Meet the Parents

Not my parents — my father (whom I’d never met but did get to see just before they closed the casket at his funeral) went on to his next life a long time ago, mom has gone on to hers as well.

The parents I’m speaking of are the parents of the soon to be baby birds nesting in the eaves over my head.

There has been much cooing, many flyovers and sightings last few days.

I’ve spotted the parents on the roof, caught a parent leaving poop on the patio wall and one day, as smaller birds were hoovering and flying by, I’d swear I was witnessing a baby shower.

Dental procedures off my mind, I was out of bed early this morning, feeling a new lease on life.

Hearing cooing, I opened the blinds, expecting to see the parents on the roof again. Instead, I caught them grocery shopping — the early bird catching the worm so to speak.

With the parents out shopping, the eggs or baby birds — whichever gestation period they’re in, are home alone.

The parents better not leave them alone too long because twice this week I’ve seen lizards climbing up the side of the wall by the stairs, making it all the way up to, over and onto the roof.

Is it because the lizards know the nest is up there? Are they after the eggs, the baby birds, or the food the parents are stockpiling?

I don’t know what lizards eat, but I suspect one item on their food list are crickets because, now that the complex is overrun with lizards, we no longer have a problem with crickets.

With two packages to pick up today, one near the Farmer’s Market ... which meant I’d likely end up there, drinking coffee, listening to music, I headed out.

First stop was the corner UPS Store — and not because I wanted to, but because I had to. A book I’d ordered was dropped off at that location rather than in my mailbox or on the doorstep.

As for why I avoid that location it's because the young girls who work there are slow and sooooooo friggin stupid. I mean honestly, not even funny stupid. They just grate on my last nerve and, looking at their Yelp reviews, it’s not just me.

One day, I was at the counter for 30 minutes as the cashier hunted around on her screen, pecked at this key that key, kept calling someone over to look at her screen, help her out. Once she figured it out, she wanted to charge me $200 for shipping.

I declined, drove to the post office, was in/out in 10 minutes @ $14.

After that time, I never again went in to ship anything out, but thought just buying a mailer now and then would go okay.

It didn't.

I walked in one day, picked up one of their mailers, walked up to the cashier, put it on the counter to pay for. She picked it up, looked at it, flipped it over to look at the other side, looked at me like she didn’t know what I was doing at the counter, then asked "Do you want to buy this?"

I was tempted to say, "No. I'm standing here because I want to steal it" but, stupid as she seemed to be, she'd have called the cops, reported a robbery in progress.

There’re three girls, all about the same age, so I figure one is the manager, two are friends she’s given a job to, and all are so stupid that, except for having no choice today, that was the last time I set foot in the store.

I walk in, say, "I have a pickup", give the girl the notice that says in big bold letters “Your Package is Ready for Pickup” and details the store’s address, also in big bold letters.

She looks at the notice, flips it over to look at the back side, then gives me a blank look and asked, "You want a copy?"

Honestly, there’s just no fixing stupid.

Remainder of the day went well. I picked up my other package, stopped by the Farmer’s Market for a few.

No music today, just a lot of delicious looking food and snacks I can't have.

Hood Corn isn't anything I'd eat, even if I could, but it must be good because there was a long line of folks waiting to buy.

No music, nothing I could eat, so I bailed and instead headed to Sprouts for a few gluten-free items.

There I heard music I could have listened to for hours.

The wording on his donation box said something to the effect "For food, for living" and indicated he’d take cash donations, Zelle or Cash App (money transfers).

How that would work for a street performer I do not know, but I thought it quite genius of him to think of it.

Old people are coming out of retirement to deliver pizzas, bag groceries, and this guy is working his musical talent, while young people fully capable of working are opting to steal, do street robberies or, like the one grandson I bitched about, pimp his grandma with that story of "Grandma, I’m trying to work, go to school, can you help me out". Which I did (@$1,800 to "catch up on bills"), only to later learn he was not working, not trying to go to school, and had the audacity to hit me up again two weeks later.

Karen in the Wild

It’s mostly been all TV this weekend. However, I’m a multitasker by nature so, even when engrossed in the television, I was getting stuff done — like working on that needlepoint project I began 13 months ago.

