Size Doesn’t Matter

Walking into the Pain Cave this morning, I greeted Trainer, set down my water bottle, cellphone, keys as Trainer began walking towards me when, all of a sudden he stopped, looked down and said, with a smile on his face — as though he saw something cute, "Will you look at that".

I froze. "What?".

"It’s a little baby lizard," said he.

There was much screeching and screaming after that as I jumped up on top of the nearest bench.

"Are you being serious right now?" said Trainer as I continued to screech and yell "Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!"

"It’s little, a baby" said Trainer.

"Size doesn’t matter. It’s a lizard. Kill it!".

To make matters worse, it was a white lizard.

Whoever heard of such a thing?

How many more ways can nature torture me?

Saying, "You scared me Shirley". That he didn’t initially know why I was screaming, didn’t occur to him it was because I was afraid of a baby lizard, Trainer got a broom and began sweeping the lizard out of the studio while assuring me he was not going to sweep it towards me, but rather towards the open door.

A bookcase was positioned in such a way that I couldn’t see the floor in the door area, so I didn’t believe Trainer when he said the lizard was gone, that he'd swept it out the door. I thought the lizard had eluded him and made it to the corner opposite the door, where Trainer couldn't get to it.

"He’s gone. I swept him out the door. I wouldn’t lie to you."

I eventually trusted putting my feet back on the studio floor, got down to working out, with Trainer continuing to say he thought I was joking at first until he saw how wide and wild my eyes looked when I was perched up on the bench.

"I thought you were gantsa, could handle anything".

"Not creepy crawlies", said I.

So, anyway, today's workout was once again the ladder. Only this time Trainer said he was going to push me a little and had me hop sideways, instructing to get my knees up high as I went along.

This was as high as I could get 'em.

Not my best work, and later this afternoon, at bingo, I became aware my right hip was aching. It feels a bit out of alignment. Not sufficient for a visit to the acupuncturist, but enough to require soaking in a hot tub and some yoga stretches.

I don't think I'll be engaging in any future knees up sideways hopping again.

Walking into the Community Room this afternoon, I saw the refrigerator had a big old "STAFF ONLY" sign on it.

Logic tells me the words "Community Room" signifies a room set aside for the community of residents — our kitchen, our refrigerator for our events. But unless and until someone of authority, someone with power who actually gives a damn comes along that we can complain to, there’s not a thing us seniors can do but work around management.

Shadow — the resident that caused my former friend The Seer, now deceased, to turn on all of us, said we should unplug the refrigerator or cut the cord.

I actually like that suggestion of sabotage, but reminded him of the kitchen’s video surveillance system.

Curses, foiled again.

Family, Ugh!

No problem returning that cursed object — the vlogging kit. I just walked into the store yesterday, headed for the return counter and, with no line, which was unexpected because there usually is, I walked straight up to the counter said, “I do not like it” and that was that.

No questions asked.

Headed back to the complex, I passed the Cat House — and I don’t mean a cattery, where cats are housed, I mean the other kind of Cat House. The type of entertainment venue that Church Lady would be disapproving of.

As I was passing, I caught sight of wording on their sign that intrigued, so I turned around, drove through the parking lot, to get a photo.

Back in ’92, when folks were rioting because the thug cops who tried to beat Rodney King to death were acquitted of all charges, King came forward and uttered those iconic words, “Can’t we all just get along”.

The cat house bastardized those words into a sign that was quite clever.

Can’t We All Just Get ABong

Those of us who came through the hippie flower child era (not a participant on my part, just a witness, an observer) will instantly realize the cat house is not talking about “bong” as in a sound/a bell, but more in terms of slang language for a device connected to a particular herb.

Something special must have been going on at the cat house, because it was noon, on a weekday, and the parking lot was full.

When I pulled over to a side area to get that photo, I wasn’t able to get the clear photo I wanted, because a limo pulled up nose to nose to my little jeep, making me feel pressured to hurry up and get off the lot — which I did.

Since I was out and about, I would have liked to have run other errands but, inasmuch as this morning's workout is my last until Wednesday, I have plenty of days between then and now to take care of business and decided to only stop by the non-security guard market for a few supplies.

While there, I got into a hilarious conversation with the kid bagging groceries.

Complimenting me on my rainbow mask, he began telling me how the way it glistened and gleamed would ward vampires off.

Vampire Killing Mask

Playing along, I reminded him that vampires only come out at night and my mask is not glow in the dark.

"Yes, but you can shine a flashlight on it and the glow would spread out like sunlight and disintegrate them", said he.

Laughing out loud, I replied, "You’ve been watching waaaay too much sci-fi", whereupon the young man in line behind me started laughing so hard that the laugh caught in his throat and he began coughing.

Been there done that, but on him it was not good, because he was not wearing a mask and standing too close — something I was not even aware of until he began laughing/coughing or I’d have asked him to give me my six feet.

