IT MAY BE HARD

A discussion of end life decisions is always sobering. I was involved in one this morning. There were just three of us and we each had a story of a loved one whose life was prolonged even when they had a signed "no resuscitation request." It was painful to deal with.

It started when we watched a new tenant moving in and all wondered how she was admitted here. She appears to be a very sweet woman, but she was already lost. I don't mean just turned around like any new person might be. She was lost. She was determined that she was to move into the apartment across the street. She wanted to know what happened. It was there last time she was here. Well, no it wasn't. It was never there. That is the bay across the street. There has always been water there. Some of her confusion was real. She had a key with a different number than was on her paperwork. I'm sure that was just a test to see if the new resident is ready for the confusion of moving into The Home.

The dear lady is very frail, walks very slowly and could not figure out how to get in the elevator when standing directly in front of it. She insisted that this was not her room.

The Home is independent living. There is no assistance here. In fact, problems like she may have are often attacked by others. And once in here, it is hard to get them to move and the neighbors wear out quickly of taking care of the mentally challenged. I don't know the right word for her condition and maybe it was just the confusion of moving in, but The Home is not kind to any who who need assistance. Temporary if fine and all are willing to help, but permanent is another issue.

That lead the discussion to the treatment of the last one who finally had to be tricked to get him to move into assisted living. Residents got tired of bringing him back when he would get lost a block or so way. The grocery store had a box boy who often brought him home after shopping. He loved walking, but at times could not find his way back. He picked up newspapers that belonged to others. Public furniture that had long ago disappeared was found in his room when he left. A couple of people argued incessantly that he knew what he was doing. They were so adamant that it was hard to know who had the problems. We already were hurting for our new resident. She may never get to know any of us or she will get to know each of us anew everyday.

I think I like the old Indian approach to wandering off to sit on a hill and just waiting for the end. I couldn't do it, but I like the theory. But that's just me. Great ideas, but bad follow through.

THE PLOT THICKENS

Reports came flooding into mission control central that the missing bench at the front door could be found at Goodwill. After much shock and little awe, scheming minds put their heads together in hopes of having one good mind. Let’s go to Goodwill and buy the bench and place it exactly where it had come from. Now that would be funny. What are we? College kids! Sort of! Joy, jubilation, glee (not the show, just the feeling) came upon all. I was appointed the one to go and purchase the bench as I had the car. It sounded like fun, so I was off with a fellow evil thinker. Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men — The Shadow knows. After a thorough search of Goodwill, the bench could not be found. Joy immediately drained from our continence. We were downcast. Our spirits were vexed. We could think of no other evil deed to do. Woe, we were undone.

I skipped coffee today in an attempt to do some cleaning and organizing. Guess what? I got a phone call to see where I was. Don’t I get any me time? Yes I do! But they needed my car. (See above.) See, they don’t really love me. They just love what I have and can provide for them. Sounds like parenting.

Another cake appeared at the lounge table in our building to celebrate the April birthdays. It’s feast or famine. Lots now, nothing for months to come. Wasn’t August a hot month. Wouldn’t it have been sticky? Why so many April babies? My kids were also born in April, but they’re adopted so don’t blame me.

I sure hope the Survivors figure out what a snake in the grass Russell is and vote him out of the tribe tonight. If not, he may go one to win. It's now or never. JT would still be there if it weren't for his stubbornness.

IT'S COMPLICATED

Why oh why are cell phones so complicated. I greatly appreciate their portability. But I don't want games, the computer, or any aps for any reason. I like that it saves names and numbers. I like scrolling and calling. I have a camera for photos so I don't need a camera on my phone, do I?. I just want to make and receive calls.

I found a phone company that will cut my phone service charge in half each month. I like that. I did not like that I needed to get a new phone to have the service. It arrived today. I have spent most of the afternoon trying to figure out how to enter a "contact." There were no instructions. I guess they assume in this day and age that everyone can figure that out. WRONG! You know what assume makes: it makes an ass... Forget it. I did go on line to find more detailed instruction. There it was clear as mud. Directions on how to enter your contacts are as follows: First, select "MENU". Easy. menu is labeled. Then find contacts. Any ideas where I should look? No suggestions. I did finally find it after pushing nearly every button on the phone. Go to "names." So far so good. Then select "OPTIONS" — I'm sorry, but there was nothing that said options. I redid the approach several times. No thousands of times. Yes I'm frustrated. THERE IS NO "OPTIONS!" Once there, push "add a new contact." I would love to, but I COULDN'T GET THAT FAR. I am going to have to find a teenager to help me. Cell phones hate old people.

My instructions have multiple pages on texting, emailing, and connecting to the Internet. My plan allows for none of this. I can play games. I don't want to play games. I just want to enter some names and number, send and receive calls. OK, I don't mind people leaving a message. Is that so hard to understand. Can't someone write simple instructions for the technologically challenged?

I love it when there is plenty of bread at Wednesday bread wars. Plenty for everyone. No one got pushed, shoved, beat up stabbed or shot. What a wonderful day. That all started when we got back to The Home. A larger crowd than usual greeted us as we unloaded and took it to the table. The first comment was from one of my helpers. Where's the potato bread? I don't know. You are unpacking the boxes, not me. I would like some rye. There wasn't any today. Why? How should I know - maybe because there wasn't any. But I wanted rye. I believe they have some at the grocery store. And another, did you get any tortillas? Do you see any? We always get tortillas. Yes, usually, but there are some, but none today. After explaining that we were also missing raisin, cinnamon, and anything else you want that you cannot see on the table, the fight began. There were two loaves of Honey Winter Wheat. One lady set it aside and went to look for other bread. The bread thief got the second loaf then came and picked up the one set aside and ran for the elevator to get upstairs before she got caught. Another took the only loaf of potato bread. after she left there was a herd of cries for potato bread. WE HAVE NONE! NO, you may not take a whole box of donuts to your apartment. Those are for our coffee break. But so and so took one. Lets hunt her down, tar and feather her and then hang her from the nearest tree. Organize a possy. A new lady was trying to help sort the bread and pack a box for another complex. I watched her right in front of me take the bread our head sorter was packing and remove the bread to pack it in another identical box. That almost did me in. I had to leave or I would have burst into laughter. Maybe pulled my hair out. I went to get my hair cut. I looked like the Shaggy Dog and no one cared if I had bread.

REPLACEMENT

My pillows have died. They fought bravely and gave me many years of excellent service, but they finally wore out before me. I treated them with respect. I never used them in a pillow fight. I never walked on them or used them to make me looked fatter. I already am fat enough. I washed them and re-fluffed them often. I really don't understand how it happened. I suppose it was gradual. I guess I didn't even know it was happening. I washed them in an attempt to give them new life or keep them somewhat fresh, but they began to yellow. They weren't even smokers. Their age began to show. However, unlike myself, with age they got thinner. They no longer held my head up with very much strength. My neck was often sore after a nights sleep, I loved those pillows so much I blamed the problem on my own old age. It could not have been their fault. I must have been my own. I slept wrong. It's hard to sleep right when you are sleeping and don't know what you're doing.

Reluctantly, I went looking for a replacement. I didn't tell them, I just left and began my search. I admit I was somewhat reluctant to have them find out I planned on replacing them. But they were failing. bad health, maybe arthritis. Certainly soft bones, a lack of calcium. Naturally I didn't know there were so many kinds of pillows out there. I had only bought one pillow that I recall. I went and got one of those memory foam things that is suppose to support your neck. I liked it at first. It wasn't as comfortable as my old pillows, but it provided support and I didn't have a sore neck. But eventually, actually rather soon, the memory pillow believed it was made of cement. It felt hard as rock and my head hurt just to lay on it. My neck was better, but my head was sore. I didn't like the trade off so I went back to the old standby's. Eventually I had to put two of them together, to seem like one. After a few years, the two felt thinner than one and the yellow was turning brown. I blamed it on too much sun. I didn't know how they were getting all that sun, but they were brown. One told me secretly and in confidence "stop slobbering." I couldn't help myself. I just kept drooling. Even duct tape didn't help.

I stopped blaming myself and did the deed. I had no idea there were pillows designed for how you sleep. Ones for people who sleep on their backs, on their stomachs, on their sides. I brought a side sleeper. It is wonderful. Soft, holds my head just right. Cuddles me, I think it cares like none of the old ones ever did. I was so upset with the way the old ones had treated me that I unceremoniously threw them in the trash and took them to the curb. I had put up with their nonsense long enough. Too long actually. Useless good for nothing things. Disgusting. I don;t know why I put up with it.

CASE CONTINUES

The case of the missing bench is coming to a head. And it's getting ugly. Who would have thunk such a simple thing would lead to anger, frustration, ended friendships, hiding out in ones apartment.

Someone confronted the usual suspect and the fur flew. She wanted to let the whole world know she is sick and tired of being accused of "everything." She was told the rest of the building is sick and tired of having their world monitored and controlled by her. She history is to deny her involvement for the longest time, then when she can no longer take the pressure acknowledges it was her and is mad because people will not just put it aside. Mind you an apology or request for forgiveness is not forth coming. Just forget it and start again. That has tended to lead to the whole process starting over. She does what she wants no matter what anyone else thinks and that includes management. After all, what do they know about neatness? Mind you the place is clean and orderly. But not to her liking. Through the confronter, we were all told in no uncertain terms to leave her alone. Even those of us who listen and try to hide in the bushes. It's safer there.