As to how I manage to watch television while simultaneously following a pattern, placing the needle and correct color into the correct space on 14-point aida cloth, the answer is …. very carefully.

I mostly listen to the television. It’s background music but, when something I hear warrants attention, I pause the needle and focus on the screen.

Works for me, and I’ve rarely had to correct a mistake in my needle work.

Friday night’s Drag Race was so fascinating that I actually put the needle down.

After a disastrous Snatch Game last week, seven queens were forced to Lip Sync for their lives in a Lalaparuza Smackdown that had me on the edge of my seat.

Fortunately, my three favorites — Lady Camden, Willow Pill and Angeria lived to slay another day.

On Saturday, to make room for new recordings — specifically episodes of Breaking Bad, I viewed previous recordings of Food Network’s Spring Baking Championship.

I prefer recording shows, watching later so I can fast forward through commercials.

At any rate, I thought it was hubris and quite offensive when one of the bakers introduced herself by saying, “I am probably the youngest in this competition. That kinda gives me a little bit of an advantage. I’ve got a little more pep, a little more spunk”.

More pep, more spunk than others not of her generation, she meant. A mistake many Millenniums and Generation Z’s makes — think they know it all, discounting/disrespecting their elders.

Guess what — little miss more pep, more spunk was in tears by the end of the pre-heat, and was one of first two sent home on the main-heat.

Pretty much the same thing happened on the Spring Baking Easter Competition. The kid that sounded like he’s modeled himself after that fake heiress, Anna Sorokin Delvey — with her calling others “basic” made the statement, “Why be simple when you can be extra”.

He too went home first.

Seems the lesson is — Self-confidence is great, but temper it with humility; and, more importantly, don't dis your elders.

This morning, while walking from the kitchen, back to the needlepoint stand, I happened to glance out the window and caught a glimpse of that Karen out in the Wild.

I pulled up a chair to the bedroom window and began recording.

Did you see the suspicious way she looked around to see if anyone had seen her taking the cat?

Well, somebody did see — ME.

I’m thinking of contacting the SPCA, say I have a neighbor displaying psychotic behaviors, observed her chase down, capture and take a feral cat into her unit. That I’m concerned for the cat’s safety and would like a welfare check.

Shall I?

Yesterday and Tomorrow

I ran into that fast walking maskless Covid recovered resident again.

Just my luck that, heading for the car yesterday, she turns a corner, walks directly towards me down my walkway. This time her excuse was “I can’t find my bling mask”.

I thought I was talking to myself in my head, when I angrily mumbled, “You don’t have another?”, but quickly realized I’d angrily mumbled that out loud. LOL.

Fortunately, she was far enough behind me by then that she didn’t hear my utterance because, for sure, I don’t want to get into an argument with a maskless resident who’s recently recovered from Covid. Especially after reading that comment, to the last post, from Linda in Kansas that this neighbor is “not 100%. AND could still spread to others”.

I also ran into Church Lady, asked if she’d attended Movie Night.

She looked confused, as though she didn’t know about Movie Night, but the woman with her said she didn’t think anyone went because she herself had warned residents that if they saw A Quiet Place, they would be too frightened to walk back to their units in the dark because the movie was scary.

Sounds like she went out of her way to sabotage the event.

She needn’t have bothered.

The Tyrant being so NOT well liked, I don’t think anyone wants anything to do with his feeble attempt at providing entertainment to us seniors. No sabotage required. The Tyrant has sabotaged himself.

Hopefully he’ll get the message, give up and not try Movie Night a third time.

At any rate, when this resident said she’d told people the movie was scary, at the mention of “scary”, Church Lady chimed in and said, “Oh no! I don’t do that”. LOL.

So Church Lady, with her list of no "nasty" sex scenes, no bad words, no blood and now, no scary, is very limited in movie viewing.

Back on a regular every six months schedule, it’s off to the dentist I go tomorrow.

The handsome Dr. McDreamy was not in last time. I got stuck with a DDS I’ve never seen before, who looked to be about 15 years old, prompting me to give him the blog name of Doogie (after that TV kid doctor, Doogie Howser MD).

Doogie made a bad first impression.

