Fish Story

Yesterday was Bingo Friday with the usual suspects.

The Community Room was decked out, by management, for the Holiday …… maybe in lieu of a tree this year, as I've seen none; but it's still early.

No way did Manager set this up. It's probably the work of the young Assistant Manager.

We were joined at bingo by one of the newer residents ─ the guy I’d had to school on etiquette …… told how rude he was being when he walked into the Community Room while we were in the middle of bingo, sat down in the big chair, opened his phone and began viewing some kind of program, open mic, no headphones. That guy.

The Baker said she talked him into joining us.

He looked reluctant to be there, so I’m not sure he enjoyed bingo; but time will tell if he shows up again.

Also talked by the Baker into joining us was Little Linda — a weird little resident who has been living here since long before I arrived on the complex.

The Baker really needs to stop with all this kumbaya crap, trying to bring everyone in the complex together as one big bingo family.

So, anyway, Little Linda jives very well with residents of lesser character, but doesn’t jive well with those of us who don’t fall into that category.

She quite literally turns her nose up at those of us not of her tribe, walks right by us without looking at or speaking to.

Consequently, when one of the regulars saw Little Linda taking a seat, she made a stinky face, looked at me, nodded her head in the direction of Little Linda, as if to say look look look at whose joining us.

Little Linda sat at the table behind me with people she’s friendly with — Di, Name Dropper and Hell on Wheels, and I caught her too many times sneaking glances at me.

Seeing me up close, watching me take photos, help winners at the prize table, the women at her table being friendly with me probably piqued her interest, but she blew her shot to get to know me many years ago when she rebuffed a friendly gesture made by me and has since given me the not of her tribe treatment.

Two can play that game, so catching her glances out the corner of my eyes, I in return refused to acknowledge her glances, did not look at or attempt to speak to her.

Of course, Di and Name Dropper being seated together was a mistake. The fact that Little Linda and Hell on Wheels were seated with them didn’t deter the two from getting in trouble. The two were quite literally yelled at, several times …… for talking.

One of the organizers would yell "HEY!" to quiet the two down so the Caller could hear the game winner verify the win by calling out their winning numbers.

Being yelled at didn’t bother them, not one bit. They seemed to enjoy it — looked at each other, giggle like naughty school children.

Paranormal John: You’ll be interested to know Hell on Wheels, who’d missed a few sessions, was escorted in by a caregiver I’d not seen before …… a male.

I guess she’s traumatized all the females the agency provided, so they are seeing if she’ll be less awful being cared for by a male caregiver.

And get this John, she now has 4 caregivers. They work in shifts.

Two are from an agency, two are relatives ─ one of which is her daughter, who comes on Sundays, cooks and leaves meals for the week.

All caregivers, relatives and agency people, are paid caregivers.

Once again, I didn’t win any of the 10 games, but I walked away with a poinsettia plant that, based on past experiences with poinsettias, I haven't a clue as how to keep alive.

A gift from the organizers as thanks for designing and printing bingo flyers, taking photos, managing the website.

The day before, while heading into the Laundry Room, I was approached by a fairly new resident who was upset, said "I don’t even want to live here anymore" because her unit had been burglarized …… several times.

She said her electronics disappeared during the burglaries, then her clothes and now, "I’ve got nothing left".

I suggested it might be the homeless a new resident who has been using her unit as a hostel — sneaking homeless people in at night, allowing to shower, spend the night …… for money we suspect.

We suspect for money because late one night there was a commotion outside TinTin’s unit. I was asleep, didn't hear it, but the noise woke up Next Door Neighbor, who tells me it was a couple, that looked homeless, banging on TinTin's door yelling, "Let us in, we paid, let us in".

There’s been no more of that from TinTin since that late night commotion outed her activities, but it did alert us to this side business some residents have going on.

And yes …… Next Door Neighbor reported TinTin’s commotion to management and a resident or residents in the quad, where this hostel is currently operating, reported to management.

So, when this resident was telling me about having been burglarized more than once, I suggested it might be the homeless being let in by the resident in her quad.

She said no, that it was a male resident around the corner. "He’s on drugs and he’s always walking over here and watching me".

Asking if the office knew of the burglaries, she said yes but the office told her they can’t do anything.

