with only Assistant Maintenance Guy doing whatever it is he's been doing — probably enjoying the others being gone.

I wonder if Corporate knows no one has been in the office because, in past days when there was an absence, Corporate would send someone down to cover.

The fact that Corporate has not done so is a puzzle piece telling me Corporate is either being kept in the dark OR Corporate knows the something us residents have not been allowed to know and are not risking another team member to come down, work in that building for the time being.

On Friday, one would have thought Red Light was manager because, at bingo, as people would enter the building looking for someone in the office to speak to for whatever reason — probably inquire about applying for a unit here, Red Light would leave the Community Room, go out to the Lobby, greet the person(s), speak with them, tell them whatever it was she told them about why no one was available, the person(s) would leave, Red Light would return to the Community Room looking even more full of herself than she usually does.

Not sure how it happened, not even sure when it happened, but Red Light has become the Big Beoch on campus — strutting around like she’s in charge, knows everything going on, telling those she can control what to do, even taking on parts of Activity Director’s job … making arrangements for speakers to come in.

Makes me curious, though I'm not comfortable asking, what her background is, what line of work she was in before she ended up here, on the county welfare roll.

Must have been a high mucky muck job because her large and in charge attitude reminds me of how Next-Door Neighbor, previously a State Commissioner before she too ended up here via the county welfare roll, used to be ... that is until her treating others as though they were her employees got her impeached as president of the then Residents' Activity Committee.

Thus far, Red Light has not, to my knowledge, pissed anyone off.

I, and the Usual Suspects as well, are quite content to let her take the lead role, with us as supporting cast — otherwise there would be no bingo and other resident sponsored events; but she did slip one day, when she was spilling the tea, and say, "Don’t tell anyone what I just told you. I have to be careful because they're after me".

She need not have worried. I'm not that person who goes around tipping over teacups. I save what tea I get for the blog; but I assumed the "they" she was speaking of is the current Complex Manager and the conflict being both are vying for the title of HBIC.

Thus far, it’s a tie.

Speaking of previous lines of work, this Labor Day marks my 13th year of sliding the chute, or close enough as I officially retired on September 7.

Time flies when one is not having to deal, on a daily basis, with functionally insane employers, various forms of racism and abuse of authority.

Remembering all I had to tolerate to remain employed, make it to retirement, puts the way management treats us seniors into perspective — mere child’s play ... annoying, but we've all survived worse.

Twelve and Counting

Time flies when you’re not being badgered and bullied by some racist agency CEO and his complicit Klansmen/Klanswomen or screamed and yelled at by the Law Firm’s Environmental attorneys because they’re functionally insane and can’t control their madness.

This retirement was hard earned and though I never looked forward to retirement (I loved the work I was doing even though I didn’t sometimes care much for those I was working for), never thought retirement would happen for me.

Looking at my future back then, I envisioned myself as this little old lady who one day just keeled over dead at her workstation.

Suddenly, like a bolt out of the blue, the Agency lost a lot of its funding and there was talk of layoffs to balance the budget. I was 99.99 percent certain of being exempt from layoff, so I wasn't worried. In fact, I was actually hoping, like other employees, that I would get laid off. I'd have missed the paycheck but getting laid off and collecting unemployment seemed somewhat of a blessing in disguise at that time.

At any rate, to see if they could get enough people to leave voluntarily in order to offset some of the layoffs, management sent out an offer of an early retirement package to all staff. 

The offer was so minimal that most staffers were insulted, and it was felt no one would take it. I, on the other hand, crunched the numbers.

Realizing I was in a position to take the offer because I lived simply then (still do), that though finances would be tight it was doable, I saw it as an opportunity and accepted the offer.

It's been so far so great ever since.

It was the right decision then and, looking at all that’s happened in the world since — pandemic, declining job market, rising cost of living, et. al., it was a smart decision.

I don’t even want to think of where I’d now be had I let that gift — wrapped up as a voluntary retirement package, slip by.

Week That Never Ended

With something to take care of every single day of last week, and out-of-the-area errands to run both Saturday and Sunday, there has been no down time for me to recharge.

It's like last week never ended.

I’m a person that, having had so much responsibility most of my life, keeping myself going at times with copious amounts of Coffee and NoDoze tablets — because there was no time to sleep, I now need a lot of down time.

Consequently, it's occurred to me quite a lot lately that, not getting the necessary down time, this retirement thing is not giving me all I’m due, that I’m being cheated.