I saw ego and overconfidence when he said he’d found an area up front, lower teeth, that appeared to be spacing. That it looked like it once had a filling, the filling fell out and that it was an easy fix. “We wouldn’t even have to numb the area”.

Thing is, I’d never had a filling in that area which, if Doogie had first looked at my chart he would have known. So, rather than walking in there acting/talking like a big man in an effort to impress, he left me feeling not only NOT impressed but distrustful .... that he was trying to pad the bill.

I made up my mind weeks ago that, if McDreamy is again not available (in the process of scaling back, semi retiring) and I get stuck with Doogie, I’m going to be looking for another dentist. Preferably, a female.

In fact, when the hygienist goes to set up my next appointment, I’m going to ask if there is a female DDS at one of their other locations and go from there.

If asked why, I’m going to be honest and say I’m just not feeling Doogie.

Funny Money

Cash back from a purchase, produced an interesting dollar bill.

It’s pink, and I don’t think the color is bleeding from accidentally running through the washer with the colours.

When the cashier put the bill in my hand, nestled in between other bills, thinking the store was passing off dollars they probably should not have accepted onto me, I went “Oh, Oh. Is this stolen money?”

The young cashier looked clueless and said, "I don’t know".

"Well, it looks to me like somebody robbed a bank and the dye pack exploded", said I in a somewhat joking manner.

Cashier responded with a little giggle that indicated to me that she didn’t have a clue what I was alluding to.

I could have asked her to exchange the pink dollar for one that didn’t look like it had been involved in a crime, but didn’t because I wanted to keep it as a souvenir — I've added it to my funny money stash.

That’s right, I have a little stash of funny money — my favorite of which is a $2 bill.

I don’t even know what half of these coins are but, just like rocks sometimes call for me to pick them up, these coins called out "keep me".

I do know some are foreign, and two are Susan B. Anthony dollars. I once had a Kennedy Half Dollar, but it was stolen.

My fault.

When I was living in that loft apartment in Long Beach, management sent up two guys to work on something or other. One worker saw the half dollar, called out to me, while I was in another room, asking if I wanted to sell it.

My answer was, "No. I’m saving it".

When I heard his partner say, "You should have just taken it", I should have gotten up, gone into the room where the workers were, retrieved and put the coin in a safe place but didn’t; and, sure enough, after the workers left, the Kennedy coin was nowhere to be seen.

Of course, I complained to management. The complaint went nowhere.

I became a lot less trusting after that and, in ensuing years, completely paranoid of having workers inside, as I learned of far worse things that's happened to others.

Even now, every time I put in a work order here at the senior complex, I hide my credit cards, any documents that might reveal social security and/or banking information, also the organizer that holds my funny money and passwords.

Family going through my things, after I’m gone, are gonna be stumped by the pink dollar. Though, I don’t know if they’ll associate it with a possible bank robbery, thinking I might have been involved in something they don’t know about. LOL.

As for the $2 bill, I don’t know if any of them (the family) even know that yes, at one time, $2 bills were a thing, the bill is not a fake.

It wouldn’t be safe for anyone, including myself, to try to spend the $2 bill because, from what I've seen and heard and read about, it looks like not many outside of us Boomers know $2 bills are legit.

I recall hearing about a fast food worker, some three/four years ago, calling the cops on a customer who tried to pay for his meal with a $2 bill. The fast food worker refused to take the "fake" money and, when the customer insisted, called the cops.

Fortunately for the customer, the cop knew $2 bills had been a thing and some were still in circulation.

It didn’t go so well for a guy who paid for a purchase at Best Buy with an old stash of $2 bills. Because neither the cashier or manager or cop that showed up had ever seen a two-dollar bill before, the guy was actually arrested, jailed and the Secret Service was called in.

Seriously, the freaking Secret Service.

Once the Secret Service confirmed the bills were legit, they let the guy go.

I never learned what happened after that, but I hope the guy sued the pants off Best Buy.

I sometimes worry that, after my generation is gone, the world will be populated by those who have no knowledge of things associated with the Before Times.

Shamrock 5K

This morning’s 5K ─ hosted by a Sorority, though not the most fun I’ve had participating in a run/walk, turned out better than I’d expected.

