This 'n That

I’ve been debating whether or not to show up, register in person for a 5K taking place this coming Saturday.

I’d assumed the event would be cancelled, due to Omicron but, when notices began hitting my inbox two weeks ago — indicating it was still on, I’d tried to register online but then suspected a scam when the organizer’s website came up as "unsecured".

Attempts to contact the organizer by phone led nowhere, until I finally made contact three days ago and was told registering on-site was permissible.

So now, the only roadblock is … do I want to get up at 4 A.M. in order to bathe, get dressed, eat, drive to the race site?

I did my first 5K at age 67, with the organization hosting this weekend’s event, and was instantly hooked.

It was January 22, 2011, and now here we are with seventy-two additional 5K’s (for a total of 73) under my belt.

How they managed, 11 years later, to arrange the event to fall on the same date, January 22, is quite a feat.

At any rate, I was leaving it at I’ll set the alarm for 4:00 and, if I’m not resentful at being awakened so early, I’ll get up, head out.

Thankfully, I ran into my friend The Archeologist today and, when I mentioned the 5K to her, she said she was aware of it, but wasn’t going, because they’re not giving out medals this year — only tee shirts.

That settled it for me. I’ll get up early for a medal but NOT for a tee, so sleep in this Saturday I will.

Returning from this morning’s workout, there on the doormat was the charger for the laptop.

And YES, I did switch out the new doormat for the newest one, because I love the boots sooooo much.

 I didn’t put express delivery on the laptop’s charger, but express is what I got.

The charger fit. The Laptop is up and running, so that's off the to-do list.

Now I have to squeeze in time to get the cellphone fixed.

It all of a sudden stopped giving me a notification sound when messages arrive, and I’ve tried all the fixes suggested.

Technology can be Hell.

Fact Checking

Returning from Monday morning’s workout, I caught the tail end of Food Network’s The Kitchen.

Chef Geoffrey Zakarian was making bone broth and said the cost was less to DIY than to purchase.

Because of all the ingredients one would have to purchase, I didn’t think so and googled "Cost of ingredients for bone broth" and got … "Adding the cost of vegetables, spices, herbs, and apple cider vinegar, one batch of bone broth cost about $20 — yields 10 cups. That's $2 per cup".

On the surface, that sounds pretty good — especially when one considers I pay $3.99 for a 32 oz container of bone broth, and it yields only 4 cups.

However, if I were to purchase three 32 oz containers, for a total of $11.97 to yield 10 cups, I only use two and a quarter or so of the three, with plenty left over for other uses.

Math has never been my strong suit — I never did figure out the age-old question "If both trains leave the station at the same time, how far apart will they be at the end of two hours?" So, it would give me a migraine to try to figure out how much $11.97 breaks down to a per cup value but, correct me if I’m wrong, by my calculations Geoffrey is incorrect. It's more economic to purchase — not to mention the time saved in bypassing all the chopping and standing over a hot stove.

Heading out this morning to pick up the laptop, I followed the nudge I’d been ignoring to check on Next Door Neighbor.

Generally in and out all day every day, making a racket when she drags her grocery cart up the stairs, it had occurred to me a few days ago that I’d not seen or heard a peep out of her for over a week. Also, her car hadn’t moved and, when I glanced at her side window late last night — to see if any lights were on, indicating she was there, it was completely dark, no light was seeping out.

If she wasn’t okay, something had happened, I didn’t want to wait for the odor of a decomposing body to waif through the building — THAT has happened here, so I knocked on my way out this morning.

Had she not answered, I’d have called for a Welfare Check, but she opened the door, appearing just fine.

Saying, she’s been on the computer, deep into researching family history, I told her, in future — when she ceases all outside activities like she had, make some noise now and then, so I’ll know she’s okay.

The laptop is back in its place, but the beat goes on because it’s still not working. The tech people tell me it’s the charger … just like I’d originally diagnosed.

I’m not mad at having a new battery installed, because can’t hurt; and at least, this time, I got the correct P Number to use in ordering a new charger ... supposedly.