I actually did a rant on this topic last month, killed the post but, inasmuch as Margaret posted this morning that she too "Was not diggin" this lack of free time and wished I had published that post, I pulled it out of the recycle bin, revived and worked into today's post.

I feel cheated because I still have to shop for groceries, cook, clean, do laundry, run errands, budget, pay bills, workout to keep my body from turning to stone. There are still taxes to be done, the doctor, dentist and a million little other things.

Retirement for me has pretty much turned into the same ole same ole as pre-retirement. The only difference being I don’t have to report daily to a 9 to 5, and I don’t have to raise children.

Make no mistake that seeing others, I suspect are older than I, being forced to return to the workforce by the state of the economy, I am grateful for this retirement and what little has been taken off my plate. Yet and still, I expected my plate to be a lot emptier than it currently is.

It does make me wonder how I managed to do it all before, when my plate was full to overflowing.

Elsewhere, it’s so far so good with going backwards on how the Mail Center is protected from break-ins. Thus far, mail thieves have not become aware of the now easy access and returned.

I’ve yet to see the new Community Manager, but folks tell me she’s nice.

Pardon my pessimism, but that will change.

Except for Nurse Ratched, they always start off coming across as nice.

It also appears the new Manager is taking care of business.

Again, pardon the pessimism, but that also won’t last.

Next Door Neighbor (NDN) had, for months, been trying to get a problem with her sink backing up looked into. She was thinking probably a new disposal was required.

Neither No. 8 (the Tyrant) or the Maintenance Guys were responsive because, as NDN had forecasted, the Tyrant didn’t want to pay for a new disposal and the Maintenance Guys didn’t want to have to do the work.

NDN went down, spoke to No. 9. Lo and behold, the Maintenance Guys showed up shortly after and did their due diligence, new disposal and all.

Red Letter Day

When I saw I’d marked this historic day as “Year 11” on my organizer, I thought I’d made a mistake, miscalculated how long it’s been since I retired because it just doesn’t feel that long.

After checking, double checking, triple checking the timeframe, I did indeed gain my freedom this day 11 years ago.

Time flies when you’re not having to deal with racism, crazy bosses and abuse of authority in a job.

As to what I’ve been doing for the last eleven years, what I’ve accomplished, except for surviving family drama — of one kind or another during those years, surviving a pandemic (to date) and keeping active by participating in 5Ks (70 events thus far) and working out with a trainer for the last two years, I don’t really know that I accomplished anything meaningful or that I was even expected to accomplish anything other than continue to exist, keep going.

Friends have urged me to travel, but I don’t enjoy travelling — unless there’s a purpose, such as a Meditation Retreat, which I attended one every year until the pandemic brought an end to those, with no restart in sight. 

Travelling, seeing the world, dealing with planes, trains, boats, spending nights in strange hotels, just does not appeal to me, and I can’t understand those that do enjoy doing so.

At any rate, thanks to family drama, there have been some downs in the last eleven years (and it ain't over yet), but I pulled through, have managed to enjoy these retirement years, had fun and haven’t been bored, not even in lockdown.

Returning from this morning’s workout, I detoured to pick up mail, opened the security gate to the Mail Center and there, inside the enclosed area was the fast walking Covid recovered resident … without a mask.

Needless to say, I backed the heck out, then reached into my bag, retrieved the extra masks I’d been carrying around for just such a situation — running into her maskless.

"Do you need a mask? I have these extras that I’ve been carrying around", said I.

"Oh no, I have plenty of masks", said she.

The little voice in my head angrily said, “Well why the hell don’t you wear them!?” but, since I didn’t repeat it out loud, she didn’t hear that retort.

Then she looks at my mask and says, "Oh! You have a bling one. I wouldn’t mind having a bling mask".

"I don’t have any extra blings, just these" and I once again hold out a mask for her to take.

"Give those to someone who doesn’t have a mask. I have plenty, but thanks though".

If I thought she’d wear one, when out and about on the property, I’d order a bling mask for her; but if she’d not wearing any of the masks she says she now has, she probably won't wear the bling either ... except on special occasions.

Whatdoyathink? Should I invest in a bling for her and hope for the best — that she’ll mask up? If I go to the trouble and she STILL doesn't mask up, it will just make me feel stupid and angry.