The participants were indeed much younger than I, but not the “silly fraternity girls (and boys) dancing prancing running the course in seconds, leaving my old arse behind” I’d expected.

There actually weren’t that many running the course. Instead, it was mostly walkers AND quite a few of those walkers were slowing me down with their casual strolling as though they had all day to get around the course.

I managed to get around the slowpokes, leave ‘em in my dust as I paced myself on to a 58:31 finish.

The course was three 1.04 mile loops around a particular area of the campus ─ mostly asphalt road, which pounding away on asphalt left me stiff and sore all over. Just short of halfway through, I noticed a group of healthy-looking young men were cheating ─ taking a shortcut to the finish line after having completed nowhere near the required three loops.

Boo for them and, because there were timer chips in our race bibs, cheating won’t get them higher placement in the results. They did, of course, get to the finish line long before me, but the results should show less than the required 3.12 miles ... positioning them well behind me or incomplete, I hope.

Other young fit walkers, didn’t even finish the course. Some dropped out after the first mile, some after the second so that, by the time of the third and final lap, there were darn few of us participants still on the course.

Upon crossing the finish line, there were no medals given because ─ Sorority.

However, special medals went to the top 3 men and women, age 18 and over, rather than the usual top men/women in varying age groups, which meant the six medal winners were all 18/20 somethings because ─ Sorority.

I wasn’t terribly disappointed, as I did at least get a tee-shirt and the feeling of accomplishment at having finished.

There was no entertainment along the course because ─ Sorority. But there was music, Starbucks Coffee, donuts (I passed), a Spirit Team and a Cheer Squad at the finish line.

All in all, it was an okay 5K. I’d do it again. And though I’m stiff and sore now, I’m game to go Beast mode, head back to campus tomorrow ─ for a much slower paced walk ... that is if it doesn’t rain, which it now looks to be threatening.

Next up is San Diego’s Hot Chocolate 5K.

I don’t care much for San Diego, plus travel is too difficult with my gut issues, not to mention booking myself into a hotel during this Covid thing is not smart. The race organizers must be taking Covid into consideration as well because, for the first time, they’re offering a virtual ... and a whole lot of swag (medal AND a jacket instead of a tee).

Sweet!

I Can’t with These Millennials

In October, it was that Target worker who didn’t know how to properly bag breakables that caused me to realize just how clueless and irresponsible young people can be.

Fortunately, I’m not called upon to interact much with people under 55 years of age but I had to make a trip to Ralphs Market yesterday, because it’s the only place where I can find tofu (Shirataki) noodles.

While there, I picked up a few other wet products, like frozen cauliflower rice, frozen broccoli, et al.

At the checkout, I reached into my cloth bag, pulled out the Ralphs plastic bags and gave to the young bagger.

I became livid, yelling to myself, “What did he do! What’s wrong with him!” when I reached to unload at the car, and saw he’d not used the store bags I’d given him but, when I was otherwise occupied paying the cashier, he’d retrieved my cloth bag from the cart and put all the wet ingredients in it.

What did he do with the store bags?

Why, he’d put them inside the cloth bag as well.

It’s tiring me out.

I just can’t with these millennials.

The straw that broke the camel’s back was my millennial granddaughter texting, earlier that morning, that the 2004 Saturn I’d gifted her in February, when I bought the Jeep, had been stolen.

Poor thing has been through a lot.

I’m not speaking of granddaughter as poor thing, but the car.

While spending Thanksgiving in Long Beach, I’d gotten a look at the Saturn. It obviously had not seen a car wash in a long time, plus there was that chunk out of the left side back door, caused by granddaughter being hit in the traffic circle. The grandsons advised she’s also not keeping up with maintenance/oil.

Oh and btw, from that traffic circle accident I learned granddaughter was driving without insurance.

Call Geico, I tell her. Get a quote. I’ll pay for it.

Nothing happens.

THEN, I get that woe is me text that the car was stolen, along with everything she owns ─ clothes/shoes, as she was in the process of moving.

“I don't know why bad things keep happening” she bemoans.

This is California!

