Seniors Doing it for Themselves

Quiet uneventful holiday weekend thus far here in Purgatory; but not as uneventful as I’d expected it to be because I received a call yesterday afternoon from The Seer. She, Apache, The Baker, and The Author (the new resident who is a published author of Christian literature) are organizing a hot dogs and hamburgers get together, 2:00 today, Sunday, would I like to participate?

Sure.

You bet.

What better way to thumb our noses up at Nurse Ratched’s successful sabotaging of the new Activity Director’s Labor Day potluck than to do something successfully on our own.

The area chosen for today’s get together is the patio area by the grill.

As you can see, we do have a grill, but inasmuch as we no longer have permission to use said grill, we will be barbequing on resident-owned George Forman grills.

To backtrack a bit … back when the previous Activity Director was Nurse Ratched’s target, there were several instances of sabotage and being uncooperative. One such act of sabotage was the June Father’s Day event.

Barbeque Hot Dogs were on the menu. However, when the then Activities Director and her three teenage daughters – whom she said had wanted to come to work with her for some time, had finished lugging in chips, dozens and dozens and dozens of packages of buns and hot dogs, and went to the grill, they found it inoperable. Nurse Ratched had removed the propane, and made sure she wasn’t around to be asked to give it up.

Residents had already gathered, so the then Activities Director and her daughters had been forced to run out and BUY enough chicken from El Pollo to cover the event.

An expensive proposition, and then there were all the hot dogs and buns she’d purchased for the event but were unable to use.

Since that time, the propane remains locked away and the grill goes unused -- except when management hosts an event for us residents, which is generally twice a year.

Not to let the lack of propane get in their way, Apache and The Author (she’s learning rather quickly) are bringing their George Forman grills.

This should be interesting, as I think those Forman grills are electric and need outlets. I don’t recall any outlets in the patio area, but I guess I’ll find out at 2:00 today. Otherwise, it will have to be hibachis or grill inside our units (the Community Room Kitchen is closed) and bring outside.

Who needs an Activity Director, when we can find ways to do it ourselves.

I imagine, Nurse Ratched will go berserk when she reviews the tapes and finds out what we’ve been up to over the weekend. She might even try to come up with a rule to impose that we can’t use Forman grills or hibachis in the patio area.

But for now it’s on.

Though I agreed to bring the hot dog buns and potato chips, I don’t imagine my clean eating will be affected much, as I don’t eat hot dogs or hamburgers. Maybe just a little potato salad, a few chips and just enjoy the company and the gossip.

However, if Creepy Guy is there, I won’t be tempted even to potato salad and chips. I’ll be turning around and heading back to my unit.

Vacancy

Looks like we’ve got a vacancy in our quad.

This is upstairs, across and to the left of my unit, over the Nosy Neighbor (the neighbor who rushes out and pretends to be watering her plants to eavesdrop on conversations going on in the quad), and next door to the Head Maintenance Man and his wife.

Though I never heard nor saw any movement, I have it on good authority the neighbor moved out on August 29. I didn’t notice anything until just yesterday when I looked up and it hit me the patio furniture was gone, as well as the door to the storage unit was open with nothing inside and the blinds slightly open with no signs of light or life inside.

Doesn’t seem the resident was here very long, only since May of 2013 but, inasmuch as she had a heart attack shortly after moving in -- which heart attack resulted in a pacemaker being implanted, she’s fortunate to have exited of her own volition rather than leaving through a final exit … if you know what I mean.

The resident has a boyfriend who lives on the property and she moved in back in 2013, I assume, to be close to him – though I’ve always wondered why they paid for two units instead of moving in with each other.

At any rate, we have an opening and another opportunity to get some good-looking testosterone into the quad instead of more estrogen.

I’ve asked myself … could you, would you recommend someone to move into this complex?

I honestly don’t know.

I’m content here and, as a single woman, I feel safe. However, when I first moved in (February 2012), I was way more than content. I felt blessed to have found this complex and pronounced it to be “Paradise” with all of its beautiful trees, multitude of activities AND “My last move other than the move to the graveyard.” The trees were chopped down and activities mostly became a thing of the past, when new management took over in January of 2013, so now I pronounce the complex as “still a nice place to live, but nowhere near the Paradise it was before.” Now it’s more like “Purgatory”—the so-called quiet mid level between Heaven and Hell where souls are sent to reside while they are being judged as to whether they will go on to Heaven or sent to Hell.

Disclaimer: Heaven, Purgatory, Hell are not my personal belief, but the belief of others which most nearly depicts how I view the complex now.

