HOW ABOUT ME!

"She (the boss) is looking into the idea of a resident association and use of activity funds but nothing has been finalized."

I don’t want to attribute the above quote to anyone, as the author is an optimist who greatly desires to help the residents enjoy life at The Home. I appreciate her optimism, but neither I nor anyone else at The Home believes an activities association (read diversified committee, or a group that fights together) or any activity requiring money will ever be passed. We doubt a discussion has ever started or will ever finish if it has started. A letter was sent in early June directly to the boss requesting funds for our kitchen. There has never been a response. There is a woman who serves as the kitchen coordinator who now begs for supplies. Some requests are granted, others are not denied they are simply not purchased. Residents purchase what we need out of their own gracious spirit.

Requests are usually ignored from the boss. Few are denied, and most are ignored.

There is a clear division of viewpoint. While I view the people here as customers, the office appears to only view us as a source of income. They need do nothing but the absolute basics and they have done all that is necessary. I see the residents as people with needs to whom promises were made and many of those promises have not been kept. They should not be taken away on a whim.

I am not naive. The whining will never completely come to an end. That, only the office can stop. Sometimes people need to be told to take their concerns to the person who has offended them and stop using the office as policemen. If they had to actually talk to the person with who them had the problem, some complaining would stop. Maybe the office should facilitate this. But them both in the same room.

There is little encouragement to those contributing to the life and vitality of the home. The normal answer is "NO." If you complain, the response is to create a new rule to placate the complainer and offend the majority. To me, that says the only way to get a satisfactory is to a complaint. The kitchen coordinator needs help. We can no longer have paper cups for coffee breaks. The cost is too great. Bring your own. I actually support that. But it is difficult when a guest comes. The self-appointed activities coordinator needs help. Fortunately he has friends around who help pay for many things.

I know the argument. Neither of these is helpful to everyone. True. But every complainer gets their conflict resolved — in their favor. I think its time to consider the majority. I want something to go my way. Selfish isn’t it?

NICE CONCERT

I went to a very nice concert this morning. I go most Sunday mornings. There was a new guy singing tenor who has a beautiful voice. The women’s voices have always been nice. They blend very well. But usually there is a fellow who plays guitar and sings. I don’t want to take anything away from him, as he is reasonably new to church. I believe his musical background is in grunge, or whatever style it is that the lyrics are screamed. When he actually hits a note it is the right one, but he typically has a scratching, screaming style that overwhelms the harmony – if there is any.

I know rock bands are typical in many churches today. The organ is gone. I’m OK with that. Drums are in. I’m even OK with that. Keyboards have replaced pianos. OK, the range is greater and you can always tuck the keyboard under your arm and take it home. It is strange to see a beautiful grand piano sitting untouched. Maybe they cannot be sold easily. I don’t even mind most guitars. As an instrument, they are fine. I’ve had one foot in the youth culture most of my life. I have adjusted to new styles so often I don’t know if I have a favorite style. With all the instruments, a sound system seems to be required for balance. But this little church was designed to use no sound system, which may explain why we have concerts.

I do know what I don’t like, but I won’t go into that. Instead, here is what I miss.

I miss congregational singing and the beautiful harmonies that came from an enthusiastic congregation. Yes, I’m old and we always have something to complain about. But don’t get me wrong. I know times they are a changing and I want to see churches do all they can to attract and hold the younger generation. I guess they are a concert going generation. However, Personally, I prefer participation. That’s where many people learned to sing and to sing harmony. It’s a powerful sound. I never evaluated that sound.


I attend a reasonably small church. It might seat 150, but more likely 120-130. I usually go to the first morning (old peoples) service where there are only 60 plus people. Very few sing. I cannot hear anyone but the performers. They were good today. But I still miss the full surround sound of a congregation. But time moves on.

Now I do like that they serve coffee and you can take it to your seat. I know that’s a newer thing. But I am often in a rush and don’t always have breakfast before I leave. The donuts aren’t bad either.

I have been attending that church for several months now and only one person besides that pastor, his wife and a handful from The Home ever speak to me. Now this is funny to me. Maybe I should be offended. But I’m not. They have an assistant pastor who runs around talking to people and today, for the first time that I have heard him, he stopped at the family behind me and introduced himself . We have made eye contact on numerous occasions but her has never introduced himself or spoken to me in anyway, I guess I’m not in his target group. But the church is too small not to notice who is new, especially if you are on staff and looking for the new people.