Flashbacks

There were some interesting comments on facebook last night having to do with Piers Morgan walking off set because he was being called out over his unflattering comments, constant bashing of Megan Markle, and discrediting her account of suicidal thoughts and racism.

Mostly, the comments were how it would now be a Good Morning Britain with Piers off the show, and comments calling Piers a “snowflake” who could dish it out but not take it.

For me, one comment summed it up nicely.

I’ve got a lot of stuff buried in my memory vault, ugly incidents that I’ve written about in a BlackandBlue blog I used to maintain, but never talked it out. Thus, there’s so much stuff fermenting down in the vault only to come up when something, like that comment, brings it up.

I’ve spoken before about most of my working years being nightmares I seriously doubt any of you can relate to. That I had children to feed, clothe, house, so I’d had no choice but to swallow and not complain about all the racism, abuse of authority, etc.

That didn’t mean I didn’t find my own petty under the wire ways of striking back/protecting myself. One of which was, when I worked with the three witches at the law firm who’d put on a show during Secretary’s Week, by gifting me with flowers and taking me to lunch on Secretary’s Day, I’d deliberately leave the flowers on the counter behind me, sans water, so they’d die quickly.

As for those lunches ... treat me like crap all the other 51 weeks of the year, but give me flowers Secretary’s Week, and take me to lunch Secretary’s Day, so you can show off to the other attorneys how good you are to your slave.

This homey wasn’t having it. So, what I did was to begin scheduling my vacations to coincide with secretary’s week, leaving the witches nowhere to go, nothing to do with their so-called magnanimous selves.

After about the third year of my doing so, I think the witches finally caught on that I was purposely disrespecting them and struck back by taking the temp out and feting him just to show me a thing or two.

They didn’t ─ show me a thing or two. Instead, when the temp told me about how well and over the top they’d treated him that week, I filled him in on why I didn’t want to eat with them, and we had a good laugh at their expense and became steadfast friends ─ my friend Q that I’ve mentioned on the blog as being a friend now for over 20 years and the only friend whose events I travel to attend.

But that’s not the memory the comment about Piers brought up from the vault. It’s just an associated memory that tickled me.

So anyway, what came up was when I retired from the agency that had a heavy klan presence.

I survived everything the klan girls and guys threw at me ─ trying to run me out, because the head klansman (the CEO) wanted it so.

They couldn’t fire me or get anyone of the people they later hired with specific instructions to fire me do so, because I had a stellar background in the secretarial field and, try as they did to break me, cause me to react, I kept a smile on my face, behaved professionally, never gave them a reason. Which drove them crazy. LOL.

Very long story short, Karma got them in the end ─ the head klansman (CEO) retired just ahead of an indictment for misuse of government funds, the other klan guys began jumping ship to other jobs before they got caught and, with the head of the klan gone, his overseer and other klan guys gone, the klan girls retreating back to being on the down low and the weasly klansman also on the down low because he had not the skills to go elsewhere, the work environment became boring. So boring that I felt my work, spiritually speaking (that I was placed there because I was the one who could stand still and be the catalyst that ultimately busted that klan crap up) was done. When a package was being offered to anyone who wanted it, I turned in my retirement papers.

Once I submitted my paperwork, the weasly klansman had the nerves to say the department director (who was named Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde in the blog I kept at that time) wanted to host a retirement party for me.

I made it clear that I didn’t want a party, saying it would be disingenuous, and thought that was the end of that. That my going away would be a luncheon that had been arranged by friendly coworkers from my department and other departments.

That is, I thought so until I got a telephone call from someone in another department, aware of how I felt, asking if I was going to attend the Open House.

"What open house?" asked I.

"An email just went out that says we are all invited to an Open House to celebrate your retirement ... Thursday, August 26, from 3:00 to 4:00 p.m.".

"I won't be there. I just can't do it" replied I.

As to why I couldn’t do it, I pulled up that old blog (no longer on line, but much of which has been saved to flash drive), and dug up a blurb.