The maintenance man is getting another bench and she can keep the one she took from another tenant. I doubt the fight is over, but it will lay low for awhile.

There was another birthday over the weekend and that meant another cheesecake by Janet. Each has been a different flavor and all have been outstanding. The next birthday in the building it not until the end of May. Maybe I can lose a little weight before beginning another round of cheesecake. Yummmm!

A few of us spent a couple of hours at the puzzle table this afternoon. It's fun doing it with a group. Kiki has a habit of talking to herself. Mumbling is a better way to put it. She does it all the time and since her voice rarely gets louder when she is talking to a person one never knows if the conversation is with self or another. I have got to turn it off in my head. I came close to not succeeding today. I grew up in a tiny home with way too many people and peace was achieved by shutting your mind off to other distractions. I'm actually pretty good at it. I left after two hours. Everyone else had left but her and I and I could no longer disappear into my own little world. I think I need a bigger little world with more space and better sound proofing. I guess a remodeling project is the best plan. Improvement is always a good thing.

WHY CHURCH

Why church? Always a good question! The pastor did not address the general question, but the specific one about why “this” church. He attempted to address the uniqueness of “this” church. While it is true that each church is unique, has it’s own personality and distinctiveness, within the various church categories’ (liberal, traditional, historical, conservative, etc.) they are often more alike than different. For many larger churches, you cannot tell one denomination from another. The bigger they are the more alike they are. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t really care. They now major on the majors. Too much of our history has been trying to find our difference to be better than another. While now claiming uniqueness, we are more alike than ever.

Take the little church I now attend. The preacher is more than capable. Messages are simple, clear and short, a major appeal to all generations. It is better to leave them wanting more than wondering when he will finish. The music is very contemporary. I know there are many churches with traditional music, but the contemporary side is moving ahead. Contemporary usually means guitars, keyboard, drums and a group of singers to lead the singing, now called worship. Loud is often a major component. We have that.

Worship used to include the whole church service even when it was more disconnected one part from another and not especially building to a climax. Now, many services are divided into two parts: worship (music) and talking (preaching). These all have slightly different meaning in different churches. Music continues to be the great divider and may be the reason we need so many different kind of churches. When all churches had a piano, organ or nothing, congregational harmony ruled the church music world. With groups leading and bands dominating, we listen more than participate. Actually singing has declined. A large number or older professional musicians got their start in churches. It was a place they learned harmony and sung their hearts out. I guess one learns on American Idol now.

Regardless of size, most churches are trying to make their church feel smaller with variously named small groups. This is done for personal connections, intimacy, and relationships. Good idea, often badly executed. Small group connections are not as easy as leadership believes or encourages. Many small groups are closed. One must push their way in, or have a connection. If you walk into the church on your own, you have no credentials and must beat the doors down is you want it. I; not that interested.

I spent 13 years of my life professionally analyzing church structures and procedures. My evaluations are not perfect, but I see one common area of total failure. It is hard to be welcomed into a church, even one that calls itself “friendly.” Handing out a bulletin and shaking hands may be a start, but it is not the end. Usher friends who block the door talking with one another or their entering friends is not friendly. A point in the service where “we greet another” is not warm to strangers. It is a time for friends to connect. It is intimidating to strangers. Why shake hands and share my name with someone I will never see or speak to again. That’s the nature of large. At our church there is a coffee break. It make be superfluous, but I do like donuts and the coffee is coming at the right time. At least it gives me something to do while friends gather to talk.

I’m not against large. I'm against fake and forced friendliness. You want answers from me. Are you kidding? That would only create another fight. What I just wrote is bad enough. I just like to stir the pot.

CASE OF THE MISSING BENCH

I caved! Checked my blood sugar level and it was better than I thought. 170. Should have been worse. The only think I can say is that while I way over did the sugar, I didn't eat that much. My morning number was 92. Excellent. I guess I can have the rest of the cheesecake for breakfast (just joking).

Anger is a weird thing around here. Makes people act like preschoolers. There are a few shopping carts around here. There are very useful for bring groceries or packages or anything that is a little heavy back to our apartments. They have all been stored in the garage of the other building. Our maintenance man thought it would be nice if one were kept in our building for those coming directly into our place. We have an air trap at the front - you know a space between the outer door and the inner door. It is reasonably large and there was plenty of room for the cart. Hazel did not like the appearance of the cart there so moved it outside. No, no, no. You can't move things you don't like. However, that is her mode of operation. She takes down notices that she does like or seem cluttered. She takes them down during her night wanderings before the event. If she finds more than one in the building she removes that ones she determines useless.

Our maintenance man moved the cart back in the air lock and put a sign up to leave it where he put. That did not set well with Hazel. About a year ago she found a small bench that was being discarded by another resident and brought it over for people to sit on in cool weather while waiting for a ride. Very thoughtful and very useful. But the bench is now gone. It disappeared that day the cart was returned inside and the note to leave it alone appeared. Most unusual! The complex detectives jumped on the case. Magnifying glasses were pulled out, the area was dusted for finger prints, and a full out bench hunt was begun. We were all beating the weeds to find it. No where to be found! When that occurs there is only one thing left to do. Guess what happened and make accusations and get the gossip mill working overtime. May not be useful, but it fills time. The suspect list was very narrow. All fingers pointed to the same suspect. Let us say, "The usual suspect." The one who does things for vengeance. The one who does things as a form of pouting. The one who does things to get even or when she does not get her own way. The decorator who deemed the appearance ugly. Poor Hazel, but it is most likely true. No one else here would care.
If it's not in her room, she took it to the dump. That is just this inspectors opinion.

BIRTHDAY

The history of the April family birthdays is that there are only two celebrations for all three. My daughter’s is the 22nd mine on the 23rd and granddaughter #1 the 28th. Guess which two get celebrated. I gave up a personal birthday when my daughter was born. Then there was the travel period of my life when I was often gone for my birthday, especially if it was a weekend. So yesterday was “our birthday.” Granddaughter #1 will be 13 next Wednesday and wants to invite all 5000 of her facebook friends (35 actually. I exaggerate). There were no expectations for me for today. Boy was I surprised.

The day began with pumpkin pie. Kiki gave it to me last night. She knows pumpkin is my favorite. It arrived with real whipped cream. Since pumpkin is a vegetable and is good for me, I had it for breakfast. That’s also why my favorite cake is carrot. It’s really a vegetable. With that kind of thinking I can always get enough vegetables in my diet. I thought having the pie early in the day would give me plenty of time to work it off.

Returning to my kitchen I saw a card had come under my door and the envelope read “gift at door.” Janet had made me her marvelous cheesecake. I quickly put it in my fridge so I could get it out of my mind. I would have that special treat with friends later.

I walked into the other building to get some coffee and was overwhelmed with the incredible smell of fresh baking cookies. They were just being taken out of the oven. They were macadamia nut cookies. Nuts are good for you so I had two. Fun talk at the table! We mostly talked about how us poor helpless single, lonely and aging adults were being screwed over by nearly everyone. That is a fun discussion around here. Usually it focuses on the government, but today it extended to credit card companies, banks, healthcare, interest rates, the retirement industry, yes, there is one and it’s big. If we get extra money, rent goes up. He we have any in the bank we lose help with medical expenses. Complaining is a blast. We all walk away felling better. Nothing has changed, but we knew that going in.

Finished a puzzle with a few people in the afternoon. Skipped an official lunch. Wasn’t hungry. Wonder why? Went knocking on the doors of everyone in my building about 3:30 inviting them to come share a slice of cheesecake. Ended up with 8 of 18, and one more from the other building. Pretty good for sudden notice I thought. We talked till 5:30 coat tailing from one hilarious incident to another. Maria offered to take me out for supper. I was hungry for real food. She suggested Shari’s for their fully loaded potatoes soup. It was terrific, but it added to the price I am paying. Potatoes: good. Onions: good. Soup: good. Cream soup: bad. Cheese: bad. Sour cream: bad. The onions fit my diet.

When we got back to “The Home” I was met with a card and five sweet treat squares that reminded me what my wife always make for her friends and special occasions. They are on a stick like kabobs. Kabobs: good. Forget the rest. I had two, and put the leftovers in the fridge where I saw the quarter of cheesecake stilling sitting and calling to me. The best part of the cheesecake is that it doesn’t taste sweet. That’s also the worst part. I can’t believe it, but I walked away.

PS: The story about the snake is most true. Over exaggerated by my over anxious friend. I still can't believe I never heard. What am I, chopped liver.

I CAN"T BOWL

Today was my daughter’s birthday. I did not get the drawing done I had planned, but rushed a pen and ink sketch of my grand kids so I would have something. This time I messed up the shadowing. I used a crosshatch technique and got the area around the eyes to dark. They look evil. I am sure they have their moments when that is the right look, but not the one I was working to achieve.

I am now officially the worst bowler in my family. I really needed the alley with the bumper pads. I don’t think the gutter is a good place to send the ball, so why did I do it so often? The last time I bowled was 1897 (your read that right), Nothing was automated, and the balls were cow pies that exploded into a million pieces of mostly powder when you hit the cow’s feet, assuming you chose the right one. It was an attempt to tip cows. I had a goal of reaching 40. I failed. I am so ashamed. I once bowled 212, but that’s very ancient history and only happened once. I couldn’t bend far enough to my right. I could not get enough speed to run to the line. I couldn’t keep my arm straight and worst of all I couldn’t find a ball light enough that I could get my fingers to fit. It was great fun.