I am now playing a game. It started awhile back. I wish I could remember from the beginning. But I am counting the weeks it may take before he speaks to me. I’m at 11 weeks now. This is getting fun. I am debating what to say when he does speak. I am tempted to tell him how many weeks it has been that we have never talked. That might be mean spirited.

THOSE WERE THE DAYS

I grew up in 50”s America. A northern state that Abraham Lincoln helped determine to would be free. I was a little confused in history classes. I read the books, I listened to the discussion and it seemed to this white boy that students were all equal at school. But there was a different picture downtown. Separate bathrooms and drinking fountains. The ‘colored” facilities were obviously inferior. Yes, we shopped together, but we didn’t pee together.

It was in college that I began to laugh at the mess we were in. It’s not that I thought anything was really funny, just bizarre. I had a brother-in-law from the Deep South that could never keep his mouth shut. I would love to have stuffed an oil soaked rag in his mouth, and lit the other end, but I really am a nice guy. Besides he was stronger than I.

Races have mixed through out history. I guess it is easier for a king to support 500 wives and 700 concubines (who uses that word anymore – women on the side). Most were political alliances but that doesn’t make it easy. Solomon got in trouble because none of those women were Jewish. King’s were required to marry only one woman of the Jewish faith. Not Solomon! He was a collector of exotic beauties.

Back to reality! I was shocked every time I heard a southern man complain about those mixed blood kids. Where do they think they came from? Which bigot was running around raping their slaves? Who made their wives angry at their husband’s activities in the slave quarters? Who made love to them, impregnated them and beat them and then hated them?

My best friend in grade school was Austin. He was black. We parted in high school for an unknown reason. Probably my fault! I have always regretted that. I tried to find him and sent letters to all the people with a matching name just to apologize. A nice letter came back from a lady in New Jersey saying she was married to Austin, but it was the wrong one. Now that I can get on line, I think that was the right Austin.

I am not done trying and someday I will succeed. Reconciliation begins with the first step. The younger generation is doing much better. I’m watching people pour by my window to go to an event in the park and it is rare to see a group of a single race. Most of the groups of kids are of mixed races. It also appears (possibly not the truth) that most of those exotic kids are of a mixed race. Not one African Black passed The Home. Some one homogenized this melting pot called America.

I know there is still plenty of intolerance. Now that I’m old, I feel it from time to time. I’m not equating the two. My first experience of even a taste of what Austin experienced came at our eighth grade class graduation party. Mrs. Deets planned for us to meet at a roller rink on Dodge. There was no school bus taking us to the event in those ancient days. We got there on our own. Austin, Robert and I went together.

While waiting in line a short stubby cigar smoking guy (looked like Danny Devito) approached and asked me to step out of line. I did and he said in a voice that my two black friends could hear. Are you with them? Yes. Well, you can come in but they can’t. But our teacher is in there and we are all suppose to come to our grad party. I don’t care what it is. They are not going in. Robert said it’s OK. You go. We’ll find something else to do. Well, I’m coming with you. They decided to go to a movie. I gulped and said OK. I was a nervous wreck since I was not permitted to attend movies. I was sure Jesus would come and I would go straight to hell. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. But that’s another story for another time.

TROUBLE WITH A CAPITAL "T"

I loved my mother. She had an ability to prevent bad things from happening. She was very good at it. Oh, she had a normal range of bad things that happened, but she seemed to manage stopping the biggest of problems. When David joined the Navy and left home at the tender age of seventeen, her skill kept him alive. WW2 was over and he was on watch duty in the Pacific caring for the speedboat of the captain of his ship, but it still worked. She had an amazing ability to protect herself and family from many horrid consequences. She worried them away. It worked. Noting she ever worried about came to pass.