That didn’t surprise me, because that’s what they do in the office about everything …… nothing.

So then I ask, "Have you reported this to the police?", whereupon she hemmed and hawed, averted my eyes, managed not to answer the question.

My spidey sense went up.

I asked, “How are they getting into your unit?”.

It was well this, well that, hemmimg hawing again with no answer.

I left it with, "You’d better make a police report before they come in and kill you in your sleep" and walked away thinking I’d better get this story verified.

"She has problems, is not well", I’m told.

She’s told this story of being burglarized to several people and each time blames a different resident as the culprit.

Furthermore, her neighbors have security cameras ─ that’s how they know about the resident sneaking in homeless people at night.

Those security cameras are not showing anyone going into her unit, other than herself and her relatives.

So, the general consensus is that if …… as in IF this story of missing electronics/clothing is even true, it’s probably one of her own relatives.

And that’s the tea.

P.S. I learned the Thanksgiving Luncheon was not El Pollo chicken. Instead it was individual personal sized boxes of Kentucky Fried Chicken (KFC). They served the residents box lunches for Thanksgiving. Can't wait to see what management comes up with for the Christmas Party.

I may have to call off that morning's workout, go to the event, see for myself.

Time Will Tell

It’s been a quiet reflective meditative few days as I went about my day to day activities while listening to myself think and watching world news as hostages are released, Rosalynn Carter was laid to rest, Oscar Pistorius — also known as poor little tink tink, for obvious reasons, was set to be released after serving 8-1/2 years of a 13 year sentence for the unaliving of his girlfriend, and Derek Chauvin — the cop convicted in unaliving George Floyd, was shanked in a Federal prison.

Pardon my not giving a damn, but the irony of Chauvin being transferred to a Federal prison, because it was felt he was unsafe in a State prison, is not lost on many, myself included — "Can he breathe" being the most used phrase in the comment sections.

I myself am suspicious.

Is this a setup, a play to get compassionate release or released because prison is not safe for him?

Insofar as I know, prison is not safe for anyone, so don't do the crime if you don't feel you'll be safe doing the time.

Time will tell how this plays out for Chauvin.

Insofar as I know, nothing interesting happening on the complex, as I watched Christmas patio decorations go up — first Red Light then the couple that moved into the unit vacated by the Black Witch when she moved to her daughter’s place in Palm Springs.

I can’t believe no one has yet to move into the unit in my quad — the one that became vacant after The Smoker was evicted.

As I watched Casino Lady move out this week (her sister roommate passed away last year, she doesn’t want another roommate so is moving to San Jose to be closer to other family members), I began to wonder if the County’s approval of the $500 increase is the holdup on new tenants coming in, as I know for a fact we do have a waiting list or is it that the rent has gotten so high that it’s not worth it for seniors, on or off the county. That rent at this complex is now not viewed as low enough and those with options choose to stay put, move in with family, et. al.

Time will tell as the new increase goes into effect January 1st. If no one moves in by then, and others begin moving out, I'll know it's a NO from the county.

Community Manager wanting to remove laundry rooms from the complex turned out to be just venting, an empty threat.

Too lazy to walk across the grassy knoll to check the laundry room on that side of the complex, I can still tell it’s open, back in use, because I’ve seen residents go in and out with their laundry.

As for the closure, a resident who’d taken Community Manager at her word, did not know about Section 35 — that it was the Manager’s responsibility, did contact the provider and was told it was closed due to "Being under investigation".

Evidently, the machines being damaged was an act of vandalism.

Since the reopening, I have noticed a change in lighting of that area — bright lights so that one can see in the room and around that area late at night.

I don’t know if it’s my overactive imagination or spidey sense but, I’m wondering if Meat Man, formerly Handsome Man, has something to do with the vandalism … not him per se, but perhaps his troubled son came back.

Furthering that suspicion is the fact that I’ve not seen hide nor hair of Meat Man in ages.

Is he even still living here?

The Dish device on his patio is gone and the last time I saw him I sensed something was wrong.

After that last encounter, I’d mentioned to Homegirl that he’d felt strange, the conversation awkward and that he’d looked shitfaced — embarrassed, waiting for me to say something thinking I knew something I didn’t know.