The Saga Continues

Rally in Arizona

So evidently, because I’d long ago ordered a birthday gift for my buddy Apache off Thing 45’s site, because Apache is a fan, I’m still on the insider’s mailing list.

The latest is this offer to get my name displayed at the rally in progress.

The level of determination it’s taking this guy to prove he’s right, in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, must be mentally exhausting.

I don’t know about you, but I’m dreading the thought of another Presidential Election. Can’t even get away from all the hoopla over the last.

At any rate, there’s that.

Thus far, it’s been relatively quiet this weekend. The only outside activity was to drop off a laptop for repairs yesterday.

Seeing a group of residents, appearing to be in heated conversations when I returned, I walked over asked, "What’s going on?"

They were angry, said "We should all complain", because Head Maintenance Guy had failed to unlock the security doors over the mail center, causing the mail carrier to turn around, drive off, without leaving mail.

The security door, reinforced with all kinds of added metal plates, that are unlocked by staff, just long enough for mail to be dropped off and picked up by residents, then relocked late afternoon, is the only thing that's been working to stop the many break-ins we'd experienced.

Not the end of the world in my book to miss a mail delivery, but one resident was actually standing in front of the security door, holding on, looking in at nothing, seeming to will it to be unlocked with mail in the mailboxes.

I should have taken a photo of that.

For one resident, a woman in a wheelchair, not receiving mail did sound serious because she said she was expecting medication that had to be taken THAT day.

With Monday being a holiday — no mail, no office open, she can’t get her medication until Tuesday.

If what she says is true and not just puffing, I hope she makes it.

It was a “Charge not detected” message that sent the laptop in for service, after an over two-month odyssey with me trying to solve the problem by purchasing new chargers, returning because they did not fit, electronic tape to try to salvage the malfunctioning charger — again to no avail.

After a tech guy indicated it was probably the battery … "Buy a new one, come in for service, ask for me — the tall handsome guy", I ordered a new battery and, scheduled service to install once it arrived.

Dropping off on Saturday, the Tech Guy was a Tech Girl who asked, "Did someone here tell you it was a battery problem".

"Yes. I didn’t get his name, but he said he was 'Tall and Handsome’. Do you know who that is?"

That not only brought a smile to her face, but a hearty LOL, as she replied "no". 

Glancing around, I didn’t see anyone to fit that description.

According to email, the install has been completed already and, supposedly, the laptop is back in business. However, I’ve no plans to drive out of the area, pick it up until Tuesday — after which I’ll learn whether it’s really repaired or not.

Fingers crossed.

As for residents complaining, there are a few here who have standing, will call Corporate and regulatory agencies in a heartbeat. They are not afraid and can't be intimidated, so there will be a few complaints and then nothing, because what's to do, except tell Head Maintenance Guy to not forget in future.

It just now occurred to me why some stand up, some keep quiet, and that's because the complainers are old timers who have options. The others are those who come in through a program — so poor, or so sick, feel so lucky to have a roof over their heads, to have gotten a unit here that they will put up with anything.

I Ain’t One to Gossip but …

Back in the day there was a TV show called In Living Color.

Jennifer Lopez, Jim Carrey, among others, got their start on that show, and a favorite character of mine was Miss Bonita.

Miss Bonita would hang out her window, or sit on her stoop, greet passersby, then share the tea on that person, prefacing her statement to us — the audience with "Now, I ain't the one to gossip so you didn't hear this from me".

Yesterday was that kind of day.

Needing not one single thing from the market, after hearing about supply chain shortages, I popped in any way to load up on just-in-case essentials.

There appeared to be plenty of what I normally purchase. The only empty shelves I observed were in isles my gut won’t let me eat from — the ramen noodle and frozen breakfast sections.

At any rate, walking out with enough supplies that I won’t have to grocery shop for a month, I saw three people approaching the market dressed in cop uniforms, more specifically Probation — according to the markings on their uniforms.

The market’s security guard was walking behind me and greeted the three with "Hey guys". They returned the greeting and went inside the market.

Probation did not appear to be there shopping for groceries.

Out on the lot, the market’s security guard approached another security guard on the lot. Both were grinning at each other, then one began to laugh out loud when the other one said, "Probation, huh. They coming to the job to get us now."