I have always heard that the squeaky wheel gets the grease. Frankly, I have never had much use for grease, but you, my friends, have taught me that whining gets results. There were a number of facebook notes from friends reminding me that they actually read my blog. To be honest, I was most appreciative of hearing from you all, more because of who you are than the specific comments. Those were nice too. However, one of my post comments sent a very helpful tip. I’m going to use it

I got into a discussion this morning on the ins and outs of who hates whom. I knew there were some, but when Sheila got done with her list I knew there would have been a shorter list of who doesn’t hate anyone. I know it was just her perspective and she is another one who refuses to forgive an offense. As she was talking I was trying to figure out why she was even talking to me. I know I offended her. She didn’t put me on a list but when I heard the whys of her unwillingness to forgive I suspected I was on that list but only when she shares it with other people. I was politically left off this list for the purpose of our current discussion.

When you live in a place with only 60 people and 30 or more hate one or more of the others and will not participate in anything their enemy does — you have trouble: and that’s a capital “T” and that rhymes with “P” and that’s what we got right here in River City. We got trouble. That’s trouble I say and that rhymes with “P” and that is people. Trouble with people and people who are troubled and they annoy all us extremely sane individuals who try to be Switzerland in the middle of the war. I’m glad for the mountains surrounding us.

I have considered getting some law enforcement group to try and settle all this hatred. There are too many different US law enforcement groups. Too much time would be spent trying to determine jurisdiction. I like how the Mounties work. There are not so many law originations in Canada but I think the Mounties can be part of it all. But the best would most likely be the Gestapo. I admit I wouldn’t trust them and those remaining are most likely in hiding, but you have to admit — they take control. Yuck! But the control would indict us all.

If I can figure out who is not hated by anyone and hates no one, I might start a new group but knowing people that old hate would start coming out and instead of only 50% hating one another it might rise to 75% in conflict. That’s just too much to handle. I would have to stay in my apartment. If I do that, I will have to clean it.

IS ANYONE THERE?

I realize I have been somewhat neglectful of daily posts. It’s not that I don’t want to do it, just wonder if anyone reads me any more. When I first started I got feedback from time to time. I know I’m not always interesting, but feedback does mean a great deal. I have responded to most of it, adding my own comments. Some of your comments have been very helpful to me personally. Others have been great fun. I guess we all need a little encouragement from time to time.

I always wanted to have at least ten followers. I’m only one short. How about one of you regular readers joining up? It costs nothing and I have no idea what you actually get, if anything. I’ve never signed up to follow another blog. I don’t want to so I can understand why you wouldn’t want to. What am I saying? Why would I ask anyone to do what I don’t want to do? Forget it. Don’t join. But do write an occasional comment. PLEASE!

I’m confused. I have offended more people by just assigning them a space for our Christmas bazaar next to someone they don’t like. I know there are plenty of people who don’t like plenty of other people and I thought I knew most of them, but I have been surprised. New animosities keep popping up. I have moved one lady twice and messed it up both times. I don’t know where else to move her too. Another has quit because I mover her. What a jerk. Even offering to move her back didn’t help. The offense was too great. Or brother!

When I moved into this building, it was portrayed as a very happy coexisting building — not like the other one. Admittedly it felt like that. Everyone at least talked to everyone else. Leslies was here and she annoyed me somewhat from the beginning, but I bit my tongue. Ignored her directives and smiled. I can still do that most of the time. When it gets too much, I avoid her.

But she now hates at least two others and walks around the building to the back if they are on the front porch. I can’t help it. I laugh out loud. She puts on such a grump that I want to tell her if she keeps that up her face is going to freeze that way. That’s what my mother told me. I think it did freeze.

Leslie has returned from her Alaska cruise and I have not yet had opportunity to talk with her. I’m not sure I want to. I have heard from the grapevine that it was wonderful. That may be all I want to know. I understand that her and Liz got along famously. I am very surprised to hear that and am suspicious that some thing is being covered up. A good detective would want to get to the bottom of this. I’m not sure I want that role just now. I think I’ll just stay out of the way.

I wrote to the big bosses to ask for money today. The last letter I wrote was in June and I never heard anything. Few in the big house ever respond to notes, letters, or emails. I think they just hope we will go away. Send checks of course. I have not aggressively pursued funds for our fun, but with two wheelchair residents who would like to go with us on some outing, use of the company van with space for two wheelchairs is important. Besides these people can be a lot of fun.
I am going to designate Wednesday “a day of whining,” at least until they answer my notes. I know pushing them too much will only may only bring a quick “NO.” I would like to avoid that, but no answer is a “NO.” I may as well make them say it so I can have even more reasons to complain about them.