He Wasn’t Exaggerating

Out walking early one morning this last week, I saw two big trucks come through the gate. The signage indicated the trucks were involved in the business of property restoration – water damage, fire damage, etc.

Hmmm, wonder what that’s about, thought I.

Next day out walking, I saw one of our residents had been displaced. Her doors and windows were open, some of her things were positioned on the patio railing as though they’d been hung out to dry, and I could hear a roaring sound coming from her unit which I recognized to be one of those industrial sized air blowers.

Putting two and two together, I figured the resident had water damage from letting the sink or the tub overrun.

Running into the Head Maintenance Man later in the day, I inquired and learned the resident had awakened at 2:30 in the morning, stepped out of bed and found herself swimming in what I thought I heard him say was “Five feet of water”. That a pipe underneath the building had burst, flooded her unit and she was now staying with a sister until everything could be sorted out.

Sounds like she woke up and found herself experiencing Katrina. Hope she’s got homeowner’s insurance cause, for sure, management isn’t going to accept any kind of responsibility for this – other than new paint, new carpet … and I wonder about mole damage.

At any rate, when I thought about it later, I convinced myself I’d heard incorrectly. That it could not possibly have been “Five feet of water” ... he must have said “Five inches”. That is until I saw the carpet people come in this morning and move her furnishings out of the way.

I'd not heard incorrectly and Head Maintenance Guy wasn’t exaggerating.

You can see where the water was so high that it either reached the table top or the water level lifted and caused the table to topple over into the water. Also, you can’t tell from the photo – because it’s in the shade, but the back of the piece behind the table has buckled and is coming apart at least five feet up from water damage.

Not only that, but the water spilled over to the neighbor on the back side of that unit, causing her to also be displaced.

This second neighbor has a piece of furniture that looks remarkably similar to the piece the other neighbor has and, on this photo, you can clearly see how high up the water came.

Wonder if and how the other four bottom units in that building managed to escape damage.

I also wonder if either resident will return, as I passed Nurse Ratched in conversation with Head Maintenance Guy about an hour ago. She was very animated – the word Drama Queen comes to mind and was saying, “We can’t do this. I’ll call the relatives and tell them to come get all this stuff, because we can’t.”

I’m thinking she wants them to come take the damaged furniture away.

Always something going on around here -- not activities, just stuff.

Dismal

That’s the only way to describe Tuesday’s Labor Day Potluck … dismal.

Out of 178 units, only six residents were in attendance -- myself, the resident referred to in this blog as “Apache”, long time resident Big L – the woman who is personable when on her meds, but is to be avoided when off (today she was on ‘em), the woman who use to own a restaurant (let’s call her The Baker) and two new residents.

No people, no holiday decorations to liven up the place – it was a dismal failure for the new Activities Director, culture shock for the two new residents, and a waste of my time, energy and money as I’d run by the deli and picked up fried chicken.

Apache and The Baker tried to make the new Activities Director feel better about the situation by telling her attendance was poor because notice had gone out late, giving residents insufficient time to reply.

That was partly true but another part of the problem was Nurse Ratched had sabotaged the event beyond not notifying residents in time, she’d also hidden the sign-up sheet -- moving it from the counter to a new Activities Board she’d had built, which board no one knew anything about … which board was added to a wall in the kitchen … a wall in the corner of the kitchen where it’s more than likely to go unnoticed.

The only way I myself became aware of the Activities Board is because I’d gone to the Community Room looking for the sign-in sheet. Unable to locate, I turned to leave when Apache walked in the room and said, “She (Nurse Ratched) is hiding it in the kitchen. She doesn’t want anyone to sign up. She wants the new Activities Director to fail.”

Sounds ridiculous doesn’t it – that she could be that petty?

But he’s right, as she’s been doing pettiness beyond hiding the sign-up sheet that indicates she want this complex to be a no potlucks or activities zone, for whatever reason. Pettiness like locking all the cabinets in the kitchen so we have no access to cups, paper plates, napkins, plastic utensils – some of which we ourselves put there. Also, she put an end to daily coffee for residents. First by locking up the bags of coffee in her office so residents had to ask to be allowed to fill the Community Room pot, THEN she took away the coffee pot.

When Apache directed me to the Board in the kitchen, it was so well placed so as not to be noticed that I couldn’t find it until Apache pointed it out. After he and I discussed no one will see it in that location, I suggested, “Maybe I should put it back where it was before” and went to take the sign-in sheet down and relocate it. Apache stopped me saying, “She’s watching us on the camera. That’s how I got in trouble. She saw me move something, came out and tore into me."