Any fool knows you don’t drive without insurance and you don’t leave anything in a car to temp thieves, but I resisted saddling her with blame. Instead, I said the Universe is throwing some hard tests her way and that hopefully the car will be found, with her items safely inside. In the meantime, it’s back to the bus and Uber, I say but add “Something good will happen. Expect a miracle”.

An hour later, “Car not stolen. Towed”.

There’s your miracle but ... “Towed for why?”

“Three parking tickets”.

WT Heck! thought I, but pulled from my savings and sent her enough to get the car from tow, pay citations, and it was a lot of $$$$ and once again say, “Get a Geico quote”.

Along with this gift of $$$$ came my texting to her that the Universe was being kind this time, that complete loss of the car and belongings would have been a far harder lesson than tow, especially when the loss would have been the result of something as small as parking where she’d not be ticketed, then failing to pay the first parking ticket, go on to garner two more.

In retrospect, I should have left her to the consequences of her own actions ─ no clothes, back to buses and Uber. But the car, previously well-maintained and having served me well for so long, didn’t deserve to be abandoned to the tow yard.

At any rate, granddaughter says she’ll use the $$$$ wisely and get on top of things immediately, but I don’t know. I’m suspicious that there’s something I don’t know about that’s the reason for no insurance, but I’m now at the place of I don’t want to know, and shouldn’t care because she’s a grown ass millennial woman and I just can’t with these millennials any longer.

My future dealings with granddaughter's dramas will be much like the relationship in this clip of Woopi Goldberg and Tiffany Haddish in their new movie Nobody’s Fool.

No Vacancy

Waking up yesterday morning, opening the blinds to let in the sun, I spied a patio chair on the upstairs unit across the quad ─ the unit which just recently became vacant when, according to Nosey (resident in corner unit downstairs across the quad) the resident had Stage 4 cancer and was moved out and in with one of his sons.

It appears someone moved in on Tuesday, when I was away at the DMV.

That was fast.

Later yesterday, heading out to run errands, including a stop at Target to pickup granddaughter’s Negan costume jacket, I spied Nosey out on her patio. Assuming she’d have the 411, I asked “Did someone move into the upstairs unit?”

“Yes. His name is _____, he’s a Black man and doesn’t walk so good.”

LOL.

Doesn’t sound like we’ve added any eye candy to the quad, but also doesn’t sound like someone who’s going to change our mostly pleasant dynamics. I say "mostly" because there's still that weird young lady in the unit beneath mine who keeps a low profile and warned me off by saying, "I don't like people!" when she moved in and I tried to welcome her.

While at Target, I picked up a few incidentals I didn’t know I needed until I saw them, and also spotted a coffee mug I knew my married daughter would love.

I bought one for her, one for her partner and two gift bags.

At checkout, I took my attention off the cashier, just for a moment, to load the PokémonGo app to see if the store’s Starbucks was a Pokéstop.

It was.

When I turned my attention back to the cashier, instead of giving me a Target bag, he had opened one of my gift bags, crammed both mugs in (without safety wrapping), had opened the other gift bag and was in the process of inserting other purchases in that one.

“OMG! what are you doing?” said I.

He mumbled something I couldn’t understand.

"Those are gift bags ... use a Target bag", said I incredulously.

He made no effort to properly repackage the mugs and, not trusting him to know what proper handling looked like, I took them out of the gift bag and just settled them in the cart as is, with the plan to use the tissue paper I’d also purchased to wrap and protect once I was out of the line.

Which I did, but what a dufus.

And no, he wasn’t a kid, a child who didn’t have a clue. He looked to be one of those laid-back millennials who, even if he wasn't accustomed to using his brain, should at least have been experienced enough to know you wrap breakables in paper before bagging, and you do not bag purchases in just purchased gift bags.

On tap for today?

With nothing on my plate I must do, I might join the seniors for Bingo.

Unusable Uneatable

All that running around to get my hands on gilding wax and, when I tested it out late yesterday, I found the product unusable because it had dried out.

Looking around on the internet, to see if there was a way to reconstitute, I learned it’s not unusual to purchase new in package only to run into “dried out”, depending on how long it’s been hanging around in the store, and there is no reconstituting.