More and more people are asking me questions about our future here. The big one is, will we get a manager? The answer is NO! We will be getting a warden with power to lock us in our apartments if necessary. Most don’t know whether to laugh or not. I can’t help them with that one. I treat it very seriously, even if it is wrong.

HOW DO YOU SOLVE A PROBLEM LIKE MARIA

I got over being mad. There is really no point holding anger. It only hurts the person holding it. I was not going to let one person’s anger destroy my joy. The hurt was the loss of one more artisan in an already small show. But, with her personality, I was likely to have a blow out at some point. Today is better than the day of the show. It’s ancient history. There are always new issues to face.

In the last couple of days I have been listening to people so angry with Maria they could spit nails. Everyone knows what she is like, but they continue to put themselves in harms way. In this case the harm her mouth. She is harsh. I don’t believe she always means it as bad as it sounds, but it is hard to ignore her tone. Tone and body language always trump words. We can say, that is not what I meant, but to avoid confusion, all three need to line us. Maria cannot or will not do that.

I was at the puzzle the other days when Mavis rolled up to see how the puzzle was doing. She had not been working on it. But when she saw the animals she had done it before and wanted to work on the zebra. It was her favorite part. She had just started when Maria came and almost screamed that she was doing the zebra and to leave it alone. Mavis backed off and was preparing to leave. Maria said, ok, go ahead. It doesn’t matter. But the tone was of frustration and anger. Mavis stopped anyway because the tone communicated that it did matter.

A few minutes later Maria left and Mavis and I were still talking. I told her to go ahead. Maria can’t even see the pieces since she had her last eye doctor appointment. But why is she like that. I didn’t touch that. I have my ideas, but I am certainly not sure. Her niece says she is just an old woman who has had her way all the time and lets everyone know where they stand with her – under her foot. Maybe!

Her treatment of Kiki is irritating almost everyone. Kiki was a WW2 war bride from Japan who fell madly in love with a tall good-looking soldier who brought her to South Dakota from her metropolitan life in Japan. She never drove and got around by train. Public transportation in South Dakota was non-existent. Surprise. While her husband was at work Kiki remained in the small town waiting for a time her would take her places, any place. She lived under his thumb and was frequently criticized for her uselessness. It took her years to get the courage to divorce him.

Her sister, still in Japan, writes often to complain about her weight. But she pays for flights home once a year and so Kiki does all she can to stay skinny. She is not fat, but maybe by Japanese standards. Add to that Maria’s constant putdowns and you have a fairly nervous lady. Watch her hands. Her thumbs rotate above locked figures often. She paces. She mumbles to herself. She feels dependent on Maria to go places and do things. She isn’t, but she feels like she is. Now people tell her they wouldn’t put up with that kind of treatment, why does she? History helps explain it.

So, people don’t like Maria’s treatment of them or Kiki. But Maria is a strong personality. They struggle to avoid hurting her feelings. However, she is unconcerned about their feelings. Small remarks make her think and she does change for a brief time, but returns to her old ways quickly.

Maria is facing her mortality. Her strength is waning. She eyesight is declining, her balance is shaky, her own emotions are fragile and she is worried and frightened, but unwilling to let that show. Her defense is attacking others. Not nice, but she feels protected. People are beginning to build their own little shelters from Maria. They are somewhat like bomb shelters of the 50’s, but you have to come out sometime and the radiation never dissipates.

NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED

No good deed goes unpunished. I am upset today. No, that’s not strong enough. I am fit to be tied. That doesn’t really work either. I am mad. There! That’s it.

The whole plan was never really my idea to start with, but somehow I got talked into being in charge of a Christmas Bazaar for The Home. I wasn’t in on the planning but when permission from the big house came though, it was turned over to me. One of the original participants is participating and the other began and has continually repeated that she is having nothing to do with the event. Maybe being in charge was pride (I hope not), but I looked around and said I could take the pressure better than anyone else. Realistically, that was true and still is. Doesn’t me I should have taken the job, but I wanted to help.