He was lucky not to have been evicted the first time it was discovered his son was living with him — discovered because his son was arrested for sex assaulting Di, with whom he was having a relationship. She didn't have the capacity to know better, but when she did get the capacity, locked her door, he broke it down, did not take NO for an answer, got arrested.

So, with cameras everywhere on the property, did the "under investigation" lead to Meat Man's door and he was forced to move and looking shitfaced was because he thought I knew?

I don’t dare ask the other guys about him. Instead of seeing me as being enormously nosey, which I am, they are a sorry bunch of losers that would be quick to spread something is going on between Meat Man and I or that I care what happens to him.

So, this too is relegated to the time will tell pile. I’ll either see Meat Man around after months and months and months of no sightings or I won’t. He'll just have disappeared into oblivion without my ever knowing the why of it.

There's also no word on whether my old buddy Apache has gone off the deep end.

The Baker is no longer close to him and Di, the one who is close to him, is not someone to give a straight answer, hasn't been able to since an auto accident left her brain damaged.

The answer will have to wait until I run into Apache myself.

Another Winter Storm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I personally don’t believe him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Déjà Vu

Met a new character for the blog at today’s management sponsored Thankful Celebration — let’s call her Negative Nelly because she had something to say about everything and mostly negative comments which I found witty and mostly true.

In spite of my seeing her out and about only recently, she’s not new to the complex — been here 2 years said she and only began coming out recently.

Finding her interesting and funny, I invited her to join us for bingo.

Apple Pie and Hot Apple Cider turned out to be hot and fresh individual KFC boxed meals — chicken, slaw, mac and cheese, a biscuit and gravy, along with individual boxed pies and sodas instead of apple cider.

None of the residents were complaining. It was a good spread.

As for why management is all of a sudden being so good to us, I haven’t a clue, but the new Complex Manager (No. 10) gave a speech welcoming us to the event that alluded to the reason being reconciliation.

She said something about things having gotten off to a rocky start, that she had to make some changes, fix things that should have been fixed long ago, yada yada yada, but that she wants what’s best for us.

So, evidently, a lot has been going on that I’m not aware of.

Seems I’m the only clueless senior around here because a topic came up that somewhat surprised me but should not have because, not three days ago, I had one of those premonitions.

I may or may not have mentioned somewhere in the blog that I recently began seeing a sketchy looking guy going in/out of the unit wherein resides the neighbor living downstairs below Next-Door Neighbor’s unit.

Based on his appearance, I was on guard about him until I realized there appeared to be a wife and two kids with him — a little boy and little girl, which made him safe in my eyes.

I figured they were living here surreptitiously (ghost tenants) out of need and didn’t have a problem with it.

People are struggling, and they wouldn't be the first and only ghost tenants we have residing here, but my philosophy is live and let live. So as long as what others do does not impact me, I don't care.

The family has been keeping such a low profile — kids inside most of the time, except I've seen the little boy take out the trash, I figured no one would notice ........ except parking their van in the same visitor spot, and leaving the van parked backwards when one of the rules is to pull in, not park backwards, is not smart. I figured that alone was going to draw attention sooner or later.

So, anyway, not three days ago I had a scenario type premonition where, all of a sudden, for no reason, I imaged management asking me who in my building had small children living with them.

I saw myself lie, say I haven’t seen any small children.

In the scenario, I then thought about warning that neighbor that management was on to them, but then knowing how stupid and ignorant people can be, thought better of warning her, because too often in real life, when something is revealed to me either as a premonition or otherwise and I alert the individual involved, my trying to help has been misconstrued as being involved, wishing something bad on them or, in this case, might be seen as having been the one to have turned them in because, like I said, people are stupid, ignorant.

So anyway, it was Déjà Vu today, when Painted Rock Lady, sitting at my table, turned to me and out of the blue said, "Shirley, who in your building has small children living with them?"

It wasn’t management asking, as the premonition had suggested, it was a neighbor and not just PRL because when I played like Sgt Schultz, from Hogan’s Heroes, said "I know nothing", Negative Nelly weighed in and said something about everyone knows.

It's just a matter of time before someone snitches to management but, inasmuch as that premonition warned me I’d be blamed should I try to help that neighbor by letting her know people are on to her and the family living with her, I’ll be staying out of it and let the chips fall where they may.