I did enjoy the banter with the bagger, but I have to remember, at all times, we’re in a pandemic, to remain focused on my surroundings, protect my space.

As for why no training until Wednesday, it’s because Trainer is taking Monday off to deal with further daughter drama. He wanted me to go beast mode again — Tuesday and Wednesday, but I told him that back-to-back workout days seem to aggravate the old rotator injury, too much stress on that shoulder.

Of course, he gave me grief at skipping a workout for fear of an injury. Saying, “Oh sure, but you don’t mind injuring yourself doing TikTok dances”.

I had to laugh because it’s true. The latest TikTok injury being my right hip, but nothing that a few days of Epsom salt in my bath water didn't handle.

At any rate, Trainer’s daughter, just like my middle grandson (and to some degree his brothers) are like the bane of existence that, for some cosmic reason, the Universe has seen fit to put one such bane in every family.

In commiserating with Trainer about the destruction his daughter is bringing to his life, using my own situation (past and present) as an example of how to survive, I told Trainer that sometimes you have to save yourself by letting go — which pretty much is what he’s going to have to end up doing with his daughter, close the book, let go and let God. She'll either sink or swim.

I don't know if I've already said, but after yet another try at a money grab, even though I'd blocked the boys on my phone, I had to rat the grandsons out to their mom.

That's right, I tattled.

I asked her to have a talk with them about how I live on a fixed income that has to last until my time here is done, and that if I squander my income away funding their lifestyles, when they are young, healthy, perfectly capable of working as many jobs as necessary to make ends meet, I very well may end up having to later supplement my income as an old lady working as a Walmart Greeter.

When I told Trainer this is how I resolved the issue just last week, Trainer looked thoughtful, nodded in the affirmative, as though he agreed with what I'd said, then offered, “You don’t HAVE to end up a Walmart greeter”.

"What do you mean?"

"You can be nice to that Security Guard. He has a job, a nice truck, and would work overtime if you asked him to".

ROFLMAO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What a Difference a Day Makes

It’s taken almost five months for that bone spur in my left foot to heal.

Ready to get back into a walking routine, it was just this past Sunday that I’d tried the foot out at the University.

Everything was so peaceful and so beautiful that I’d posted photos to Facebook with the caption “Nice day for collecting Pokéballs. Hit up 27 stops, hatched a Shellder, added 3281 steps to fitbit and leveled up to 24.”

Shortly after, The Archeologist commented, “We were there earlier, used our lucky egg, got double points. Level 25 for us.”

The very next day all hell breaks out with helicopters overhead and, at 11:40, she posted a panicked, “Shooting at my kids’ school. Waiting”.

At 1:25 came the welcome news her children had been safely evacuated to the University.

Inasmuch as her husband works at the University, she and her children are known, so the news was accompanied with a photo, taken by a friend at the University, of the kids sitting in the bleachers, looking calm, eating a snack.

She and her husband were reunited with the kids at 3:50.

This is the third major world news event to have occurred in the area in the last two years, and the fact that those three happenings have been so close to my building, with the last one being only a mile away, and all three events involving people I know is mind blowing.

Is the Inland Empire really that small?

I don’t personally know many people, don’t even get out and about that often, yet the Blue Cut fire got right up to the cabin of a former coworker I’d become reacquainted with since our paths crossed at Trader Joe’s; that terrorist guy was the county employee who’d signed off on the pool license/certificate for this complex; and the elementary school shooting involved the children of the woman I’d met at the 2014 Spooktacular 5K.

As the elementary school was closed day after the shooting, The Archeologist posted on Facebook that she’d had the kids with her when she went shopping. A friendly store cashier asked if they were on spring break. The Archeologist said she leaned over and whispered that the kids were off school because they attend North Park. Her daughter heard and said "Me and my brother didn't get shot."

Heartbreaking.

She later posted photos of her family at yesterday’s memorial.

I’d thought about walking over but, after seeing the crowds and all the news cameras, was glad I didn’t. Now that things seem relatively calm, I may however walk over this afternoon.

I imagine the fallout will be husbands no longer allowed to come in contact with their teacher wives in the classroom, where children are present.

The Three B’s

Because of the high winds, I’ve barely been outside since Friday. Instead, my mornings have been the Three B’s -- Breakfast, Bath, Bike, with an afternoon of needlepoint and television.

You’d think the not getting outside, no social contacts, time would be dragging. But au contraire, time has been flying by. I’m just hoping the next 1460 days will go by as fast.

Time until the orange guy leaves office

The virtual bike competition is going well. My energy level has been sporadic, so I’ve not been able to bike each and every day, but updates indicate I’ve traveled 35.2 miles, from the Missouri start of Route 66.

Virtual biking is new to me, doesn’t burn near the calories walking did, but keeps the heart pumping, the blood flowing until the bone spur stops pestering me and I can get back to walking.