We are less than two months from the start of the program. My jewelry maker told me once already that she was dropping out because she didn’t like the person I set at the next table over. I changed her table. No, she didn’t want to do it anyway. We had been recruiting at a sister facility and finally two ladies sent notice they wanted to participate. Good. I had been holding two tables for that place. Once I looked at what people were making I saw that I had three women crocheting, knitting and/or sewing. I wanted to spread them out as much as possible. So I moved the jewelry maker to as close to isolation as possible, put a knitter in her original place, switched a knitter with someone making fire starters. On paper it all looked better. The only way to explain it was, all hell broke lose. I didn’t know that the moved of one person over one table (to a better position. More clearly seen position) could cause so much trouble and make my life so miserable. Boy did it.

Before Mrs. Pain-in-the-neck called me, she contacted several other people to find out why I destroyed her life. So besides her, I have others trying to reach me to appease the situation. I am in the middle of a hornet’s nest and getting bit from several different angles. I feel like I’m back working in the church.

I offered to move her back. That did not satisfy. So in my own, more than sarcastic way, I said, so your real reason for complaining was just to make my life miserable. No, I’m just bitchy (is that really a word?). And you decided to share that with me. You hurt me. Just cross me off your list. I do not want to participate.

OK, so I’m somewhat relieved. I expected problems from that source, but not until the set up and actual day of the event. Admittedly that is one source of trouble that is gone. A small soft yeah to rejoice.

Back to the jeweler! She liked her new place well enough, and is comfortable with both neighbors, but can no longer take the pressure. If she thinks she’s under pressure, she should be in my shoes. On second thought, I need these shoes.

I’ll get over this. It’s a political thing. Add to that these people are mostly bitter and unhappy and need to take their frustration out on someone. Why not me? My biggest problem is that there were only 10 participants in the first place. We are in a small space and 12 make the room look full. I finally got the 12 and am back to 10 and nearly half are doing the same thing. Our diversity is going, going and nearly gone. I am considering bringing in some professionals with different items for sale. That would probably break some house rule. I am setting my art up as well. Of all participants, mine will likely sell the least. It is a special niche crowd. Maybe some Christmas Cards will go. I would love to pick up a portrait commission. But I am doing this to help pull the group together and provide a fun and maybe profitable way to use some gifts. All I have to do now is survive the vendors.

I don’t know. In the mean time, I think I’ll hide out a few days, then put signs up pointing out my problem children, maybe find a horse head for someone’s bed. You know, something creative and fun like that.

SURPRISE

We make many jokes about the loss of our memory as we age. Of course the real truth is that after 70 years of stuffing your brain with the important, the useless and everything in between our brains are on over load and we are in great need of a system upgrade. It isn’t that we don’t remember, it’s just that we are on system overload and simply do not have a fast enough retrieval system to get to some of the stuff when we need it.

A few days ago I was walking out the front door of The Home when Chas said, “There’s a guy here to see you.” When I looked down the sidewalk this bearded angry looking gentleman with a dead stare focused on me is coming my way. My computer kicked into slow mode. I thought, what have I done now? What bill have I not paid that they have sent a collector? Am I in trouble, why? Really, I’ve been good. Nothing connected. I was blank. I knew it must be there somewhere, but where. I wasn’t expecting anyone. Several people have been here to see me since I’ve moved to this part of the country. But none have surprised me. Don’t get me wrong. I love surprises. But when he said he was Carl, I could not believe my ears. Carl and Darlene. My past catching up!

Dear friends from our days of adoption in Midwestern Canada. We got to know them mostly because both our children were adopted. They helped guide us through the process. But we connected on way more levels than children. They are the kind of people you can just pick up with from where you left off. No awkward moments. Yes, reminiscences of the past, but not living in the past. I love it.

They are a little kooky at times. Who decides they want to go to a country fair and than go on line for a search of where there is one at the time they want to go. Strange. They found one near my place. So on their way back to the great white north, they stopped to see little old me. We toured The Home to acquaint them with the space they read about on my blog. Then we had a wonderful dinner together and drove out to see my daughter and grandkids. After all, our kids spend a few years growing up together. The shock to me was that the last time my daughter had seen them was at their oldest daughters wedding. It doesn’t seem that long ago, but their first grandchild is 15. Time flies even when you are not having fun. Couldn’t believe it was that long. It hadn’t been that long for me. But I had dropped into hole for a while and seemed to withdraw from all of life not seeing any people from my past. Actually I was hardly seeing any people from my present either. I must go north sometime.