"The last two weekends have been spoiled by images of Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde. I can't get him out of my head. I keep seeing his smug face and hearing his voice when he said and did hurtful things ... like when he gave credit for my accomplishments to other departments and when he left me out of training pertinent to my position and made me beg him ... and when he talked down to me as though I were an idiot when I asked a question ... and how he did not support me when I asked for his help in dealing with his buddies in IT when the website was down for four months ... and when I asked for his help with the obnoxious temp. He's totally just screwed up my work flow and the work flow of the department. I was there for him and he used me and hurt me and failed me and everyone else in every way possible, so I've reached the point where I am so disgusted by him and so disgusted with him that I want nothing more to do with him. I'm polite, as always. I do my job as always, but I am otherwise as cold and distant as cold and distant can be, and I'm really struggling to heal and get beyond how I feel about him. To go to this party would just damage me further, so I'm not going. I will be calling in with a migraine that day. If it embarrasses him and makes him look bad ... well then tough. He didn't care when he hurt me. Now it's me who doesn't care."

Just like with the witches, his only reason for the party was an opportunity to put on a performance, promote himself as such a great caring magnanimous leader. I wasn’t going to give him any more of me than he’d already taken by participating in his act of phony sincerity, so I actually did call in with a migraine that day.

It embarrassed and hurt him greatly and, I rubbed salt in his wound by recovering from the migraine and returning to the office the following day. Not to mention, he had to look at me, in the office until my official retirement date (the 31st). Plus, I had that luncheon with my company besties.

Theme of that luncheon was "These Boots Are Made for Walking".

Weasly klansman, after going along with all that racist crap for years and years, when head klansman was in power, had the nerves to take it upon himself to tell me “You shouldn’t have done that”, meaning I should not have absented myself from Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde's party, embarrassed him thusly.

Yeah, sure, some people just keep dishing it out, expecting others to keep quiet, take it, not find a way to get the hurt out.

I’ll admit my ways have been petty, underhanded, but removing myself ─ by feigning illness, from lunch with the witches, a party with Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde was what I could get away with, all I had to work with.

Ignorance is Bliss

Finally over the blue funk, caused by all the ugliness floating around in the atmosphere, not wanting to be dragged down again, I went out of my way to NOT watch the debates.

From the comments and reaction of friends on Facebook and Instagram, looks like I made the right decision.

Reactions like this from granddaughter’s hubby.

Comments like … “That was a sh!t show” from my friend Q.

So that’s behind us.

Inasmuch as the heat wave is over, I took Trainer up on training outside, sheltered by a canopy.

Many of his other clients were doing so all along, but I’m way older than the other clients and don’t do well in heat — I get dizzy and feel faint. It’s still a little warm, but manageable.

Not manageable enough to get the overdue OC Fair Virtual 5K off my bucket list. Plus, the virtual Batman 5K is closing in.

It’s not just the heat stalling me, it’s also that the streets do not look safe.

When I’m out and about, I’ve scouted the areas I normally do my walks. The college campus is too isolated, and I’m seeing displaced disadvantaged people EVERYWHERE. Even in the posh neighborhood behind us and around the golf course.

People are desperate AND, when people are desperate, people become dangerous.

There is a bank on the corner, in the same shopping center that houses the market.

One of our residents, who should have known better, walked out of the bank, cash in hand, counting it. A young man ran up to her, grab the cash from her hands and took off running.

Why did she not count it inside the bank?

Why did she then not put it away before walking out into the open for all to see, possibly stashed in her boobs — what my mom would refer to as her upstairs bank.

It’s awful out there right now. We need to be cautious and aware.

At any rate, our resident wasn’t physically harmed and learned a hard lesson.

As far as completing the 5Ks, I may have no choice but to risk being around people, for far longer than I care to be, and do some mall walking.

Speaking of being around people, after today’s training session, I drove out to the medical center and got my flu shot.

I was expecting the flu shot station to be outside, possibly car service.

It wasn’t, but was well handled inside.

In order to enter the medical center, I had to answer the usual questions about symptoms, which I had none, then had my temperature scanned.

Having passed the scan, I was directed to the flu station, where there was no line, no waiting.

Before the technician jabbed the needle in my arm, I cautioned her, “There had better not be any of No. 45’s experimental covid crap in this”.

She began laughing so hard, she had to stop, take a second to compose herself.

So that’s done as well.

Driving back to the complex, I suddenly realized this month marked my 10th year of retirement. The actual date was two weeks ago and completely skipped my mind.

Oh well, I’ll celebrate with a glass of champagne sometime soon, and dedicate a few drops to my dead homies, who retired when I did but passed away shortly thereafter.

The door is ready for the First of Halloween.

As are my toes.

Haven’t yet gotten to the fingernails.

Inside is not so ready. Didn’t feel like rummaging through all the containers in patio storage to find my Halloween treasures, so only put out for display the one treasure I easily located.