Before the event was over, No. 10 had us go around, say what we are thankful for.

I hate that and would have escaped, gone back to my unit, if I could have before things reached that point, but couldn't without bringing attention to myself.

The only other time that happened was when I'd been relocated to San Diego as the result of the law firm going through a merger.

I was lucky to have kept my Los Angeles salary, when others relocated to the San Diego branch were downgraded to San Diego salaries, which was half what we had been making. I was also lucky to have a decent enough boss and coworkers, but I was still bitter because the San Diego branch was filled with racists and I didn't like where I was living.

So, when a group of friends I'd developed were at lunch and Suzie wanted us to go around the table, say what we were thankful for, I said, "The Universe took me away from a job I enjoyed, an apartment I loved, and I'm just soooo thankful. Thank you so so much".

I was, of course, being facetious, venting, but they did ask.

So, others at today's event went all mushy gushy with being thankful for family, friends. Some were thankful for having a nice place to live, friendly neighbors. Some kiss asses were thankful for management, and one was thankful for the donor that gave her son-in-law a new heart last week. All the while, all I could think of was being thankful for cheap rent.

Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how one looks at it, that's not what came out of my mouth when it was my turn, I said, "I'm thankful that I don't look my age".

Fact, safe to say, no mushy gushy involved.

Custom (sic) Contest

I was not looking forward to today being a bingo day, because I had much too much to do after this morning’s workout, but I pivoted and showed up.

Talk at bingo was about the death of my former friend the Seer.

Word was she passed away in the hospital, surrounded by family with "compassionate care" last night.

I was sorry to hear it and somewhat surprised, though I should not have been because I was forewarned in 2021 that she’d be the next to go.

When I woke up one morning in March, began heading out of the bedroom, I suddenly heard "J____ (The Seer) is next".

That’s a weird thought, I said to myself as I stopped dead in my tracks thinking it to be a death premonition. Then, I shook my head to get the thought out of my head.

At the time, I’d assumed it meant the Seer would be the next person living on the complex to die. However, inasmuch as she didn’t pass away until last night, in 2022, I’m thinking it must have meant the next person in our group to die.

After shock and surprise by us bingo attendees at the announcement, and a group prayer, bingo went on as usual.

I didn’t win anything, but I was fine with it because there wasn’t anything on the prize table that I wanted.

The Monthly Calendar for October was posted to our doors fresh and early this morning, which gave us another topic to discuss during bingo because on the calendar is an event management is hosting for us — October 18, Custom (sic) and Pumpkin Decorating Contest.

Inasmuch as the office generally makes errors, like desert when they mean dessert, I’m assuming they meant Costume instead of Custom but, even though that’s a week and a half before Halloween, I so love doing cosplay that I’ll show up in a custom, oops I mean costume.

As for why the event, color me suspicious.

They raised the rent after the last time they hosted something for us, so I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop as to what’s next.

So, that’s two costume contests next month — the one hosted by management, the other being costume bingo on the 28th.

The plan is Superhero all the way — Wonder Woman on the 18th, Batman on the 28th. Though I did tease the girls when they asked what costume I'd be wearing by saying "It’s a secret, but I’m thinking of doing Lady Godiva — a long wig, no clothes".

As for pumpkin decorating, I don’t know nuthin bout carving a pumpkin. I know it’s messy work, so I’m hoping we’re decorating with paint, not carving.

Painted Rock Lady said she picked up a bag of candy corn as inspiration for making candy corn rocks BUT, when she sat down to paint, she realized she’d eaten all the inspiration.

I’m still up in the air about participating in that upcoming 5K. My body is telling me I’m fine, so I registered. My blood draw numbers are painting a different picture, so I’m going to give my body an opportunity to prove readiness by having trainer start me on hill climbing this next week. If I can do it in the studio, I’ll be fine on the course. If I can’t handle it in the studio, I’ll withdraw from participating.

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.

St. Patrick’s Day!

Since I can't decide which hat to wear, I'm opting for a shamrock tee, as I head off to the medical center this morning — to get the Blood Pressure check off the to-do list.

Except for the drama generated by that Karen neighbor, it’s been quiet here on the complex.

Too quiet.

Eerily quiet.

My spidey sense has been telling me something isn’t right.