However, life is great and each day is a joy and I was thrilled to see my old friends. No one need call ahead, just come. I love surprises. Just remember, I live in a bachelor pad that may or may not be clean and one of us will have to sleep on the floor. I might even introduce you to some of my characters.

THE LOSS OF SIGHT

I took Maria to her eye doctor on Thursday of last week. While she was there I went to see Dracula at my clinic to give up even more blood. I seem to be doing this once a month. Bloodsucker! When I returned to get Maria she was hurtin’ pretty bad. She had a shot in her left eye. I mean they stuck a needle right in the cornea. That hurts. I cringe when I hear about it. We arrived at The Home where she took her sunglasses off and asked if her eye was bleeding. It was, and it dripped down and over her lower eyelid.

She told me that everything in her right eye very blurry. I knew she had trouble seeing. That never stopped her from giving driving directions and telling me where to turn and how and where to park. Also, she is worried about what I might hit if I don’t listen to her. OK, so one eye is bad. I now know she only expects for it to get worse. Now the left eye they are trying to save is giving her great pain and she is worried she is going to lose that one as well and will then be blind. This is considerably worse than I expected. My heart was breaking for her.

She is in pain every day. Her spirits are down. She is leaving in the middle of discussions instead of being the last to leave. She is still trying to jump in every conversation with one-up-man-ship, the bigger and better story. But she has added anger to her already difficult communication skills. She is taking her anger out on everyone around her. People are avoiding her. They can no longer take the correction, the anger, the interruptions, and the putdowns. She is beginning to feel people withdrawing. But she is in such pain with her eye she doesn’t seem to care. She needs to leave and sleep. The struggle those around her all face is to reach out to her and protect their own emotions.

The Home is installing automatic doors to both buildings to make it easier for those in wheelchairs to get into the building. They have always struggled to unlock the door, pull it back and get their chair through the door. There was a meeting at the front door today with the contactor, our maintenance crew and a few of those in wheelchairs. Maria also attended, uninvited but there. She did everything she could to get her two cents in. She was completely ignored and let everyone know how unhappy she was. She let the ones in wheelchairs know that it wasn’t all about them. Others needed the automatic door openers and therefore had every right to help decide placement of the controls. She was especially upset when one in a wheelchair had to leave and said she trusted Chas and would leave the decision with him. It was agreed too by everyone but Maria. She was mad and mumbled under her breath what an incompetent Chas is. Fortunately he kept his mouth shut.

We were expecting a week of peace as Leslie is off on an Alaskan Cruise. But is seems that Maria has stepped in to fill the gap. I think I will join the group who is trying to stay out of her way. I like my head where it is.

MAKE LOVE, NOT WAR

Make love, not war.
Love your neighbor as yourself.
Let bygones be bygones.

We look at conflict through the world picture and scream for a stop to world conflict. We ask why two political parties are so stubborn they will not cooperate for the peoples good. We are furious that corporations over charge and keep trying to find new ways to sock it to the consumer? Why doesn’t a person’s word mean anything? Why do neighbors argue over a tree hanging over the line? Why do parents and children refuse ever to speak to one another again?

The world, politics, families and friends conflicts all stem from the same source. We are selfish. We want what we want and we want it now. Only our rights matter. Only our desires are important. I have no guilt — it’s all the other persons fault. Them not me. I’m right they are wrong. I was offended I did nothing to offend them. In theological terms if it called the doctrine of perfection. I know I am not perfect, but the other person should be perfect and I will hold them to that standard no matter what happens. There is no such doctrine. And when we think there is we only apply it to the other person anyway.

Living in a small and somewhat intimate apartment complex is just a microcosm of the world. If you think I am wrong, listen for certain key words that indicate the “me” focus is alive and well. Words such as: sorry; excuse me; forgive me; it was my fault; I didn’t mean to upset you; can we work this out; are rare indeed.

We resent the administration for (fill in the blank). They distrust us for (fill in the blank). I can never forgive or forget her because (fill in the blank). Don’t ever talk to me again because (fill in the blank). It continues with why did you (fill in the blank). What right do you have to (fill in the blank)? You did, you are, you should, I demand, I resent, I, I, I . . .