We went for Thai food after bowling. I had no idea my grand kids would eat Thai. We had a great meal with nothing left over. I was truly shocked. I love Thai. We did not have any fast food and they ate a lot. I am amazed! Where did these kids come from?

After supper, I took the family to Dairy Queen for Blizzards. Aren’t I a wonderful Papa. Buy one, get a second one for 25ç (now through Sunday if you're interested. I may go again.). Also very cheap!

I got great news today that made my birthday (tomorrow). There is an opening at The Home for a section 8 resident, and a management representative came over for me to sign the papers. My rent will go down. Having little money is my own fault. I’m just glad it’s me, and not my wife working through the government paperwork. We did very well and lived a comfortable live. Our joy was always to try and take care of nearly every need that came across our path. That often left us with little, but we always paid all our bills and gave away the rest. We had both come from poverty and knew how to live on very little. I am doing it again with a great deal of peace. But this housing assistance will take the pressure off me. Yeah! The other positive side is seeing how God cares. No regrets. This is love.

Sorry, got a little personal, but I am a very happy man.

SNAKE IN THE HOUSE

I can't believe it was only today that I learned there had been a snake loose in the other building. How did I miss that?

I was sitting in the pool room eating a bowl of soup when Dale come over to talked to me. I had questions with how I deal with anxiety. The truth is I don't have much since I quit working. I mean it's not completely gone. My daughters birthday is tomorrow and I have been trying to draw a picture of the three grand kids together. It isn't working. Many starts just as many ends. I haven't done portraits for a long time and it takes a little practice to get in the flow. If you get the eyes wrong, the whole picture is wrong. One out of six eyes is always wrong and I end up starting over. Enough about me - back to Dale

I have no idea how much of this is true. He is a very nervous guy and not prone to joking so I guess the story is true. However, he mixed up managers and the time line made no sense. I finally asked about when this ended and he said it's not over, but the last he heard from anyone was two weeks ago. That helped.

He moved in with a snake which he said belonged to his wife and he promised her he would take care of it for her. It is a small, harmless snake. Not poison, about 14 inches long. What confused me is that he previously told me he was gay and had been with his partner 19 years before he died. Male partner - wife? Do gays call their partner wives? If so, the label should have been on him. I'm confused. Letting that unresolved question go and trying to follow the story, he seemed to have permission to keep the snake when he moved in. He has been here almost two years longer than I, and he began talking about the previous managers. Somewhere in the middle he switched over to the new managers and all I can figure is this happened recently. That didn't connect with how the snake got here in the first place. But Here's the gist of the story.

He could not find the snake and after a few days of looking felt he had to report it to the managers. A complex wide search began. Rita is terrified of snakes. A group meeting was held to inform everyone of the escaped snake. By the time the meeting had dismissed it had become a boa constrictor ready to reach out and squeeze you to death, If only! At times it was a rattle snake. At a minimum it was deadly poisoness and you would die within minutes of being struck. It was at least 8 ft. long. Wishful thinking. Here's what bothers me about the story. I never heard the story before. I move in all the right gossip circles. I attend all the group meetings. I ask questions. I have been in his apartment. I never heard of or saw his snake. It is hard to believe that big of a story never reached me. My contacts are failing me. I must find new resources. Maybe I'm being cut out of the information flow. What did I do to be so rejected? My anxiety just went up.

It is possible the meeting was only for that building. Look, I hear about hang nails, ambulance arrivals any time of day, who was planning to do what each day — shopping, visiting grand kids. Mostly about doctors visits. For some, they would have no outside contact if they didn't have six or seven doctors. How did I miss this? But I digress (what I do best). The issued got bumped up stairs to the big girls (no male leaders). It has been two weeks since he last heard anything and he now has deep anxiety about what will happen. He can only imagine two responses. 1) You can stay, but the snake goes. 2) You can leave and take the snake with you. There really is another and maybe more. 3) You and the snake can both stay. He is literately torn up over this. Wouldn't bother me. The snake would have been gone long before this.

As it turned out, the snake had not gotten loose. He had put so many toys for the snake in the bottom of his fish bowl (that's what he called it) that the snake had crawled under some of the stuff, got all tangled up and could not get loose. The way the story was going I figures the snake had gotten loose months ago. No, all of this had happened in the last 16-18 days. Where have I been? I have heard no one running or screaming that a snake crawled into the bed during the night. Real or not. Who knows, but it took over an hour to hear it all. You can see he is physically stressed. He has asked he doctor for more sedatives and wants to double up on them. I've had stress, but never that much. So what would I do? I told him not to ask. I don't care for snakes. I wouldn't mind trying chocolate covered snake though!

I'm glad he didn't ask me what I would do. I wold get rid of it. Besides, my wife would never had asked me to care for a snake. She really hated them.

FOLLOWERS

Thanks for signing up. When I started I had this amazing goal to have 5 followers. When I got 6 I wanted 8. See we always want one more. Greedy people aren't we. Well, maybe only me. I am really not trying to be mean. There will be no bad language here. I am mocking people I love, because we (the human race) are funny people who speak before we think. I love it when that happens and especially when selfishness appears and demands are unreasonable. I hope you enjoy my musing. Tell your friend about the blog. Notice I didn't say friends. That would be expecting too much.

SHE DIDN'T AND WE DIDN'T DIE

Mrs. “And” crept up on me a coffee this morning. I would have run had I seen her. But I was blindsided. This woman uses “And” to connect all her run on sentences. It is a form of torture the CIA should consider even if it is cruel and unusual punishment. She snuck up on me and sat next to me. I instinctively knew what that meant. I was to become her captive audience. In spite of a lively conversation of interaction of all member of the coffee klatch, I was honored by her undivided attention. Her eyes drilled me and she began her single sentence speech with no end. I was only there to help bring in the bread from the food bank truck when it arrived. I began praying immediately the truck would arrive NOW! I was willing to get on my knees and begged if it would have stopped the speech. I would love to share the details of the lecture, but I closed my ears and kept my eyes glued to her. I remember nothing except the arrival of the truck. I excused myself and left with the pick up group and she continued talking even when the door closed behind me. Had I known she really didn’t need an audience I would have walked out months ago.

I was sitting at my computer catching up on emails when the some detector-alarm when off. I was stunned. It was my alarm. I wasn’t cooking anything and had not had the stove on for at least three days. I live by the microwave. Maybe could live without a stove completely. Not trust. I like to cook breakfasts. I was confused. What had I done to set the alarm off? I stepped into the hallway, which was filled with other residents on our floor. The lights were flashing and the siren was even louder. Everyone was standing around looking at one another and smelling the burnt whatever. People moved to open all the outside doors. The woman who burnt her burrito in her microwave until it became ashes was out taking responsibility for the noise. The building alarms would not have gone on had she just opened her windows, but she couldn’t breath so shared she smoke with us all. With the doors being open, our three principle complainers demanded the doors be shut because it was cold. Others said that we needed to let this smoke out. Why didn’t she keep it in her room? Here we go again. I don’t like what is happening so change it now because I want it change. Isn’t that what 2 year olds do. Unreasonable! The doors stayed open. The alarm went on screaming for quite a while. We are tied directly to the fire department. Where are the trucks? We didn’t need them but where were they? The maintenance man got here but is not suppose to turn the alarm off. The fire department if to check and make sure everything is OK and then they turn it off. It was about 12 minutes before they got there. The building could have been burnt to the ground. Wait, no it couldn’t, there was no fire. Whew! When the manager got here we learned she was just returning from the grocery store where she was in line behind the very firemen who finally responded to our dangerous situation (read as the noise was driving us crazy). They were line paying for their supper. We could have died waiting for them. Yes, but we didn’t. We only had to listen to people frightened that we could have died. But there was no fire and they knew it.

I WON'T GO

I won't go. Heard that so many times I'm tired of it. She didn't get the garden spot she wanted. Said she didn't want any if she couldn't have one on the front row. She was angry that newer people got preference over her. She was stuck back in the same spot she had last year. Not a bad spot, but not what she wanted. She is on the back row. Lots of morning sun. Less as the day goes on. If the person in front of her were to grow corn or sunflowers, she may get very little sun. I didn't get in the front so I don't want any I had the manager. She didn't make the decision. Yes she did. Ask her, she didn't do it. The big boss micromanages and she decided. Take your complaint to her. I just won't have any garden spot. Not true. She is working the land she has. I hate the manager and will not come to anything she plans. Ha! She is afraid she would miss something and someone else might step into her place as one of the main helpers.

We had an Easter brunch today. Very late, but no time to do it sooner. Everyday in the past 2-3 weeks, she reminded me she was not coming. The last I heard it was last night. I had walked to my chiropractic appointment this morning and went for coffee when I returned. This mornings talk was about things that went wrong in high school. Mostly funny stories. Maria walked in at 10:15. She had come over to catch the grocery bus. It comes every Monday. So I innocently asked what she needed. She wanted to get things to make her bean salad. What for, I asked. For the Easter Brunch. Thought you weren't going. Yes, I am. Shut your mouth guy and just snicker to yourself. Whatever you do, don't say I knew it. But I knew she would go. She can't have anything happen at the home without her. She might miss something.