Another Milestone

And I never planned for it.

The thought of retiring never entered my mind. For one, because I never thought I’d live this long. And then, when I kept living and got up in age, I enjoyed working so much that I just figured, and expressed to others, I’d be the old lady who’d just keel over dead at her desk.

This enjoyment of the work I performed was always there, even though I’ve had some of the worse working experiences one can imagine — racism, abuse of authority, functionally insane and just plain stupid bosses.

Even though I always enjoyed the clerical/secretarial work and mostly had great coworkers, those aforementioned experiences use to wear me out, but learning of and applying the spiritual principles of non-reaction, doing good to those who despitefully use you, I grew wise, mentally strong and those experiences became more like tests designed to get me to the next level, rather than challenges or situations to overcome.

I must have gotten passing grades because, even though I never imagined it or financially planned for retirement, the transition has worked out.

I often find myself looking back wondering what the heck I was thinking … that I so enjoyed getting up early in the morning, going to a job, that retiring was never on the agenda.

Irony is, three people I know who’d planned for retirement, talked about getting to that point for years, never got to enjoy it as they passed away so quickly after ─ within a year after having retired. 

I feel very blessed to have taken such a lickin in the workforce, to be now out of it and having fun.

Tomorrow is the big day for the paving project and so far so bad.

The chaos and confusion began late Friday afternoon.

As mentioned in the last post, us residents were given notification of the paving project, which included a map and detailed information as to which quads would have to move their cars from the South End to the North End.

Getting what I thought was a jump on musical parking spots, I moved the jeep to the North.

Along about 5:00 Friday, Apache knocked on the door and said management had posted No Parking Signs all over his area ─ the North End, where we’d been instructed to park.

So, I dunno.

And I don’t know if the paving crew knows either — which side of the property they are to begin working on tomorrow.

We’ll see what we see when they get here but, in the meantime, I’ve put the jeep back in my South End carport.

I’ll probably stick to not moving it until the paving project is complete to avoid having to deal with some desperate someone pulling into my reserved spot.

On another note, if you want to laugh yourself silly, go on Twitter and look up sharpie-gate. The creative ways in which folks are making fun of No. 45’s use of a sharpie to modify the hurricane map will keep you in stitches.

Here’s a taste.

8 Years Not a Slave

While at the market the other day, picking up waffle bowls, ice cream toppings and a birthday card for The Baker, I spied this at the card station.

I snapped a photo, posted to Facebook with the caption, “Something I’ll never have to celebrate again. Thank God!”

Got a lot of likes from friends still slaving away in the workforce, no end in sight.

Then I thought Oh, wait ... you retired a month before Boss Day, so you should be rolling up on another anniversary.

I double checked and sure enough ... today is the day!

I generally celebrate by purchasing the latest Starbucks Anniversary mug, because our anniversaries coincide and there is a new design every year. So though I need another coffee mug like I need a hole in the head, no need to buck the tradition. I’ll be popping into Starbucks today to add another mug to the collection.

I took off my cloak of invisibility yesterday and joined the seniors for Bingo, but only because Apache and I had planned that ice cream bar to celebrate The Baker’s birthday.

The Baker was all smiles and, to use her words, “Very much surprised”, so good job us.

The choice of ice cream started off with vanilla, because we had so many toppings ─ caramel, chocolate, strawberry, granulated peanuts and cherries.

A new guy has been consistently hanging with the regulars for a long time now -- I think he even received a mention or two in the blog as "new guy".  At any rate, he needs a name, but I can’t think of him in any way suitable other than he's fairly new and the fact he’s the third guy in the group. So let's call him Third Guy ... first being Apache, second being Shadow.

So anyway, Third Guy declined the ice cream saying, “Too much sugar”.

“Oh, are you diabetic?” asked I.

“The doctor said I needed to cut down”.

Perfectly understandable. But then, we ran out of vanilla and pulled out the very rich pecan praline.

Third Guy saw the praline and said, “I want some of that”.

My mouth ran away with me and blurted out, “Oh, I see. This one is not too much sugar for you?" Then to top it off, my mouth also added, " You are so sometimey”.

He looked sheepish, but fortunately laughed.

At any rate, the seniors LOVED the eatable waffle bowls.

I didn’t eat one but, while the seniors indulged in ice cream, I did use a waffle bowl as a cup for what I could eat — fruit.