Holy Smokes!

He’s right again.

She’s always watching us residents, looking for some little something to turn into a big deal.

Dismal as the event was, I stayed and, because there were so few of us, there were a lot of leftovers -- deli fried chicken, deli macaroni salad, fried rice, sandwiches, which I assumed would be put in the community refrigerator for whomever. However, as we were finishing up, the Activities Director said, “We can’t leave anything behind.”

Curious statement, so I asked, why.

Activities Director: “Because I’m told that’s the rule. We can’t leave anything in the refrigerator because someone might take it.”

What?!

Who told her that?

Doesn’t take a genius to figure out Nurse Ratched had gotten to the new Activities Director and laid down the law because she’s still upset about that Strawberry Pie left over from the Resident Appreciation Party … which she’d put in the refrigerator, forgot about for a few days and then raised the roof over as MY PIE! when residents finished it off.

In response to the Activities Director saying, “Because someone might take it”, I said, “That’s why we put leftovers in there. So someone will take it … help themselves.”

Activities Director: “But it’s yours.”

Me: “Yes, and by putting it in the community refrigerator, I'm telling others to take it … help themselves. That's how it's been for years.”

Activities Director: “But it’s yours.”

Me: “If it’s mine, I take it with me. If I leave it in the refrigerator, it’s because I want someone to take it, whether it’s leftover chicken or leftover strawberry pie.”

Apache is one of those who'd gotten in trouble over that strawberry pie, so he's over in the corner laughing.

Activities Director: “Oh, well, if that’s what you want to do.”

I have a sense, the new Activities Director is going to get discouraged and be gone real soon.

I also imagine that, if Nurse Ratched discovers any leftovers in the refrigerator, she’ll toss ‘em out, wrap a chain around the refrigerator and put a padlock on it.

ROFLMAO!

I’d previously said I was “done?” with it all. Now for sure I’m “done” … period, no question about it.

Right Person, Right Place, Right Time

That’s a mantra a spiritual teacher taught me many years ago … “I am the right person, in the right place, at the right time.”

In the past, I’ve used it in “why me” situations to calm myself down and reach a level of acceptance but, this morning, I had an epiphany when the mantra popped into my head as a result of not a “why me” situations, but when I was being friendly and helpful.

Though I was up at 4:30 this morning, out a little after 6:00 to beat the sun, there was finally a break in the weather to where a cool 68° enabled me to log in 3.08 walking miles with no sign of the sun in sight. Along about 6:30, I saw a young man standing in front of the doors leading to the complex offices looking befuddled.

Now, office staff doesn’t even appear onsite until sometime between 8:00/8:30, and the doors are not open to us residents or the public until 9:00. Knowing whoever he was and whatever he wanted, he was going to have a long wait, I called out, “Do you need help?”

“Yes. I’m reporting as temporary maintenance.”

“Really? You’re from an agency?”

“Yes.”

I didn’t know there were agencies for maintenance. Interesting. Even more interesting is management is now desperate and having to pull people from said agencies.

"Well, no one is going to be here for a couple of hours, but let’s see if we can’t find the head maintenance man.”

(To recap: Head Maintenance Man is the guy who’s worked here since before new management took over. The guy who was Head Maintenance Man but, because he won’t be intimidated by Nurse Ratched – telling us residents, ‘This ain’t my first rodeo’, got demoted to Little Head when she flexed her muscles and hired someone over him. THAT guy walked off the job after a dispute with Nurse Ratched last month, so Little Head, who lives upstairs across from me in the quad, is now back to Head Maintenance Guy).

Thinking Head Maintenance Man was probably up, I walked the young man over to Head Maintenance Man’s unit, yelled up for him and, when he came to the door, said, “This young man is reporting as temporary maintenance.”

“I told them I didn’t need help for today. They weren’t supposed to call you in.”

The poor guy says, okay and walks away.

That’s when right person, right place, right time came to mind. All ego aside, it appears I was placed in a position to assist that elderly resident when she took a tumble in the heat on the way to the market, I’ve been there a time or two when the Meals on Wheels guy couldn’t get into the building, and I was there for the temp guy this morning. So, though retired, out of the workforce, not in contact with many people, sometimes feeling I no longer serve a purpose, this morning’s epiphany was that in just being friendly and helpful, I actually do serve.

Elsewhere on the complex, I ran into the resident I’d invited to the Appreciation Day 5K Run/Walk on the 12^th. She is very interested and trying to get other friends of hers to participate.

Great!

Also, elsewhere on the complex … I don’t mean to judge, but I had a moment of questioning the taste -- in patio furnishings, of whoever resides in this unit when I spotted their balcony.