I’d have returned it this morning except, by the time the un-usability was discovered, I’d already removed the Bright Gold and Bright Silver from their packages, organized them in my new craft carrier (that I lucked into at half price) and had tossed the packaging out with the trash. Consequently, I’d have to eat the cost.

The good news is I’d purchased the small $4.99 tubs, so I’m not out all that much. The bad news is my disappointment at not being able to practice the technique of putting an antique finish on eggs.

Like This

No worries, I concluded, as I should be able to create credible art with the paint pens and metal flakes.

The unusable product I picked up wasn’t the only disappointment yesterday, there was also an uneatable lunch.

On the way back to the complex, I drove some 26 miles out of my way for a veggie fajita at the Mexican restaurant I frequented for lunch before retiring, and which I continue to pop into once/twice a year.

After ordering that veggie fajita to go with “no meat, no cheese on anything, no sour cream on anything”, arriving back at the complex -- planning to make lunch and dinner out of the combo, I opened the lid and found melted cheese all over the beans and rice.

I know the waitress got the order right, because she’s known me and my preferences for at least a decade and a half; yet and still, something made me repeat “no meat, no cheese on anything, no sour cream on anything” at least three times as she wrote out the order.

But it’s my bad because, when I saw it wasn’t the regular guy in the kitchen, but some young guy, not having faith in the younger generation to get much right, I should have checked before leaving the lot.

Too far to drive back, I managed to scoop out a tablespoon or two of rice and beans that didn’t have cheese in it, and ended up tossing everything except the fajita peppers.

I must say, the young guy could cook, because what I did get of the beans and rice, was delicious. It’s just too bad he couldn’t follow instructions.

After a chaotic weekend, and a disappointing Monday, I went to bed telling myself I’ve had enough of the outside world. The plan was to stay close to home today – indoors actually, and not go outside remainder of the week.

Didn’t work out that way, because I woke up energetic, recovered, but craving See’s chocolate.

That meant a drive to Victoria Gardens and, on the topic of “never give up”, I popped into the craft store in that area and picked up two tubes of a different metallic finish product, which is testing out just fine.

All set for Friday’s event.

Now I really am done with the outside world until I stick my head out on Friday for the decorating party.

Online vs In-Store

What an exhausting weekend had I, going from craft store to craft store, one city to another, and back out again this morning in search of materials for Friday’s egg coloring party.

And my list wasn’t all that long or complicated – wooden eggs, chalk paints, paint pens, metal leaf, gilding wax.

The local craft store doesn’t feel the same since new management took over, and wanting to give myself access to other stores if I had trouble finding what I needed, I drove out-of-the area.

That turned out to be a smart move because, even though I’d done my homework online – made sure what I needed was available at Store No. 1, I arrived to find the most important item -- the eggs, weren’t the ones I wanted, but I did manage to get chalk paint and paint pens off the list.

Nothing on the list at Store No. 2, but the correct eggs were located at Store No. 3.

The drive, traffic, heat (it was really hot in Redlands), the parking lots filled to overflowing, lines at all three stores was getting to me, so I called it a day on the last items on the list and headed home.

Now I know why I prefer online shopping, had initially thought about it and would have gone that route, except the event was short-noticed and I couldn’t count on delivery in time.

At any rate, not locating gilding wax or metal flakes on Day 1, I bit the bullet and headed to the local craft store this morning.

What I found was a lot of empty shelves in the particular craft section I was interested in.

I don’t think the new owner knows what she’s doing.

Last time I was there, and learned the store was under new ownership, I’d observed in place of the middle-aged guy who kept the place well stocked and knew the store products like the back of his hands, were young high school types.

When I stopped in today, it was a young guy who seemed lost and uninformed.

He’s either a relative the owner put to work, or cheap labor the owner arranged for through school work training.

He did make a call to someone on his walkie talkie, who said they don’t sell metal flakes.

I doubt that. It’s just that the shelf where it should have been was almost completely void of product, and the person just said no as an easy out.

At any rate, I headed home, got on the internet, and found a craft store where wax and flakes could be ordered and picked up tomorrow.

I’ve seen, heard and read a lot about retailers struggling, that we should “support your local businesses”, but the time, the energy, the driving, the inability to find what one needs is off-putting.