I thought that hilarious, but then thought, wait, stop, what … are some of these security guards on probation?

That would be weird if criminals were hired as security guards, but not beyond the realm of possibilities.

So, anyway, returning to the complex, unloading groceries from the car, who do I hear calling my name but my buddy Apache.

He was here, bold as brass, on the property in management’s face, walking along with D — the assault victim.

He tells me management can’t say or do anything to him if he’s here with a resident so, unless management can come up with something, I’m likely to see Apache around just as much as when he was living here.

So, anyway, Apache rushed over to tell me Probation was on the property, in the back, five cars of ‘em.

Apache didn’t know why they were here, who they were here for, but inasmuch as I’d just seen three of them at the market, there appeared to be some kind of joint operation going on.

Apache and I took a selfie, and we all three began walking towards the back of the property to see who Probation was here for.

Though I’d heard the whole story, not just what D is putting out for sympathy, I asked if she was okay.

"No …. No I’m not", she said then, indicating she needed a hug from me, she came at me with arms outstretched.

I took a step back and yelled "NOOOOOOOOO! Don’t touch me! Omicron!"

D froze, then began a tirade that went "Kill me now Lord. Just shoot me. I don’t want to live any longer. I can’t go anywhere, can’t hug anyone ……" yada yada yada.

The I need sympathy act is working on some as residents are cooking for her, delivering meals, but I didn’t take her pity soliloquy, need for a hug seriously, and she quickly switched to telling me about how the kitten has turned to a "brat" — knocking things over on purpose.

Though we saw the unmarked Probation cars vertically parked in a row, an occupant in each car seemingly staking out the area, we did not see if an officer had already exited, gone into any of the units, so I headed back to what I was doing, while Apache and D continued their walk.

Back attending to groceries, I ran into Casino Lady’s sister who approached me with, "I ain’t one to gossip but …..".

What ensued was a back and forth comparison on what she’d heard, what I knew, ending with "But you didn’t hear it from me". LOL.

At any rate, the topic of Handsome Man’s son doesn’t appear to be dying down. It’s going to be discussed on the grapevine for a long long time.

As for Probation, just as Casino Lady’s sister and I were discussing how it appears the bad people live on the back side of the property, the Probation cars began driving out of the gate — five of ‘em in a line. I could see there were now two officers in the front seat, but we could not see if anyone was being taken away ... but FIVE CARS? Must have been some bad hombre or five bad hombres — a car for each one.

All in all, it’s been quite the week.

Persona Non Grata, Part 2

How do you like the new facemask I ordered?

I was inspired to purchase it when all was said and done with granddaughter, the baby shower, and her being cruel and disrespectful to Twin 2.

After granddaughter ran through the gamut of trying to justify her behavior towards Twin 2 through text messages to me, which messages I skimmed through, didn’t take seriously, chalked up as ravings of an I-have-to-be-right hormone raging pregnant woman and, thus, did not respond to; and after she conferred with her mom (Twin 1) who advised her to be the bigger person, granddaughter capitulated.

Twin 2 would be getting an invite to the baby shower, leaving me free to attend, open myself up to catching Omicron.

THEN later, she reversed that decision saying she feels Twin 2 is "controlling the narrative … manipulating you (me) to take her side".

Again, no reply from me because I’m not feeding the beast. However, if anyone is trying to manipulate me, it’s granddaughter herself.

Twin 2 is off licking her wounds, healing from her hurt, not texting or worrying or involving me further. While granddaughter is trying to bribe me with gifts.

First, it was that coffee cup. THEN, I received the most godawful looking tee.

First of all, it’s PINK and I don’t do pink.

Second of all, it’s not form fitting and I’m not interested in pimping it to fit, because it’s ugly and I don’t care for the assumed sentiment that I’d be so involved in her married life as to be spoiling her baby — sucked in by her baby.

I'm not a good liar, not good at faking it, so I had the devil of a time pretending to like it, be appreciative, so as to not hurt granddaughter’s feelings.

At any rate, it looks like the only one trying to manipulate me into taking sides is granddaughter.