She came. When I arrived she was puttering around in the kitchen getting worked up over the direction the service line would go. There were two different opinions. I don't know who won. Drinks and plates were on the same end so I guess the direction was never settled. We have such a hard time resolving these world shattering issues. She came and sat next to me during the meal. The ham was too dry, the potatoes uncooked, the carrots too spicy. The bean salad was very good. That was said for my benefit since I did not have the correct bean salad on my plate. I thought a different one was hers. Whoops. That explains the lengthy description of the salad and how it was made and that she had to go on the bus to get what she needed. She must be exhausted. I was and I just listened to the process.

When I returned to my building the front door was unlocked. Must have been the broken lock again. I fixed it by locking the door. I swear, the door is being locked open on purpose. Can't prove it, but don't doubt it. There is one I would not put it past her. She needs to report everyday that the door lock is broken.

IT'S BROKEN

The message at church today focused on the potter and the clay. Every time that topic comes up I remember my senior year in high school. The pottery wheel was reserved for seniors who had been in art four years. The school had only four pottery wheels. I always thought if they looked in the attic they would find more as the school was so old and and served as an early state capital. I had worked with clay often in grade school and while I doubted clay was my medium, I anticipated the assignment with great joy. The statues I made in grade school all dried up and crunched down into a totally different shape when fired. Not what I had in mind.

Four at a time, students were given a week for their project. I, like most of the class, had visions of creating award winning pottery. I loved the idea of something in somewhat proportionate shape that I might even be proud to give to my mother. I might have considered giving it to my girlfriend, but is seemed obvious to me that the relationship was about to end. I was going to do it. Hand kneading the clay and adding the proper amount of water so you could work with the clay and not so much that it was nothing but a gooey mess was a challenge. Took two days, as I recall. By day three I had the clay in a workable condition. Now I could spin the wheel. No I couldn't because I could not get the speed right and the pot I was making was always leaning or one side was larger and the whole thing looked like a preschooler made it. I was constantly smashing it down and starting over. By day four I had conquered speed and holding my hands in a steady position fairly well. One day left. On Friday I knew I could get it. After a couple of false starts it was going together in a way that pleased me. I considered my self done and was about to put the glaze on for firing. The teacher came by to compliment me and recommend that I use a wire to cut the top edge of the vase (long "s" please). She showed me how and now I was ready to do it. I was holding the wire steady as the teacher stood over my shoulder to advice me. I was nearly through with what looked like a perfect cut when I reached for the loose rim to remover it, hit the foot peddle and jerked my hand flinging my piece of clay one to the next student. Fortunately my pot was fine and I missed my neighbors pot. Unfortunately I hit her hand and she jerked knocking her clay art sideways and thus ruining her project. She was so angry she walked over and pushed my pot as flat as she could. I just stared. She got a second week, I did not. Of course, I gave up pottery.

Hazel will end up annoying most of us to death. I was sitting upstairs in the lounge talking with Maria and Janet. Just an afternoon of carefree banter. We could hear a door opening and closing on the main floor. We could not hear anyone moving. I had no idea who it was or what was going on. Apparently Maria made a comment I should have picked up on, but it flew right over my head. A while later Hazel came upstairs to complain about the lock on the front door. Apparently the lock is broken and she was checking to see if it had been fixed. A couple of times would have been sufficient, but more than a dozen is annoying. She expressed her concern that it sticks open and Maria and I both said it is not broken. Someone is locking it in the open position. The argument began. She is frightened for her life. Anyone could come in and get into her apartment and do God only knows what. I do — run out in fright. Others are frightened as well. No names were forth coming. She locks it open herself and complains to management that it is broken. When caught she denies she did anything, but is simply trying to get it closed. I have showed her twice how to fix the "broken" lock. When you open the door, take you thumb off the latch and take your key out and it will lock. No it doesn't. That has never worked for me. Let me show you again. It worked. Now you do just what I did. It worked. I do that all the time, and it never works. I don't know why it is working now. I know it's broken. It is designed so you can lock the door open for easy moving in and out, if it is changed, an item will have to be placed in the way of the door to hold it open when necessary.

Hazel will get her way. The lock will be changed. She has written or called the big boss 2-3 times a week for more than a month. If the maintenance man quits, she will be the main reason. She has reported the need for a repair almost everyday for the past month. I believe she maybe what is broken.

GROW UP

I enjoy going to coffee most mornings. I get some of my best material there. This morning was no exception.

It began simply. Two women were present and completely separated each in their own room. Maria was in the kitchen cleaning up after the management company had a staff meeting and once again did not leave any of their left overs for us. They used to do it all the time. They would leave pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage, fruit, pastries and some coffee. Those days are gone. I don't know what they do with the leftovers. Take it to their office and eat cold pancakes, eggs, bacon, etc. I guess. I'm not bitter, but I think I'll write and tell them how much I like bacon and eggs, and we have the equipment to warm it up. Take the sweets. But please, leave the fruit. Do you know how expensive fruit is? They even emptied the coffee pot instead of leaving the rest for us. Separation of office and tenant I guess. Probably a legal thing. So Maria was getting coffee ready for us and cleaning up the mess they left.

Dixie was in the pool room. Not swimming. It's not that kind of pool. Billiards! The puzzle is on a table in that room. That puzzle is not really available to everyone. Three women keep guard over it and run others off. Went we find that out we invite them over to our puzzle room. Anyone is welcome.

So far, so good. I poured a cup of lukewarm coffee (did not notice it was not ready yet), drank it anyway and sat at the usual suspects table. Marie came in to join me. I told her about the bomb scare at the ferry yesterday. Naturally I made a big deal about it and you would think the whole west coast was in danger. Could be! Four TV stations covered it. She hadn't heard. (See previous blog). Two others drifted in and joined our table. Later a third came. There are now five and everything was going well. Dixie is still in the puzzle room. After another man joined our group and Dixie wandered over and stood at the table wanting to show some of us a list of all the senior activities in the area. Actually it was a ploy. See really only wanted to get my attention because Maria was sitting there. Her cover was that I could include some of these things in the May newsletter. Maria is convinced she does this to get her goat. I didn't even know she had a goat.

Then Dixie sat down. It was quiet for a moment before daggers were fired with eyes between the women. When they made contact Maria turns sideways and puts her right hand to her face so she cannot see Dixie. Much like the blinders on a horse. Two new people asked if she was OK, thinking something physically wrong had occurred. Indeed it had. Her junior high childish behavior kicked in at 100%. Apparently they had a blow out some years ago and Maria has never forgiven Dixie. It was before I came so I don't fully understand. Each has given me their side and they do not appear to be the same problem. Dixie is civil, but Maria is childish and absurd. Maria got up and left the table and the newcomers asked if she would be OK. Dixie says, she's fine, she just doesn't want to look at me. It would be hilarious if it were not so painful to watch and be around. They both have issues, and they both do things that hurt others or at a minimum - get their goat. But Dixie seems to have moved on from their conflict and would even participate in a conversation with Maria if Maria would become an adult. Do how to you get old women to make up, kiss, and get over it? I would be happy if they would act like mature adults. Maria is a good friend to me, so I am trying to figure out how to confront her. Fear not. I have done this before, and nothing has changed. I have even appealed to her religious believes as a Catholic and reminded her of the Lord's prayer. She believes God knows what she has had to put up with from this woman and will send her to hell and allow herself into his kingdom. She thinks nothing of "God will forgive you as you forgive those who trespass (offend, sin) against you." It would be easier to tear down a brick wall with my finger nails.

TIP TOE THROUGH THE TULIPS

My harem and I ventured out to the tulip fields yesterday. The hen fest began immediately. Janet sat in front with me and as we approached the ferry she whispered to me - Women! I laughed out loud which brought a momentary silence. Janet is our 92 year old resident. Four of us have April birthdays and all four were making the trip. Janet is a spry and active lady who says the funniest things at the best moments. The others missed he comment. I would love to report on the conversations, but I shut them out. I am the sixth child of seven who grew up in an approximately 700 square foot home and the only way to survive at times was to take your brain and move into another world. I visited my special place on that trip. My family learned that the best way to bring me home was to get right in my face. I suppose the other world was weird to everyone, but to be honest many times it was the only way to get any privacy. Escapism pure and simple. Yes, it made people made at times. But I enjoyed my little world.

Spring came early so driving through the tulip fields produced brown, empty fields at far as the eye could see. Naturally I continued to point these out for all to enjoy. When we found a field still in bloom it was spectacular. Yellows, whites, reds - may shades or red and pink - oranges, purples. When planted as a contrast it was dramatic. I loved the red-yellow-red field. The sun was shining at that moment and they almost glowed. Rozengaarde Gardens was beautiful. I was successful in convincing the women to go off on their own and I would catch up. They agreed because I had to use the porta-potty. As I was about to leave I heard what sounded like something dropping. I looked around for my things and found everything I brought was there. Then I reached for my cell phone and it was gone. Panic. It was not visible. I looked down the hole hoping it had not fell in. I had no idea what I would do then. The contents were disgusting. I'm not afraid of a little mess, but that was too much and if I got in it, how would I get out. I finally left the cubical without my phone and as I was washing my hands I suddenly remembered that I did not bring my phone. The battery was too low so I left it charging. Another panic moment for nothing. That's where my stress comes from - my own mind.

Somehow a couple of us got the ferry departure time mixed up and when reached the ferry is was earlier than expected and was loading. Actually very good timing. I flipped on the news when I got home and learned there was a bomb scare on the very ferry on which we had crossed the sound. The ferries at that crossing were held up for hours while the bomb squad came in to deal with the ticking package. It was a smoke detector. Had we missed that ferry we would have been delayed several hours. Whew - missed that one.