Apache hasn’t been around for a while — which is unusual in itself, and I’ve not seen the Baker walking her dog Fancy around for days and days. I’ve also not seen Jan, the painted rock lady, since I drove her to her medical center last Friday.

If you will recall, as I headed for the Pain Cave that day, I’d seen her — now dependent on an oxygen tank, headed out for a breathing test.

Forty-five minutes later, returning from my workout, Jan was STILL sitting on the bench out front. I pulled over, learned her Uber driver was VERY late, so I drove her to the medical center telling her to call if the ride back failed her.

Haven’t seen her since and, there being no signs of life at her unit, I'm thinking she must have been readmitted for observation.

The saga of that Karen and the Talker took a frightening turn yesterday when, returning from that morning's workout, the Talker approached me saying, "Shirley, I’m scared".

"Why!? What happened!?"

"She's stalking me".

The story is that although the Karen is trying to be nice, Talker feels the Karen is actually crazy, a physical danger and can’t maintain for much longer, based on her now strange behaviors — stalker behavior.

Like being observed by others standing outside glaring up at Talker’s unit — like I'd observed a couple days ago.

Like being observed following the Talker to her car one day, hiding and peering from behind the trash receptacle — assuming to see where Talker parks, what kind of car she drives.

Talker said she'd actually seen, from the corner of her eyes, the Karen peeking at her from around the structure.

Like being observed to be on hands and knees picking around in the dirt in front of her own patio, appearing to be looking for something.

Talker later found plant pieces piled up in front of her door. Plant pieces it is assumed little miss "I’m sick, I need peace and quiet" was well enough to kneel, dig in the dirt, then climb the stairs to place her findings in front of Talker’s door, for some odd reason.

Talker says what scares her most is the Karen has been trying to finagle her way inside Talker’s unit — "nicely" offering to come up, help Talker with this, that, the other.

So, it looks like Karen of the "I'm sick, I need peace and quiet" klan can not only climb stairs, but is able and willing to help Talker with this, that, the other.

I'm thinking what that's about is her wanting to get inside, see the layout, determine who sleeps where, so she can direct whatever it is she's planning in the correct direction, or she wants to plant something inside.

At any rate,"I don’t want her inside my unit. I don’t know what she’ll do", said the Talker.

Talker's problem is, like I said before, she's too nice. Knowing Karen is being insincere, that she's now become afraid of Karen, the Talker continues to play the game with her.

A spiritual teacher once explained conflict between two people as there's a pitcher and a catcher. The pitcher pitches, the catcher catches, the pitcher pitches, the catcher catches. But what would happen if the pitcher pitched and the catcher refused to catch? It would be game over.

I suggested Talker stop catching, stop playing the game; do not engage, don’t give Karen any attention, ignore when she speaks, pay no mind to her so-called attempts at being friendly.

"I can’t do that, can’t be that way", says Talker.

Okay then, she'll have to live with the consequences.

Hopefully, she'll at least let the office know she's scared, perhaps consider a restraining order.

I gotta tell you, I'm fast losing sympathy for the Talker.

She doesn't want to move to a downstairs unit, she doesn't want to disengage, she probably won't talk to the office or get a restraining order. Instead, she's "praying".

There's the old saying, "God helps those who help themselves".

My spidey sense is telling me the unusual quiet on the place is a universal dread amongst those of us aware of the situation that the Talker will one day soon be wishing she’d been more proactive.

Wish me luck at the medical center because I just took my BP and it reads 145/61, which is too high. I'll have to do the breathing thing Mike, over at Billions of Visions of Normal, told me about and get the reading down to the 120's by the time I reach the center.

Déjà Vu

Happy belated Father’s Day to all you dads out there, and single parent moms who are doing double duty ─ parenting as both mom AND dad.

Father’s Day was never big when I was growing up, at least not in our household. Never knew my father, as mom and he separated when I was months old and she relocated out-of-state and that was that until, in my late 20’s, I got tricked into travelling to his funeral. Seeing him in his casket was the first, only and last time I lay eyes on my father.

Mom, a pretty lady, remarried of course ... twice.

Didn’t like my first stepdad ─ father to my sister and brothers and can’t recall a single Father’s Day celebration happening. For sure, if there had been, I’d have not been involved as I’ve never been one to pretend to like who I didn’t.