Low Profile

Been keeping to myself, maintaining a low profile this last week, to give the seniors time to get Happy New Year’s hugs and thoughts of my birthday out of their system. 

Even the fact I was running out of food supplies didn’t get me up and out. I just got creative with what was available. Nor did the fact the Mega and Powerball were up there, over $400 million, calling my name, saying I needed to take a chance I might be the one because Granddaughter needs a better car and No. 3 Grandson needs a car period, also didn’t motivate me to get up and out.

What finally did motivate me to get out and make a run on Saturday was running out of a needlepoint floss color. So off I went to the craft store, with a stop by the market for groceries, and a stop to pick up a Powerball ticket, as the Mega was no longer up for grabs, then it was back to hibernating.

Having not made contact with anyone in the complex for days, I’m not sure what the status is of the resident rushed to the hospital with what is thought to be liver damage. Nor do I know what happened to one of the neighbors in my quad.

While watching Project Runway Thursday night, I head sirens and the sound of a truck engine stopping just at the end of my walkway.

Looking out the patio window, I watched as EMTs headed for the upstairs unit, across the quad, to the left, where lives the smoker.

This is a no-smoking community, folks are required to exit the gate and smoke somewhere outside, but folks don’t always follow the rules.

If it was impacting my life, I’d complain; but it’s not. She’s a nice lady, her unit is across the quad, the smoke doesn’t reach my windows, so not my problem.

At any rate, the EMT’s went into her unit and, after a time, neighbor was gently escorted down the stairs with an EMT assisting behind her, an EMT in front of her, and an EMT behind the guy in front of her as a safety precaution should anyone stumble he could block the fall. Every step Neighbor took looked painful for her, but they got her down to the gurney and took her away, at which time I said a prayer for her and went back to Project Runway.

No idea what could have happened, though falling in the unit seems to be the No. 1 cause of injury around here, but won’t know for sure until I come out of hibernation and get with the folks again, which looks like it will be tomorrow – Pizza Tuesday.

I actually wasn’t planning to go, but The Baker posted to our Facebook page that, after pizza delivery, there’s to be a cupcake party for January birthdays.

She’s not fooling me, I’m not stupid, I’m not a Republican. I know her baking cupcakes and arranging for this event is for me. The Seer -- the Baker’s BFF, was unable to ascertain my birthday, so the two of them came up with this workaround.

Last time anyone arranged a celebration for me against my wishes was when I retired from that job where the racist group had tried to run me out of the company because the CEO didn’t want a Black woman in a secretarial position. 

I worked myself through the situation by standing firm in my understanding that the Universe put me there because, as a spiritual student, I was strong enough in my faith to not react as they expected me to react, as the many others they had targeted had reacted (fled, quit), just stand firm and let the Universe fight the battle for me.

Though it was a painful episode, I saw the Universe at work in many things that happened to individuals in the racist group until eventually the worst of the worst retired or moved on to other companies, after which the remaining racists crawled back under their rock and ceased their openly racist behaviors. 

After my work was done, spiritually speaking, the Universe gave me an opportunity to retire. I took it.

Those in authority, including the remaining racists, wanted to arrange a retirement party for me.

I can’t be fake. Can’t eat or socialize with people I don't respect or who've been unkind to me.

Besides, the party was not for me, more like a show they were putting on to make themselves look good.

I did attend a luncheon with a group of work pals, but told the others that I wasn’t going to play that game with them, don’t arrange a party.

They did anyway, arranged for a party at the office -- three days before my retirement date so, staying true to myself, I called in sick that morning.

Of course, they ended up embarrassed, a laughing stock.

Did I care?

No.

Not even when the guy I referred to in posts during those difficult years as "The Weasly Klansman" had the nerves to say to me, when I recovered from my illness and returned to work the day after the party, "You shouldn't have done that".

Seriously? You treat me like crap all these many years and you expect me to help you save face, look like good guys and girls, by playing along with a retirement party organized by you?

This situation with The Baker and The Seer is a different scenario. Their wanting to do something for my birthday is a love offering.

I’m the person who is always there for others, doing for others, accustomed to receiving nothing in return. So unaccustomed to people wanting to do for me that it’s hard to accept when someone does something nice for me.

To repeat myself -- I can’t be fake, I’m a terrible liar, it’s hard for me to pretend but, in this case, I’m going to try my best to  play along -- go down to the Community Room and pretend I'm clueless, didn't know I'd been duped, act like a Republican.