I THOUGHT I HAD SEEN EVERYTHING...

There were four of us sitting in the upstairs lounge eating the most delicious cheesecake made by Janet when Gail said, Look at that? It's hard not to look when that phrase is uttered with such enthusiasm. It was unusual. There was a man standing at his open trunk brushing his teeth and spitting into the parking lot. When completed he rinsed and headed to the fancy clubs across the street. Gail through she had seen everything. That only launched us into a round robin sharing of strange things we have seen people do such as: completely changing clothes to the bare skin at the side of the road, laying on the beach in a bikini at 9 months pregnant, a guy parachuting off the top of a skyscraper, a couple having sex in their motel room with the blinds, a naked man changing a window blind with the lights on and arms up stretched, and more.

I don't know why so many of the things that we thought strange revolved around nudity. Must be how we think - weirdo's no doubt. But it brought up back to "The Home." Someone showing up with the hair uncombed or still wearing their pajamas is no longer that strange. But an old woman walking down the hall in a teddy nighty with the bottoms is still strange. She seemed totally unconcerned as she greeted a couple of people in the hallway. No one knew is her act was intentional or neglectful. But is left plenty to talk about for several days. "The Home" loves strange things, especially since at our age we think we have seen everything. We haven't see nothing yet.

I got a big trip with my harem tomorrow to the tulip fields tomorrow. It will be and four women. The weather is suppose to be very nice and in the mid 60's. That will be great. Two will be cold, one will sit in the back and call out directions. Not necessarily the right directions, what what she thinks are the directions. Janet, our senior member at 92, plans to provide a lunch for all of us. She is very hard to tell "NO." But why would you. She does up everything to the "T" and it is always wonderful. Four of the five of us will walk slowly and with canes, I can't really guess how long we will be able to stay, but it will be a great trip anyway.

We have a very ordinary lock at the front of our building. If you hold the handle down when you retrieve the key, you have locked the door open. Hazel does this often and then calls maintenance saying the door will not lock. This has happened so often it seems she may be doing it on purpose. She does things like that. I call her witch Hazel, but not to her face or anyone else for that matter. She is unhappy about so much and seems to want others to join her sadness. She removes note posted by management because they look messy, or because we only need one, so why are they posted in five places, or it was in the newsletter so we do not need it cluttering up our public spaces. When she is confronted she denies that she did it even when caught. She drives nearly everyone crazy. Then she wonders why so many people seem to dislike her and why she never gets invited out with other groups. Here's a clue. She was invited to attend the tulip festival but but could not make a commitment because she doesn't know what she might be doing tomorrow. This is not unusual. She can never plan ahead. She won't go anywhere in any car but her own. She will not drive because she does not want to get her car dirty. If she ever takes anyone it will only be one person because she doesn't like crowds. She really only likes to go to the casino where she loses so much money. When she does go there she only plays the $1 or higher machines, while most of "The Home" people play the penny machines and call high rollers those who play the nickel machines. She never had money to do anything, but is paying very high taxes because of her winning this year. Naturally we all feel very sorry for her.

EMERGENCY ROOM

This is too good to leave for another day. A dear lady of my acquaintance asked a friend to take her to the emergency room about midnight because of sever back pains. Anyone would help a friend so he got the car out that took the lady in pain to the hospital emergency room. It was a typical emergency room night. It was packed with all kinds of people. She was asked to wait as they were very busy.

Dixie does not have a reputation for patience, or dependability, or, well... enough said. She began by pacing the room and checking out those apparently in line before her. Some obviously needed to get in soon. But the problem with a pain that does not show is that it is no competition for blood. And when anyone has a pain, it is now the worst pain that anyone could suffer. She stared in disbelieve as some were taken in ahead of her. She began by asking why they were taken ahead of her. She was assured she was on the list and they would get to her, but surely she could see how busy they were. She returned to pacing. Another is taken in and the question is raised to a higher pitch and on to demanding to know why she is waiting so long. I'm sorry, but the staff is small and the patients are numerous. Not good enough. Dixie is seriously outraged and demanding that she be seen immediately. Since she is not subtle and her voice carries, very few people missed her demands. The demands increased to screaming and became laced with profanity. A great way to have people really care. The receptionist managed to hold her cool, but remained firm. She would be seen as soon as personnel were available. That was not satisfactory. Dixie ordered her driver to come and they left with the back pain apparently still aching. She directed her driver to a 24 hour restaurant where they spent a little over an hour having breakfast until about 3:00 a.m. After getting food in her stomach she was apparently healed. She came back to "The Home" and never said another word. Way to go Dixie! Healing with pancakes.

AND.....

I'm beginning to hate the word "and.'' There are two residents for whom that word means, "do not interrupt me while I continue my speech until the young man falls to his death (obscure reference to the Apostle Paul's preaching where Eutychus fell from a window to his death because the sermon was so long). The only way to get into the conversation is to charge right in and tackle the speaker. Even then if you don't have duct tape for their mouth the talking will not stop.

I got caught at coffee this morning by one of those who thoroughly enjoys telling every tiny little detail of a story that you can't even figure out what the story was originally about. Of course my mind wanders in that situation. I mostly think about when they will stop, if I will live that long, or how can I escape gracefully.

I never want to interrupt with a question. That extends the speech. I try never to look real interested in hopes they they will notice my boredom and give it up. Take it from me. That never works. So I plot my departure and wait for a break. Fortunately today, a woman broke in to ask Harlow a question (another one trapped at the table). I excused myself and ran for my life. Thirty minutes was enough for me. Actually too much. It felt like three hours.

I really don't want to know the kind of boots you wore when building a state park at age 21. I don't care about the sleeping conditions or how cold it was. I already know that fighting fires is very hot work and want to know how you knew the temperature? I am not overwhelmed by the distant you can swim or how tired you were. While doing it to meet girls is mildly interesting, you had nothing to say about the only part that might have got my attention. Please tell me why you and your ilk are determined to bore the rest of us to death. Can't you see that public speaking is not the best way to make friends. I have heard those stories about you family and the horses you loved like little children. What I want is conversation. Has it ever occurred to you that you get to know people by asking them questions. It's called interaction.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't conversation a two way activity? You know, you talk, then I talk, then someone else talks and it keeps going like that. If you want to make a speech please post a notice and invite people to come listen to your lecture on how dogs evolved. That way I can lock myself in my apartment and you can talk to the wind to your hearts content.

Yeah. That was sarcastic. Can't help myself. I blame that on my family (always find someone else to blame). But to be perfectly honest I never talked that long in a single stretch when I was a college professor in the lecture hall. Give it a rest already.

Just a suggestion: Learn to ask questions of quieter people? Most people will talk about themselves. Show interest. Draw them out. You may be surprised how interesting people are. You don't have to dig anything out of me. I'll tell you, just give me room to get a word in.

IT'S A HAIR DAY

Today's coffee break discussion was about hair, and it started with me — not by me mind you, but about me. Your hair looks different this morning. I am due for a hair cut. That's not it. Is it more gray? I don't know, I can't see it right now. It looks soft. Huh! What does soft look like? Your hair. All I can think of is that I didn't put any hair gel in this morning. I got tired of that glue like mixture I can afford. It gives me helmet hair. That's it. I like it better. You do? Yes, but there is a twist on the side that is going the wrong way. She gets up and walks toward me and I have visions of my mother licking her fingers to smooth it down when I was eight. I brace myself for impact. Instead of a wet sloppy mess of spit plopped on my head she stuck her finger in the hole in my hair. I'm just glad I have hair even if it is thinning, even happier that there was no spit.

So whatever happened to all the purple hair that all the old women used to wear. If you really wanted to see a bunch of it in one spot just go to church. Doris said there was also a pink and gold that was around. I don't remember that, just the purple. Purple must have been cheaper. It was a rinse I'm told. It made them more beautiful. Not in my opinion. I wondered if it was some kind of disease older women got. I never saw it on old men, of course most had no hair to color. I always thought it was funny that a lot of the older people were the ones having a fit about the hair colors of kids when they probably started the craze themselves. There was a guy on his way to a big celebration in the park last summer who walked by with a very thin eighteen inch high mohawk. It was a bright blue. Interesting that there was no condemnation, just laughter. I like the bright colors: pink, orange, lime green for — it's entertainment value and the joy of making snide comments. No I would not do it, but I threaten to all the time just to get a reaction. And I have never cared what kids do with their hair. Hair grows back or falls out. Colors change and people have colored their hair for years — just not floresent, That will change.

I prepare the monthly newsletter and this month was full of screw ups. I set the deadline and some info comes after the deadline. I can usually squeeze the late entries in after the proof comes back. But a strange thing occurred this month. I don't know how it happened. Maybe its a miracle. But there were no spelling errors on the calendar side. Only the news side needed corrections. When the corrections for the news side came back, Rita (our manager) came in with corrections and additions to the calendar. I took that information and added it to my master to send again with the corrections to the other side. I got an email back that the calendar was already printed. Whoops. None of those things made the cut. I made a poster for one of the missed events but there was another one. Our scheduled monthly meeting date was not changed. It remained on Monday like last month. Rita wanted it on Tuesday. Well the calendar did not carry that change and the meeting (by the calendar) is today. I made the assumption she was going to go ahead and have it on Monday, not Tuesday. Wrong! Notes have just appeared on our doors reporting that the meeting is tomorrow. So who is responsible for the problem. ME! That's who! Good thing I have broad shoulders. People are being told the information was given to me. Yes it was, so far so very right. And that I did not conclude it. Well, technically I did - but the point is moot. Combined with the fact that I skipped April 21 completely (My fault), it's turning out very badly for my editorial skills. I am having a terrible, very bad, no good, awful, rotten day. But I'll get over it and keep my mouth shut and take the abuse I will get tomorrow. It will give me something to write about, or exaggerate about.