My second stepdad came into the family when I was grown, on my own, and I liked him. So, I do remember gifting him with tools for Father’s Day until he passed away.

Mom did not remarry after my second stepdad and, having escaped my husband when my girls were only six months old, there was never a Father’s Day celebration with him. So, like I said, Father’s Day was never big in my family.

Elsewhere in my world, I’ve been glued to the news, watching on tv and reading online everything on Bolton and his Book, The Room Where It Happened.

I’ve purchased and read every book that’s come out about No. 45, but I’m done with that and won’t purchase this one, because I don’t want Bolton to prosper as he could have come out with all this information when it mattered ─ during impeachment proceedings. Also, because there’s really nothing new. We all know who 45 is, what he’s done, what he’s likely to do, and none of that knowing has changed anything, so ffs.

When not glued to the news, I’ve been keeping an eye on Nosey’s vacant unit to see if management was going to paint and re-carpet.

They did, but management saved a few bucks by not bringing in professional painters. Instead, Head Maintenance Guy and his assistant did the painting, but management did spring for proper carpet installers.

I’ve not yet seen a cleaning crew, but management may be counting on the maintenance guys to do the cleaning as well, so as to save a few more bucks.

Management is notoriously cheap.

At any rate, we should have a new tenant in the quad soon. Inasmuch as it’s a downstairs unit, the new tenant is not likely to be a handsome active senior.

It occurred to me the other day that I’m the OG in this quad. Not just because I’m the oldest in the quad, but because everyone who lived in the units surrounding me and across from me, when I moved in, has died. Everyone here now came after me.

I’d be spooked about so many deaths around me ─ ghosts and all, except for the fact only one died in her unit. The others were transferred to care facilities, or to live with relatives, and passed away there.

I've noticed seniors tend to give up and let go, rather quickly, when moved away from living independently in their own space.

And, believe it or not, the one who did pass away in her unit ─ Debbie who lived right next door, did visit me a day or so after she passed away. I didn’t see her, thank goodness because I couldn’t handle that, but I could feel her presence and did briefly smell her cigarette scent throughout every room as she passed through here, then moved on to wherever and whomever was next on her visit list.

I’m just back from this morning’s training session, wherein trainer announced he’d no longer be training at that studio after July 31.

Déjà Vu, though actually it’s Precognition.

Remember back in early May when I’d posted about finding myself continuously glancing out the window, looking at the patio, gauging as to whether the space was suitable for working out, because of getting one of those feelings again of knowing something was going to happen before it happens?

I rationalized the feeling I was getting was that Trainer’s studio might not survive, due to Trainer and his partner not being able to hold group sessions upon reopening.

Not having group sessions didn’t impact Trainer at all, as he just switched over to one-on-one personal training, and his partner is independently wealthy, with lots of businesses, so not having group sessions didn't hurt either one of them. However, he and his partner had a disagreement over the weekend, which disagreement Trainer said ended up with his partner disrespecting him in a way he’s not willing to forget or forgive, so he announced to partner that he’s outta there end of next month.

Of course partner realized he’d gone too far, apologized, even called Trainer’s wife and asked her to mediate for him. But Trainer is a lot like me in that there comes a time, and Trainer said there have been other incidents, when we’re done with an individual and there’s no turning back.

I didn’t feel it coming for THIS reason, but I did feel it coming.

At any rate, Trainer is looking for a house with a garage, where he can set up his equipment. If he’s not gotten set up by the end of next month, he says he’ll continue with my training at Planet Fitness.

I’m down with whatever Trainer wants to do, wherever he wants to set up ─ even if we do end up on my tiny balcony.

Do as I Say, Not as I Do, Part 2

So guess who came into the Laundry Room this morning, mask less, just as I was preparing to do laundry?

No, not Handsome Man — though I did run into him earlier in the week, out on the property mask less, but looking all good in shorts and tank top. It was Head Maintenance Man coming into the Laundry Room, mask less, with a load to wash.

Fortunately, I had two machines, someone had earlier started laundry in the other two machines, and there being only four, Head Maintenance Guy had to remove himself and go to the Laundry Room on the other side of the grassy knoll.

Why can that A-Hole not follow the rules?