It’s infuriating that I’ve had to pass on so many 5Ks. One in particular has come up on February 18, with bling so enticing that I’m going for it, even if I have to walk the 3.12 miles on my tippy toes.

Cheetah Runner's Valentine 5K

Other than that, I’m sticking to virtual bike competitions, with an eye towards first completing this YesFit Route 66 Challenge (66 miles) I'm participating in, after which I plan on the YesFit Pacific Coast Highway Challenge (113.2 miles).

In between, I’ll take Fat Tuesday off (February 28) to complete the one day Mardi Gras 5 Miler challenge, advertised as a “run/walk/jog/bike or treadmill event”.

The finishing medal is attached to Mardi Gras beads.

Enjoying the variety of medals on my bib/medal board, I couldn’t pass that up, especially since I can bike it.

Speaking of bib/medal board ... mine is overflowing to where I'm going to have to find a way to add more hooks and order an additional board for future races, as I don't see myself slowing down any time soon.

Looking out the patio window yesterday, the wind looks to have died down to drive-able, forecast indicated sun, so I scheduled that spa appointment manicure/pedicure for today.

It’s going to be awkward having had the older lady always do my pedicures for so many years and requesting someone else this time because she was so distracted and caused pain last time. Thinking back as to why she seemed so distracted, so out-of-it, she is an immigrant, it was after the election, so putting two and two together I can understand but I don’t like pain, so no.

Halloween Pizza Party

I so did not want to go.

Up at 4:00 in the morning, by the time 12:30 rolled around -- when festivities were to begin, I was so sleepy that I couldn’t see straight.

However, as The Seer had decided to get creative and come up with a costume ONLY because I’d said I was wearing one, I felt compelled to attend.

Would you believe that, when I offered The Seer the use of one of my tutus, she didn’t know what a tutu was?

Apache knew, and he’s a guy.

I described it to The Seer, “You know … one of those little skirts made out of netting.” (Actually, tulle, but if she didn’t know what a tutu was, she most surely wasn’t going to know tulle).

She looked confused.

“Dancers wear them”.

Still looked confused.

“Ballerinas wear them.”

“Ohhhh” she says, “A tutu”.

It amazes me sometimes what normal everyday people are not aware of, like Big L – the woman who retired from the Navy and is nice when she’s on meds, to be avoided when off. One day she asked me, “What’s that thing I see in your ear when you’re walking?”

She can’t possibly mean the IPod, thought I.

“That green thing”.

She DID mean the IPod, “It’s my IPod”, says I.

“Why do you wear that? What’s it for?”

She’s serious.

“Music. It’s a music player. I’m listening to music and walking to the beat.”

Can you believe Big L has traveled the world, seen things I only see on television, but hadn’t seen an IPod before?

Not that I know everything. In fact, a couple days ago, a young man who obviously is living illegally with one of the residents engaged me in conversation. Topic turned to the slogan, “What would Stuckey do”.

I didn’t get it.

He was just as amazed at my lack of knowing as I at others’. However, having a curious mind, I logged onto the internet and learned Stuckey's is a famous roadside convenience store chain found on highways throughout the United States that offers pecan log rolls, pralines, divinity, goo goos, chocolates, flavored pecans, and nuts.

I don’t travel and have no interest in Stuckey’s offerings, so my not knowing can be excused. Not so much with not knowing tutu and IPod.

I think the problem with most of my fellow residents is they’re so busy living in the past, talking about how much they miss Frank Sinatra and the Rat Pack, that they're oblivious to the NOW.

So anyway, I cowgirl up’d, got a shoe on my still slightly swollen sore foot and limped on down to the Community Room at 12:30, dressed once again as Captain America, but with the new Winter Soldier logo.

Last Year's Logo

This Year's Logo

While we’re on the topic of what normal everyday people are not aware of, as obvious as it was, no one knew what my costume was last year. One resident guessed “Wonder Woman” another “Super Girl”, others asked, “What are you?”

This time I walked in and got, yet again, “Wonder Woman?” also “Are you some kind of super hero?”

It was a much better showing for the new Activity Director, 17 people attended. Again, nowhere near representative of the number of residents, but enough to make the event somewhat successful.

I was disappointed to see so few of us in costume, four out of seventeen.

The good news is, that with the poor showing of costumes, it was easier for us four to win a prize, as there were precisely four categories … Scariest, Most Beautiful, Most Original/Most Popular, Most Serious.

Bloody Butcher won Scariest
Mardi Gras Mystique won Most Original
Nun won Most Serious
Captain America won Most Beautiful

I was so excited at my prize -- a Walmart Gift Card, that I neglected to notice what the others won.

On the menu were pizza, chips, soda, salad, cake, pumpkin pie. I opted for salad and a small slice of cake and pie. Hopefully not enough to cause my stomach to rebel.