IT GREW WHERE?

There are several things I was not told about growing old. I guess they were kept to themselves so they could laugh at us like we did at them. Well it any funny. Maybe a little bit. OK, so it's very funny. Hair pops out at the strangest places. And now my eyes are so bad I don't know where I'm getting new ones, which is OK since I can't keep up with the old ones.

The three on the top of my right ear are black and clash against the white above the ear. Don't get me wrong. I am thankful I have hair above the ears and not just in or on the ears. I didn't think this was going to happen. Three bald brothers, a bald father, one bald grandfather. Then there was mom's side. Two bald brothers and a father who died at 81 with a full head of hair. Thank you grandpa Samuel.

The one that annoys me the most is a very fine hair under my left eye that I cannot see until it gets very long. It is blond. I don't know how that happened, because I have never been a blond even in my fun years. It is the skinniest little sucker. I cannot see it in a mirror. Not even a magnified mirror (last time I used a magnifying mirror I was in high school squeezing out blackheads - dumb - which is worse - a face full of black heads or little red spots everywhere).I see this little bugger as a fuzzy blur that pops in and out of my peripheral vision. It is never a solid view. It just waves there like a flag. That does not mean I can see it in a way I can get hold of it. Annoying! My wife could find it with assistance. My love, I need you now. But alas, she has gone on to heaven leaving me to fend for myself. I do have the one under the left eye figured out. After grasping around in several places I am able to get it between fingernails and pull it out. It must not be very deep.

However, the real problem is one I just found today somewhere in the peripheral vision of my right eye. I don't have clue where it's connected. I feel like Louis and Clark trying to find the head waters of the Missouri. It's there somewhere but it must be in Canada.

I'M SOMEWHERE ELSE

It's weird today. I was up too late last night and slept a little late this morning, but not late enough. I dragged myself around all morning with routine tasks. Caught up on bills, clean up some - but not enough. My middle granddaughter was playing soccer at 1:00 and I planned to go. About 11:30 a laid down for a short nap. There was nothing short about it. Two hours later I hear a very strange escalating screeching sound. I couldn't tell if it was in my dream world or my real world. They were blurring.

Suddenly I sat up with a start and recognized it as the new sound I had put on my cell phone. Not knowing how long it had been ringing and I swing my feet off the sofa, caught a TV tray on which were stacked about 4 inches of loose papers. Everywhere. I mean they flew everywhere. I could hardly step over them to get to the phone. It was my niece Wanda from Louisiana. We talk about every six weeks or so. I could not get focused. I knew it was someone with a bit of a country twang, but I was not sure I even knew this caller. She began talking about familiar things, but I wasn't sure why this person would talk like they knew me. I don;t get phone calls on Saturday. Almost never. Wanda usually calls on Sunday. I became startled enough to figure out who the caller was but struggled the entire conversation to stay on track or follow what was going on.

Half way through our conversation I looked at the clock and it was 1:45. I guess I was not going to make the soccer game. Disappointed. But with it being so late I kept talking to Wanda — actually listening is more like it. She would stop and leave space for me to join in or comment. I was often blank and getting more embarrassed by the moment. I can usually talk. Especially in a two person conversation.

After the call was over, I plopped into my recliner and stared into space. Since I had never opened the blinds the stare did not go very far. I turned on TV wanting to catch up on some programs I had taped. Saw a couple and it was time to go upstairs to eat with some of the residents. Maria as cooked up some pork roast and potatoes and wanted to share with a few. There ended up being six women and myself. No that unusual since I am the only guy who comes out of my enclosed space in this building. The bad part was that the entire time we talked, I could not stay focused, did not enter the conversation since I never was tracking with the proceedings. I was in another world. The worst of it was I did not know what world I was in or even whether is was a fun place to visit. Kiki sat on my right and speaks low with an accent and today I never once understood a since word she said. Obviously I nodded and shook my head somewhat appropriately as she never challenged me. Soon it was obvious to others I was somewhere else, so I excused myself and came back for another nap. This time I hoped to visit someplace fun. Didn't happen. I'm still somewhere else.

YESTERDAY

It's late, or maybe I should say early. So I decided to get up and write what I wanted to say earlier.

We had an outing today. That means they bring the bus like affair called a van to take "all" of us somewhere. It looks like one of those vehicles that drives around airports. Seats 13 with room for two wheelchairs. Sometimes I don;t know why they continue to make these trips. Half the people who sign up don't come. 2-3 come who did not sign up (I did that today). There are 66 apartments in "The Home" and we are lucky to have 6-8 people make one of these trips. Well, I understand it had to potential to be expensive. We went to Sizzler for lunch and then shopping in the strip maul across the street ∏ Dollar Store, Grocery Outlet and Value Village. These are the kind of places out people like — cheap. I went because I had nothing that had to be done today.
We get on the "Whale" and I enter last so I can make an announcement. Most often I simply remind them that in the unlikely event of a water landiing their seats can be used as a floatation device. Sometimes I add that there are emergency exits at the front and the rear of the bus just incase you were not paying attention when you got on the bus. We're old. Can't always remember the where we were a minute ago.

This time I pulled out an old youth pastors speech. Please keep your hands to yourself. Do not hold hands, looking loving and longingly into the eyes of your seat partner as it makes the rest of us sick. This is a no noodling trip so watch of or I may have to come around and slap your hands. There are no couples on our entire campus, let alone the bus. I thought it was funny. Two of them also laughed. One laughs so I will not be laughing alone.

One had a coupon for a discount at Sizzler for a steak dinner. I think it was the $14.99 steak for $9.99. Sounds good, but the grand total was expensive. Drinks were extra and the salad bar was extra. So the total before tax was back to the $15 range. Plus they have more food than they can eat. I got the seniors steak for $7.99 which included a free drink and dinner salad. I ate it all and was stuffed. So who go the better deal. They did. They took a second meal home in a box (the extras). I ate everything so had to make supper tonight. Not thinking.

I find a replacement coffee pot at Value Village. I dropped mine and broke the handle. I only make coffee on Saturday and Sunday when they don't make it in the commons room. I's going to a church now that serves coffee on Sunday mornings so I really only have to make coffee on Saturdays. So why did I buy that pot. The tape was working on the other one.

TO PUZZLE OR NOT TO PUZZLE

I know some think all I do is work puzzles. Not true. I sleep. I eat - sometimes at the puzzle table. But Gail and I were sitting in the upstairs lounge talking at the puzzle table when Maria comes to join us. I have the laundry room door open so I can hear when the machines go off - so I can move the clothes from the washer to the dryer and not make someone else wait (I'm really a very nice guy). That has nothing to do with what happened. We hear the voice of Bob, our maintenance man, talking at the bottom of the stairs, so Gail takes off to to ask him why it is so cold in our halls. The timing was excellent as he was talking to the one who was the cause of getting the fan turned on.

There is no exhaust fan in the laundry room. Everyone knows that, but Sylvia went to complain about the lack of an exhaust fan in the laundry room. So Bob crawls around in the ceiling to see what is going on. Instead of a fan, there is an air exchange system that only works when the furnace fan is on. I didn't know. He didn't know (too new). I was so cold at the puzzle table yesterday afternoon and had to leave just to stop shaking so I asked Bob if the fan could be turned off. Gail got the shakes just coming out of her room. The cool air circulating will be wonderful when it gets real hot, but there were warning of possible snow again today. Cold - that's all I can say. While they were talking another person mentioned the coldness. All this was said in front of the complainer that got the fan turned on. Bob turned the fan off. One vote for the laundry air exchange, three votes for the fan off. We won — this time. There will be another opportunity to lose.

Anyway, back to the point and back at the puzzle table after Maria came. We are down to just having some dark wood designs to place on either side of the center of the puzzle. There were also two green grass pieces missing. SInce everything left was brown, it was reasonable to suggest the green pieces might be missing. Not necessarily! We have knocked them off into chairs where they slide down into the cushions. Once I had a piece stick to my sweater where I carried it off to my apartment. I have only done it once but the story is told like I have done it dozens of times. Of course, if we can't find a piece, I am told to check my apartment. I do declare. I am not a puzzle piece thief - intentionally.

So when Maria was telling Gail about how hard the puzzle has been she pointed to all the areas she had personally worked on. I was opposite Gail with Maria between us. Gail glanced at me and I shook my head no. You see, three quarters of what she pointed to I or Marty (Martha) had done. Gail and I smiled and I I rolled my eyes (no, not by taking them out and rolling them on the table - you know what I mean). You have to laugh. She has no idea what she has done or is saying. She takes credit for many things others have done. I could care less about the puzzle. She has done that since I moved in. It would be nothing for her to point to a piece I had placed while she was there and she would explain to one just arriving how hard it was to find that particular piece. I am not paranoid. She does this to everyone. She is an equal opportunity offender. Go figure. Her real trouble is when she takes credit for the food, decoration, or work of another. The argument is hilarious. She will argue until you are blue in the face and not know why the other person is upset.

Now, this time when I rolled my eyes, I did take them out and rolled them on the table. I did not get snake eyes.