You’d think with his going in/out of units, not know who’s an asymptomatic carrier, who is not, he’d be concerned about protecting his small children and us other seniors by wearing the damn mask.

But whatever. I had my mask on and, had he been able to stay, I’d have made sure not to let him get too close.

Avoiding the news last few days has worked in that the hurtful experiences I don’t like to remember have gone back into the vault. I am however still lurking CVM’s facebook page, just waiting for her to post something about her planning to participate in a peaceful protest in solidarity so I can call her out. She’ll immediately block me, of course, but not before I have my say and her friends get to know her as I do — a fake, fraud, hypocrite.

Talking to Next Door Neighbor, it’s confirmed that Nosey did pass away in the rehab center — not from Covid, but from natural causes.

I’d been thinking about her practically every day, last two weeks, before I saw her unit getting cleaned out and learned she’d passed away, which is beginning to worry me because, when thoughts of a particular individual keep touching me, I generally learn they’ve passed away. Like that time when my old drummer boyfriend Mike kept crossing my mind, so I googled him and learned he’d passed away. And the time I moved out of my shell and travelled to attend a nephew’s birthday party because something told me I should. He passed away before his next birthday. And there was a time, many moons ago, when a former coworker kept crossing my mind. I’d gone online trying to locate her, even left a message on a message board that if anyone knew her, bla bla bla. It wasn’t too much later when another former coworker — that didn’t know I’d been trying to reach that other former coworker, contacted ME, to ask if I’d heard the news … she’d passed away.

There have been other occasions such as these, most notably when I was at work, suddenly turned to a coworker and asked, "Can you get leave for when a brother dies?" I had no idea why I'd asked that question but, at home later that evening, I received a call my brother had been murdered.

I’m putting this out there because I’ve also been thinking about The Baker’s husband.

I don’t like this. It’s a little scary. I’m beginning to feel like the harbinger of doom.

Ain’t Nobody Got Time for This

Management — offices still closed, posted notices of Patio Inspections this week.

The world is struggling with a pandemic and management is concerned about residents being in compliance with no more than three plants, each not to exceed 50 pounds, on the patio?

Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Then there’s the Census.

I received my packet just as the lockdown began and, again, with the world as we knew it seeming to come to an end, I had more important things on my mind than completing the census.

I shredded it.

THEN, a few weeks later, I received a reminder with the caveat “You are required by law to respond”.

Oh ffs, arrest me, thought I and into the shredder went the threat.

In yesterday’s mail was another complete Census packet, also a priority mailer. The mailer was from the guy who makes the glitter masks.

I opened it and began jumping up and down with glee, like a little kid.

Rainbow Design

A gift giver that keeps on giving. I didn’t ask for this mask, I didn’t order it, he just sent it and I love it.

When all is said and done, I’m going to have to make a special trip to Los Angeles to meet this young man.

I was all matchy matchy on my way to the Pain Cave this morning, because I accessorized with my rainbow hair buff.

And speaking of the Pain Cave, since yesterday, I keep finding myself glancing out the window, looking at the patio, gauging as to whether the space is suitable for working out, because I’m getting one of those feelings again of knowing something is going to happen before it happens.

This time the feeling I’m getting is Trainer’s studio might not survive reopening, due to Trainer and his partner (he has one who works with groups) not being able to hold group sessions.

Early on in our relationship, Trainer had said, “I’m very fond of you. If something happens where you can’t make it to the studio, I’d come to you”.

My thought about that was how sweet. Then I thought about 1) how the Illusive Unfriendly downstairs neighbor would complain about the noise and 2) management would never allow us to work out on the grounds, but now I find myself looking at the patio, determining what exercises could be done in the limited space.

Trainer has said nothing to me indicating the studio might not survive but, if it happens, I’ll take him up on coming to me and we’ll do what we can on the patio if he doesn’t come up with another location.

As for that Census … timing is everything. I still feel the census bureau should not have been harassing citizens with their survey, when so much was going on. But now that there’s toilet paper and paper towels back on the market shelf, I felt a little more hopeful there might be a future to make the Census relevant, logged onto the laptop and completed the thing.

It took less than 5 minutes.

I still feel it was an inopportune time for a Census, but had I known it took so little time to complete, I probably would not have been so irritated and resistant.