Our feelings are easily hurt. The tone of the voice is harsh, mean, or angry. It was done intentionally. We cannot talk it out because I don’t like them. I want my way and I do not want you to have your way. I want what I want and you better get out of the way of my wants. I am right and you are wrong. There is no talking it out. There is no compromise. There are no concessions.

With these attitudes we are destined to live in conflict the rest of our lives.

Do people say things that are inappropriate to one another? Yes. Do people speak with disrespectful tones? Yes. Do people do what they want without regard to others? Yes. Is there a way to correct this? Yes. A willingness to talk things out without anger is a start. A desire to create a positive relationship. What makes that difficult is we all have been through the wringer of life but are still tender trees without a trunk strong enough to sway with the wind and bounce back straight up.

Everyone I know has something wrong. Some reason to hurt. They have experienced loss: a loved one, a job, finances, or possessions. I am not the only one. You are not the only one. Support another when it is needed, but move into the present. See the bright side. It’s not fun to live in the gloom of winter all the time.

And finally, realize you are not a dog and you can be taught new tricks. Woof, woof!

MAKE LOVE, NOT WAR

Make love, not war.
Love your neighbor as yourself.
Get out of Afghanistan.
Politicians — work together
Let bygones be bygones.

We look at conflict through the world picture and many scream for a stop to world conflict. We ask why two political parties are so idealistic and will not cooperate for the peoples good. Why do corporations over charge and keep trying to find new ways to sock it to the consumer? Why doesn’t a person’s word mean anything? Why do neighbors argue over a few inches on a property line or about a tree hanging over the line? Why do parents and children refuse ever to speak to one another again?

The world, politics families and friends conflict all stem from the same source. We are selfish. We want what we want and we want it now. Only our rights matter. Only our desires are important. I have no guilt — it’s all the other persons fault. Them not me. I’m right they are wrong. I was offended I did nothing to offend them. In theological terms if it called the doctrine of perfection. I know I am not perfect, but the other person should be perfect and I will hold them to that standard no matter what happens. There is no such doctrine. And when we think there is we only apply it to the other person.

Living in a small and somewhat intimate apartment complex is just a microcosm of the world. If you think this is wrong, listen for certain key words that indicate the me focus is not there. Words such as: sorry; excuse me; forgive me; it was my fault; I didn’t mean to upset you; can we work this out; etc. Words and phrases more commonly heard begin with “you.” The derivatives of which are “he,” “she,” and “they.”

We resent the administration for (fill in the blank). They distrust us for (fill in the blank). I can never forgive or forget her because (fill in the blank). Don’t ever talk to me again because (fill in the blank). It continues with why did you (fill in the blank). What right do you have to (fill in the blank)? You did, you are, you should, I demand, I resent, I, I, I . . .

Our feelings are easily hurt. The tone of their voice was harsh, mean, or angry. They did that intentionally. We cannot talk it out because I don’t like them. I want my way and I do not want you to have your way. I want what I want and you better get out of the way of my wants. I am right and you are wrong. There is no talking it out. There is no compromise. There are no concessions.

With these attitudes we are destined to live in conflict the rest of our lives.

Do people say things that are inappropriate to one another? Yes. Do people speak with disrespectful tones? Yes. Do people do what they want without regard to others? Yes. Is there a way to correct this? Yes. Communication. A willingness to talk things out without anger. A desire to create a positive relationship. What makes that difficult is we all have been through the wringer of life but are still tender trees without a trunk strong enough to sway with the wind and bounce back straight up.

Everyone I know has something wrong. Some reason to hurt. They have experienced loss: a loved one, a job, finances, or possessions. I am not the only one. You are not the only one. We will support when it is needed, but we also want all to move into the present. See the bright side. It’s not fun to live in the gloom of winter all the time.

And finally, realize you are not a dog and you can be taught new tricks.

THE DRAMA BUILDS

Maria is attempting to make some major changes in her life. One day she told me that she hasn't liked the woman she has become. She is not going to gossip, gripe, complain or put people down any more. Yeah, right! Many make promises they cannot keep. I give her one-day. She has not been completely unsuccessful; she has improved. As a positive example: at the last BBQ I was trying to direct someone to get a garbage bag. She amended it to get the garbage can out of Chas' room. The volunteer got a bag and not the can (is that a song title?). Maria tried to correct her and I thought Lidia could not hear her. She tied the bag to a rail. That didn't suit Maria either and she commented. Again she was not heard, I think. Maria finally conceded that it doesn't matter and I agreed. It didn't matter. We had something for garbage and it didn't matter what it was, where it was placed or how it was tied. So she's trying. We need more time to see what permanent changes may come.