THE BATTLE IS WON

Just returned from the Bread Wars. Am a little beat up and tired. The battle can be intense.

Every Wednesday I leave at 8:30 a.m. to go to Orowheat to pick up the free date expired bread for us poor people in "The Home." I like the volunteer task, and the added humor it brings to my day. Last fall I was down with fairly serious back problems and could not lift anything for 5-6 weeks. So Maria and Gail offered to help me and have stayed on. I could handle it alone, but they add to the fun. We also get it done faster.

I knew the minute we step outside they will both announce it is cold. Well, yes. 42 is cool. But I'm still just wearing a hoody and not shivering. It makes me smile. The next significant comment will be inside the van. It's cold in here. Of course it is. It sits in an unheated garage that is often colder than outside, but I never have to scrap windows. Duh! It is a foreign van and the heater works like I lived in the retirement capital of the world (Florida). It has no concept of the northwest and would be worse if I were back in Canada with it. We are always half way there before the car warms up (5.4 miles to the bread). After a few more comments about the cold which Maria will continue sharing, we move on to what is wrong with whoever. Someone has always offended Maria and is at fault for something. Why can't humans be perfect, like her. Gail and I talked around those comments about how fun it is watching our grand kids play soccer. They still love the game, are not crushed by losing, and cry rather than retaliate when an accident occurs. Hope that lasts a long time.

To stop the complains about how I park, I cut a very wide path this morning. That was a mistake. There was a substitute driver for the big white whale (4x4 extend-a-cab). I left plenty of room for him to back in. No, he did not take the space provided. He tried to squeeze between me and the bakery truck always parked at the next garage door over. He made it without scratching my van. If I were not in the van I might never notice anyway if it got scratched. Old van owned too long. I tend to keep vehicles until they are good and dead. Since I could never afford another car, hopefully this will last a very long time (it's already 12 years old). So, what did I have to do? The girls could not get out, so I had to move the car to the left, which I would not have had to do if he had parked in the space I left for him. There are unspoken rules you know. Get with the program.

When the garage door opened we notice that miss I-must-be-first-and-get-what-I-want before-you-get-in-the-door. already had a tray of Cinnabon raisin bread and tortillas shells. These are considered speciality items and we scroungers all highly value them. They are like finding where "X" marks the spot and the buried treasure. She had them all. So we attacked her under our breath and really blasted her went we were loaded and driving back to the home. We told her off with power and authority. Maybe some day we will do it to her face. There was plenty of bread and we got a little more than what we will really use. With five racks everyone will have plenty. BUT WE WANTED CINNABON!

My check engine light went on. I hate everything being computerized (I know, its the modern age). My car sounds fine. When something it wrong I want it to sound wrong so I am actually worried for a reason.. I don't want to take my vehicle in to be checked out and be told the light has come on and is stuck in the on position. I should stop second guessing what is wrong and just take it in. Even being checked out costs. I liked my old mechanic from 20 years ago.

SO I MESSED UP? SHOOT ME!

Any body who knows me well from letters, email and newsletters I have written in the past, knows I can't type and hate proofreading. Years ago I had a very good friend who was always calling or writing me notes about my typos, misspellings, correct spellings but the wrong word and other items I skipped or just plain missed. I had a piece on the back page I used in conjunction with address and postal information. There I added all kinds of humorous descriptions of our work or location. In one newsletter I identified my friend as my post production proof reader (Need one again). I have not improved with age. I have learned to use spell check, but at times cannot seem to remember to use it.

I am now responsible for a small newsletter here at "The Home." It is a fairly simple little paper, with a large print calendar on the inside, a personal profile of a resident on the front with a question quiz on different topics. This month the quiz is on Polar Bears (don't ask why - choices make very little sense). The back is announcements, jokes, the answers to the front page quiz. I am bright enough to have proofreaders, but anyone in publishing knows that errors still get through. I have even made the corrections and then closed the document without saving it. I like auto save programs.

I did it again with the April newsletter. The day after I delivered them to the apartments a friend came and asked, "do you know you missed a date?" No I did not, but that never stops a snappy coverup. "Oh, I see you found my April Fool joke." To confirm that it was indeed the error I intended I asked what she found. Apparently I skipped the date of "21". Now all activities were on the right DAY and my list of special days for the month are on the right DATE. However, two birthdays were on the correct number, but the wrong day. Make sense? Actually I had no idea I had missed the day. That's not unusual. I'm surprised it has taken me so many months before I made that big of an error. Fortunately many are accepting my excuse that it was an April Fool joke. It is now, but it was never my intention to play a joke. I just messed up. When we have a "Manor" meeting next Monday, I will award a corrected calendar to the winner of my unannounced contest. Got to cover my tracks somehow.

Today, I was forwarded a note from our head office that a resident had called to complain about the newsletter because it was sure to confuse our many easily confused people about when their social security check will come. I doubt that. They all watch for that like hawks. Then there is the damage done to the poor people whose birthdays are on the wrong day. I am one of them and of course, am horrified that I would do that to myself. How will I get my cards? How will I get the presents due me because I am such a wonderful person? That rotten editor (me). Then there is the woman who may miss her birthday because of the error. I will talk to her personally. She will get over it, I hope.

I felt like I had been reported to the principle and will be put in detention for a month. The "reporter" did want it corrected, and the editor reprimanded. To help out I slapped my hand, had a small cry and refused to reprint. Stubborn! Give me a break. Relax. We only print 65 newsletters. Half the residents say they never read it. Several transfer the activities they want from the newsletter to their own calendar. The two whose birthday appeared on the wrong date will heal with extensive counseling (except for me - I'm crushed). The complainer lives just down the hall from me. Everyone knows who edits the newsletter. The hand full of actual readers come directly to me if something seems confusing or they had an idea for the paper. The complainer talks to me nearly everyday to report some complaint she has for the day or something she would like me to complain about, correct or make another do. Since I love it here and am content with how and when things are done, I have nothing to report or complain about. If she wants a certain type of light bulb installed, she should buy that one for maintenence to install for her. They don't have to provide the bulb - sorry it was too yellow for you.

What did I do to deserve this? Oh,I know. I was born. Why oh why was I born? I blame it on my parents, thankfully.

All was just a sample of the melodrama of Sunset Manor or commonly known As The Stomach Churns.

Loved the NCAA championship[ basketball game. With no connection between either Duke or Butler, I wanted Butler to win. I love a good underdog story. Besides, I had seen all their games and was delighted with their drive and determination. I'm sorry they did no win, but proud of their play. They have nothing to be ashamed of. They were great. The clock got them and the final basket by Hayward was outstanding. Shocked he came so close.

EXTRA SPACE

I don't think it's a big deal. There is very little storage in these apartments. We have ten foot ceilings, but no access above the top shelf in the closets. I have the whole space under my bed jammed. I even have some boxes disguised as small tables. It's not that I have much or need much. But I can't bring myself to throw away things with emotional ties. The rest is easy to eliminate.

Our kitchens are also tiny. We have a "panty" with six selves and a depth that holds to cans. All the space we have is for what you need. There is no room for something you might need or rare occasions. Or for a special items you want for holidays. Open six doors and you see everything. So I don't know why my storage saving plan seems so strange plan seems to strange. What do you use the most. Plates, cutlery, glasses, cups, a fry pan and a pot. So this seems natural. Wash your dishes and put them on the drying rack (no dishwasher). When need need an item take it from the rack, use it and put it in the sink. When you run out of what you need, wash again and start the process over. It is a waste of time to put these items in a cupboard when you need it for something else. I don't why they laugh. I think it's clever.

I have a 4x2 foot drawing of Christ on the cross and it is on display tis weekend at my little church around the corner. I love it when I can display it. It is "The Father's" view of Christ on the cross. You see the three dimensional crown of thorns and shoulders with blood. To his left are two figures — his mother Mary and the disciple John looking up in horror and with love. To his right is a soldier with his back turned. One one side the love and acceptance, or the other is rejection. It is perfect for an Easter weekend when we remember His death on the cross because of His love for us.

We were to have a week of rain. We didn't. but it has been cold. Lots of rain yesterday and today. It may be a rainy Easter, but I will get up and walk through the drops to celebrate the resurrection. Looking forward to it.

I'M SWAMPED

WHY I’M SO BUSY

I am often asked by my aging friends what I do now that I am retired and in “The Home.” Well, I had no idea how busy I would be. A typical day:

It begins when I wake up about 7:30-8:00. The first decision is whether to get out of bed or not. That can take 10 minutes or longer. Of course, I always have to pee so then come back to bed if that was my decision. Can’t do that on Mon-Wed. Mon. I have a chiropractic appointment 9:15), Tue. I help bring bread and sweets from the Food Truck (9:00). Wed. I pick up bread at Orowheat (8:30).

Next I try to smell myself to determine if I really need to shower. The answer is always yes to that, so I have to add the equation of “Do I want to.” Who will I meet later that will care”? How close will I be sitting t someone who will care”? “Do I care if they might care”? Some of these things are guess-timates so that issue takes time. Once I decide to shower or not, I go back to my room and smell my clothes to decide if I can wear the same clothes I wore yesterday. That is very important. More dirty clothes mean I have more laundry. Laundry means more quarters. More quarters means more time spent begging on street corners.