Very Las Vegas Ode on a Grecian Urn Like

On tap for today is the Labor Day Potluck. I'll be very surprised if more than five residents show up (more on the reason why later)), but I've decided to show up with something from the deli.

Ticked Off and Confused

That’s how I was most of the day -- ticked off and confused.

I awoke ticked off because I wanted to but, because I’m on a healthy eating plan to lose weight, could not revert to my old effortless breakfast of frozen fries roasted in the oven, to go along with scrambled eggs. 

I fussed and fumed to myself, but finally settled on one slice uncured bacon (has to be uncured), eggs scrambled in olive oil, a slice of almond meal bread I made with my own hands, and a dab of sugar free jam.

Was a decent meal, but in no way diminished my craving for frozen fries with all its bad for you but tasty additives.

At any rate, I went on to plan the day around the fact, or so I thought it was a fact, my normal television programs would be disrupted due to today being the Labor Day Holiday.

At one point in the morning, I caught the tail end of Cupcake Wars.

Hummm, strange that Cupcake Wars is televised on a holiday.

Then it was off to Starbucks and the market.

Once out and about around 11 a.m., it didn’t look like or feel like a holiday. Especially since the mailman was already here at the complex making a delivery. Also, I noticed a resident (the Muslim lady who told everyone I didn’t like her because she’s Muslim) moving out.

Odd that mail would be delivered on Labor Day, and terrible to have to be moving on the Labor Day Holiday, thought I.

And for the record, I did not dislike her and could have cared less about her being Muslim. Her saying so was her guilty conscious and inability to accept responsibility for her own actions. She was very rude to me and snappish towards me when I first came in contact with her shortly after I moved in, so I crossed her off my list and ignored her. I later learned she was a bit of a bully and I guessed her initial reaction to me was her way of letting me know she was important. 

I don’t know what she expected me to do but, obviously, ignoring her wasn’t it.

I’d pass her when walking. She’d look at me without acknowledging, I’d look at her without acknowledging, but was actually conditioning myself to see her but not see her because, in my mind, she had ceased to exist.

And that was that until the day, months later, while passing her, she began smiling at me in an effort to draw me in. I said to myself, “Too late”, and continued to see but not see because she did not exist, so then she starts telling people I didn’t like her because she’s Muslim.

I still didn’t bite. I just pretended I didn’t know who she was and what they were talking about.

At any rate, she’s moving.

Interesting.

I may have to go to the potluck after all to find out what that’s about, as I knew she was one of those openly in dispute with Nurse Ratched -- whom she’d also accused of not liking her because she’s Muslim. Even had filed a lawsuit claiming discrimination based on her religion.

After Starbucks, needing cash, I could not make up my mind whether or not I should drive the 11 miles to market by the bank in the safest area, or settle on the same chain by the bank only 2 miles away, in the area that can be iffy at times.

I settled on iffy and was subjected to having to listen to the guy in line behind me having a private conversation in public on his ear piece. However, as he passed me on the way out of the market – still talking on that ear piece, I noticed he didn’t have an ear piece or a cell phone.

I should have driven the 11 miles.

On the way back to the complex, still fussing, fuming and feeling sorry for myself because I’d given up so many things (ice cream, cookies, potatoes, soy, pastas, fast foods) and still wasn’t losing weight fast enough, I passed a woman coming down the road in a wheelchair who had no legs. Her chair held an upper torso and nothing else. It was like God was slapping me in the face telling me to shut up, be happy and satisfied because I’ve nothing to complain about.

First it was the guy off his rocker at the market and now the lady in the motorized wheel chair.

I got the message. I have a healthy mind, a healthy body and have nothing to be fussing, fuming and complaining about ... so I stopped.

Once back at the complex, a little after noon, I spotted the maintenance man.

Why is he working on a holiday, when the office is closed? Is he being punished?

An hour or so later, while online, I discovered today is not a holiday at all. Labor Day isn’t until next Monday!

Now it makes sense why the mailman was making his delivery, why it did not look or feel like a holiday, why the maintenance man is on duty.

That was the longest senior moment I've had to date. All morning and half the afternoon.

Once all the ticked off and confused was over, realizing the office was open, I went down to drop off some paperwork they’d requested all residents fill out and ran into that Tall Handsome Fit Eye Candy Guy. He and his visiting young adult son were doing laundry.

I thought to myself, If he’s doing his own laundry, he’s not living with a woman.

Then came the thought, What’s wrong with him that he’s so handsome and single.

Sometimes I think I think too much.