The only "side" I’m taking is my own.

Everyone is grown now, so go …. live your lives and let me live what remains of mine in peace.

I don’t understand why granddaughter thinks that any mistakes Twin 2 might have made, when Twin 2 was there for her all those years her mom was not, warrant such disrespect. However, I do know that I myself had been around the block with granddaughter in the self-same way Twin 2 now is — vilified, back stabbed, burned near to ashes back when I relocated to Long Beach so she could finish school, keep her from being homeless when her mom was deep in her prodigal experience, had left granddaughter to fend for herself.

The way granddaughter talked to me, talked about me to others and treated me during that time broke my heart, took years to heal from, and though our relationship did eventually mend — because she sought for it to mend, it’s never been the same. Nowhere near as close as she thinks — me mostly going through the motions, doing my grandmotherly duties ... not because I necessarily wanted to, but because it was expected. I did a lot of people pleasing, pretending, being careful to not get sucked all the way in again.

So, when granddaughter texted about reversing her earlier decision, was back to NOT inviting Twin 2 and added, "If that upsets you and you don’t want to attend, I understand", I wasn’t upset at all. Instead, I felt free.

I don’t have to pretend any longer.

Senior Moment

Putting the Santa Claus doormat back in storage New Year’s Day, pulling out my regular Kokopelli mat, I saw it was looking ratty.

What with wind, rain, direct sunlight, doormats don’t look pretty for very long, and a ratty looking entry way is bad chi, so I went searching for a new one.

I would have liked another Kokopelli, but it was no longer available, so I ordered a mat called Pueblo Choir, because it had a lot of red in it, and a red doormat is good chi.

Then, a few days ago, looking at the Kokopelli door mat, it occurred to me that I needed to get rid of it, purchase a new one. So, I went searching — completely spazzing out on having already done so until the Pueblo Choir mat arrived late Monday night.

I even actually came close to ordering the exact same Pueblo Choir when I went looking for a mat that second time, but ended up ordering Black Boots.

Not much red in it, but enough.

Once I realized I’d double-ordered, I tried to cancel the boots mat, but the cancellation window had closed. I can either return it in-store when it arrives or put it away until I next need a new doormat.

It might not be available next time I need to order, so I think I’ll put it in storage, stockpile for later.

Heading for the trash bin yesterday, with the ratty doormat, I ran into Church Lady.

I'd seen her heading down the walkway a few days ago, so stooped over as to almost be bent in half, and became worried about her.

Church Lady and I are the same age, our birthdays just days apart.

Not sure if her stoop is the result of continuous bad posture, or carrying the weight of all the no no’s and thou shall not's she lugs around on her shoulders, or a spinal thing, I’d wondered if I should inquire next time I ran into her outside, ask if she was seeing a doctor, but then decided not.

I don’t need any more people in my life to worry about.

So, chatting with her, I avoided the subject of her health, just listened to her talk about this that the other.

It was Pizza Tuesday, but she said Pizza was cancelled because, as the Tyrant told her, "Omicron is running rampant through the complex".

Being as how I see so few wearing masks, I’m not surprised.

She also warned me to be careful because “a strange man had been pounding on D’s (the assault victim) door late one night”.

If that’s the lie D is trying to sell — that she didn't know who the guy was, well then sure, okay. I’ll play along.

Church lady also said her "unit is falling apart". I didn’t ask details but assume the Tyrant is not fixing things — same as with me. Difference is, I badger until it gets done; but most here are frightened, too intimidated to complain for fear of being kicked out.

It’s terrible to be old, living in fear, but that seems to be the general demeanor among residents — don’t make waves, don’t complain.

I don’t want to get kicked out either, because the cheap rent is such a gift, but that doesn’t stop me from pushing for days, weeks, months, in some case years (that formerly malfunctioning smoke detector), until it gets done.

At any rate, when Church Lady said she was headed over to Jan’s unit to sit for a while, and I said I was taking the doormat to the dumpster, she asked what was wrong with it.

"Tired looking and worn" said I, to which she said looked good to her and asked to have it.

Fine by me. It’s infused with my good energy, so maybe it will bring her luck.