After I put the same dirty clothes back on I face the kitchen. Which of my four boxes of cereals will I chose or will I make pancakes (blueberry, apple or plain). Will I make French toast (add cinnamon, corn flakes or plain)? What about eggs? Fried, hard-boiled, scrambled, omelets (with ham, sausage cheese – not suppose to have, mushrooms, peppers, various spices, always add onions, etc.)! I do like them a bit runny unless they are scrambled. Will I add toast (whole wheat, muffin, bagel, etc.)? What about hash browns. That always takes time as I make them has browns fresh. Just these decisions alone cause me to take a rest, so I check my computer to see who did not email me or did not write on my wall on Facebook. While doing that I multitask by listening to the Today Show and turning to watch what catches my interest. No much. But I listen to the weather.

Then I make what I decided to eat. Whew. That’s a big load off my shoulders already.

Next comes going to coffee. I know I am going Mon-Fri as someone else made it and it is free. I eat the snacks when if there is a cinnamon roll or something with raisins. I should have nothing. But we all die of something, why not good food. Next I must decide how long I will stay, 30 minutes or two hours. That depends on the potential for good stories.

I don’t watch daytime TV, so (and here’s where the tough stuff comes in) I have many afternoon decisions that bang my brain. Will I read, write, draw, work on a puzzle, hang-out (teen talk), get groceries, see the doctor, pick up medication, see a movie, get gas (for the car — the car, I said), or nap. Add to that the occasional times to visit my family, hang out with grandkids, shop someplace other than a grocery store. I don’t go to look. I go to get something. If I need nothing I don’t go. I may make a day trip, eat out, etc.

Since I don’t eat a noon meal I am hungry and make lunch-supper (called lunupper I guess) about 3-4 p.m. I then may go back to the puzzle (usually), find someone to talk to (same as working the puzzle) or any of the earlier afternoon activities I can do in my room. The “lunupper” meal is often easier than breakfast. What can I have ready in 10 minutes or less. That’s the guideline. I keep waiting for Rachel Rays new program “Easier Meals under Ten Minutes.” Just a suggestion!

A somewhat regular pattern develops in the evening. After I eat, which I often do during some movie on TV or one I got from Netflix, of have a nap, I play on my computer and turn the news on looking at it when it interests me (not so much). 7:30 I watch Jeopardy (can answer 3-4 questions a night – good huh?) And settle in to watch any regular shows that may be on the menu. Nothing I like is on Wednesdays, only one on Friday and Saturday is a lost cause. The next main attraction is Amazing Race.

As the night is winding down I catch up on my computer correspondence (usually none), play a game on solitaire, or read my book – the same book I held in my lap will watching TV and that I read during commercials. That is calculated to keep me from snacking. It works for me. I often have one sugar free snack somewhere during the night and will make popcorn once week. I must decide when I will do that. Would do it every night, but I like real butter.

Fascinating isn’t it? Never knew I would be so busy, did you? Retirement is a very busy life. It is not for the weak of heart or an indecisive person. Then there is the fact that time speeds up as you age. I barely have enough time each day to do what is necessary. Time flies even when you’re not having fun — but I’m having a blast.

COMPLEX DAY OF MOURNING

We anticipated the lose, but one is never ready for it when it happens. Lose is always painful. I don't know if there will be a funeral or memorial that we will be able to attend. Sometimes families invite us, sometimes not. Only a very few had help a memorial service here. So we will wait and see.

But Lillie passed away today. Well, actually the doctor helped her. Euthanasia is legal in Washington. To be honest she wasn't doing very well at all. No energy. She could barely get up to take a leak. Her hair was changing color and falling out. Her eyes were grey. It was clear she wasn't going to make it, but her mother could not let go. She was so worried about losing her. She thought of her as her only really important friend. She would do anything for her, or so she said. But to some of us it looked at times like she was just jerking her chain since she was walking slower and not interest in moving very fast and at times even wanted to rest before getting back home. Mom lost her patience from time to time. But we knew she loved Lillie. Maria hated it when mom jerked her around or even kicked her. So Lillie is probably better off. How much can a 16 year old Cocker Spaniel really take. She was past her prime. But since Lillie was not even brought home for a viewing, I guess I just have a cu of coffee and some of those fresh made cinnimon rolls.

JUST ONE MORE BEFORE BREAKFAST

Sp I'm in the commons having coffee with a few neighbors when Gladys arrived. Yesterday afternoon as I was folding newsletters by hand (why don't they have a folding machine - probably do, but want me to feel useful) and as the EMT's were looking after another guest (yes, we are really just guests) who had collapsed playing bingo (very difficult game) Gladys sat down to talk. She was talking about her faith and telling me about her upbringing. In the course of the conversation I shared I had worked with youth of various ages in church related setting for 35 years. You would have thought I was the Lord Himself descending from heaven to take her back with him. She was touching me, slapping me on the arm and shoulder and bouncing around like a kid in a candy shop. She was happy to know. I have never made a big deal about having been a pastor. Too many preconseived notions about who I am and what I should be doing. I wanted them to know me, so I doled out personal information a little at a time. Now that I have been here a year and a half, most know I was a minister, but a few are still surprised.

But this morning she wanders in with a sad and angry face, spoke to no one and sat at the table behind me. They was there less than two minutes when she up and left. Bipolar was the comment floating around the table. She comes back a little later with a bottle of wine and drinks large gulps at out table. I am kicked under the table by Gail and get a smirk from here. She is about to laugh out loud and I am hoping she can contain herself. Three minutes later she leaves again and comes back in ten minutes, sits back at the table with us again. This time she had a very large can of beer. She pops the top, takes a swig and gets up with her walker to go away. Since no one has talked to her, I asked if she was going shopping. She barks that she is not. I'm going for a smoke. And off she goes. There are now only three of us. Ignoring what she said and did we continued out weird conversation about home remedies when we were young and the toughness of our parents.

Anything that bulged on me or was stuck in me got a poltus (egg and milk mixture soaked in bread and taped on). In Kindergarten, when I got stung on the head by a bee, some hair was shave and I went to school with one taped on top. No big deal. Most kids came with one at some time or other. Then there was Iodine, Castor Oil, Ben Gay, the pink stuff you swollow to make your tummy feel better and some home made concocation to make you throw up. Of course, they all seemed to work. We are not going to a doctor for something we can fix ourselves. When I nearly cut my right thumb off making a gun (what to you think little boys make?) and I was bleeding like a stuck pig, dad had a look and said it didn't cut through. Let's get some bandages and wrap that up. Why would I go to the doctor just to prevent a little scar. Scars were the marks of real men.

But I digress (as usual). Gladys left for her smoke, stormed back in a little later with the can of bear in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other and left a note on a nearby table and left. There is no smoking inside the building. I doubt she cared at the moment. She was in a hurry to do something and nothing was going to get in her way and not one was going to tell her what to do. If you haven;t figured it out by now, us old folks are just grown up stubborn rebelous very old teenagers. They also are so entertaining I never turn on daytime TV. This is up close and personal and you never know what is going to happen next. I'm just waitig for the wrecked marriages, divorces and abortions that usually come, but they may be too far over the hill for those things. I'll have to content with weirdness, anger, gossip and health and then the occasional comic rellief.

BREAD WARS

Wednesday is the day I go to the bakery to pick up some free date expired bread for us poor senior citizens. We eat anything free We have to be there at 9:00 a.m. so we can rush in the garage door when it opens. I started this gig as a solo act, but have struggling for two months with my back last Oct.-Nov. a couple of the "girls" came to help. They still come. Maria tells me how to drive and Gale snickers behind me. That has nothing to do with the story other than some background. We cannot see that bread will be available until we get around a corner. The bulldog of the group always walks around front so the employees know we are waiting in the rain. They let her in, send her through and and she opens the door. I'm fine with that, but she pulls a few trays before she opens the door. Everyone fights for the speciality breads. They don't come up often. Everyone is looking to get the Cinnabon bread - both raisen and plain. So Ta-Da — the door opens and she has a full tray for red and blue Cinnabon bread already in her stack and Maria gasps and comments out loud. I'm with her thing time and I'm ready to fight. That bread is almost $5 a loaf and I love anything with cinnamon - well not meat, or vegetables, or... You get the idea. I was ready to move the rack, steal directly from her stack, or even knock her to the floor. She does this so often I have been planning for various forms of counter attack — painless I hope. At least to me.

So we come around the corner and there were four racks and several more trays of Cinnabon. Whew. God must have known I was serious this time and he spared me the sin of my heart. We also got a full try of each kind of Cinnabon. I can't believe people don't like raisens. One calls them little bugs in her bread. Now that's a pretty picture. At least I didn't have to knock anyone down today. There is always a shortage of something. Today it was regular sliced bread. Most like plain white bread. Yuck. Give me wheat and nuts and grains and heavy so much so that I'm full after half a loaf. If this man is going to live on bread alone, it may as well be packed. The only white bread I every really like was "Wonder Bread." Ot was squishy and could be molded into various shapes. The easiest model was of a snow man. Of course you had to cut the crust of for the right image.

Kiki usually meets my van in the garage with a cart to take the bread in. When I came we have four shopping carts. Now we have two (don't know where they came from - there are no grocery store markings on any of them Think the logo was removed and the serial number filed off. One is still good - sort of. The best one has a basket that sags and looks like any extra weight would snap it off. The second one has a goof basket but the rubber came off one tire and it wobbles. Of course, I thought they were made with wobbly wheels. I get them all the time at the store.

Anyway, there was a truce at the bread wars, but watch out. The other side could fire a shot any week.