This weekend is a perfect example of why I prefer, delivery time permitting, to let the fingers do my shopping.

So off I go tomorrow for yet another drive, to yet another city, to pick up the last of the materials, and then it’s a veggie fajita lunch at my favorite Mexican restaurant.

And Sometimes I Wonder

Finished my favorite author’s latest book last night.

Series 5 of the Private Detective Leonid McGill Series was such a good read, I could have finished it in one setting weeks ago but, wanting to savor every word and draw the story out, I forced myself to read just a little at a time.

The title is based upon that old saying, “Sometimes I think that everybody in the world is crazy, except for me and you, and sometimes I wonder about you.”

Oddly enough, today turned into one of those days when it seemed like everyone I came in contact with was indeed a little crazy.

The morning started off with my checking in with the folks headed to the casino to find out why Nurse Ratched was so upset yesterday and giving me the drop-dead look.

No one knew, but said she’d been acting “strange”.

How can they tell since “strange” is her every day.

The new Maintenance Supervisor is still around, so that wasn’t it. However, the other two trees still need decorating AND turns out yesterday was the Assistant Manager’s last day in the office this week, before taking a few days vacation.

So we figured Nurse Ratched was angry because, left alone in the office, there was no one for her to dump the task of decorating the other two trees on, plus she might have to lift a finger and do some of the office work her own darn self.

Adding validity to this being the reason is the fact, before I left the Community Room and headed out for the market, Nurse Ratched approached The Seer and said, “I need help.”

She sure does, thought I. Help of the mental kind.

Nurse Ratched dislikes The Seer immensely -- because The Seer, like Apache, who she also dislikes, challenge her and was one of those who ate that leftover strawberry pie. Yet and still she approaches The Seer saying, “I’m all alone in the office this week. Can you help me get the decorations up?”

The Seer, who unlike me does not hold grudges, agreed to help when she returns from the casino.

After Nurse Ratched left the room, The Seer asked if I’d also help.

The better angel side of me is not on duty today, so I told her “No! After the look she gave me yesterday, I’m done playing her game of being nice when she wants something or when her boss is around. I won't do anything that helps her.”

That response and reaction is not the spiritual way of life I try to lead, and I will have to work on my behavior and attitude later; but for now, it is what it is.

Then, planning to make tamales, I headed to the market for masa, where I parked next to a little white car. The passenger of that car got out and headed towards the market door same time as I. Lo and behold, it was Tent Guy – now with his own wheels and possibly lodging.

I said, “Hey, I know you. You’re James”.

He was decidedly unfriendly. Just looked at me and strutted off; yes, actually strutted, like he was something special, which I thought arrogant and odd for someone who goes to church every Sunday and, up until a month ago, was living on a vacant field in a tent.

But whatever, not everyone is as friendly as I.

Then, once inside the market I couldn’t find corn husks. Approaching the Hispanic bag girl, the conversation went like this:

“Do you carry corn husks for tamales?”

“What are corn husks?”

That's the second time in recent weeks when I've been left incredulous, mouth open. First time being when the barista asked, "What's a percolator?"

What's wrong with today's youth?

Once over the initial shock, I blurted out “YOU don’t know what corn husks are?”

“Do you mean the papers?”

Overhearing the conversation, the checker directed me to Aisle 7.

Met up with the same bag girl when checking out.

"We don't call them corn husks. We call them papers."

Really? Then why is the package labeled "corn husks".

Honestly, I’m beginning to wonder … is it me?

As for the tamales, yes ... I do make my own. A coworker taught me, seven/eight years ago, at a Tamale Party. I’ve since only made them two/three times, around this time of year, because 1) they're a lot of work and 2) the lard is so fattening.

Along with craving sugar, I’ve been craving tamales lately. So, deciding to scratch both itches, I planned for chicken tamales this week, but will be substituting olive oil for lard.

Hope they turn out because The Seer, Apache and one other regular of the Community Room have requested two each. They wanted to buy them but, not sure how they’re going to taste with olive oil, I warned they might not be that great and said I’d just give them a few.

I took the long way back to the complex, around by the hill where walkers and runners challenge themselves on the pathway leading up and around.

Here I placed my second Random Act of Christmas Cheer.