The reason I say, I thought Lidia didn’t hear; is that today I learned she was tired of being told what to do by Maria. Most people are. She heard everything. She just ignored her, many people do. But Lidia wants revenge. She hasn’t said how, or what. She seems to be biding her time. That’s a not a good sign. Immediate reactions are always hostile and frantic, but it’s out where it can be dealt with. However, there were 18 other people present at the incident. She may want this to be more private.

I don’t like people who go to their war room and plot and scheme and make plans as they move their tanks, infantrymen and sharpshooters into strategic locations. Then they plan their bombing raids, land mine placement and submarine maneuvers. It gets really sticky. It is clear Lidia does not plan just the normal name-calling and verbal explosion. If I were Maria I would not eat any gift chocolate (laxatives), or any cookies (salt), or apples (razors). Lidia is a former chef and ships cook. She likes to give people food.

I don’t think she will push her down the stairs, or pound her thumb that causes her to go into gales of screaming when it is bumped. I don’t think she will short sheet her bed or disconnect her TV just as football season is starting. Marias addicted.

I don’t know what it will be, but knowing Lidia it will be big. I an sure I’m thinking too small. I wish I had a video camera. I would post it on U-Tube if I had the slightest idea how to do that. I guess I will just hope I’m present when it happens. I really am a bit sadistic. He he he he!

BBQ's UP AND DOWNS

It was fun to be back at the BBQ grill again this week. But it was hot. The heat from above and below (not that far below) both baked me. The next day it was cold and I have wore a sweatshirt everyday since. It’s suppose to reach 90 this weekend. I don’t like that either. Some people are never happy. I guess I’m one of them.

I am not sure where Chas is coming from, but it feels like he may be trying to buy my friendship. He has been trying to supply my food for these events the past few weeks. He always asks what I want. If I don’t tell him, he buys something and tells me what he got for me. I have my own food and if I don’t cook it soon I will have to throw it away. He will not take no for an answer. He has been bring all this food to cook for people who come with no food despite very clear announcements that each is to bring their own. Then he complains that people don't bring their own food and are depending on others. He can’t have it both ways. He's training them not to bring food, and that there will be plenty for all (so far they have been right).

We also have a woman who, admittedly; has a few screws lose. She brings two hotdogs and then wanders around finding other food. Last week someone set their own plate down to get up and do something and by the time they were back, several items were removed from they plate. Chas had a very large steak waiting for him and he left it briefly and half was cut off. She has been caught taking things off plates in use. I have to watch her around the BBQ or she will take what she wants. She does not ask permission. Some people’s kids.

I was given a terrific book entitled "Destined to Witness - growing up black in Nazi Germany" I started it Friday and could not put it down. I read all Saturday and Sunday into the wee hours of Monday morning. It is an absolutely fascinating book. It is hard to believe what Hans-Jurgen and his single mother went through just to survive. When I got to the end I wanted more. I guess that makes for a good book. He covered very little after his arrival in America. There are photos of many black celebrities he met, but no explanation. He is managing editor of Ebony magazine and based on the date given, it looks like he graduated from journalism school and began that job immediately. Unlikely, unless the magazine was just getting under way. I must look that up.

GLOBAL COLDING

I don’t know what’s going on in my neck of the world. Temperatures are in the 90’s and 100’s across our nation. Not on the other side of my window. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I like it here. But I have been wearing a sweatshirt the past several days. Our nightly repast on the front porch, in our rocking chairs with lap blankets, has not lasted long. It is just too cold. Most of the USA may have global warming, but we have global colding.

I don’t want 100-degree temperatures, but 70 would be nice. Most of us who live in the northwest do so because this part of the world is a little cooler, but this is ridiculous. Now the local weather forecasters are saying to brace ourselves for a winter like 2008. If you don’t live out here, you have no reason to remember ’08. It depends on whom you ask as to what they think. My grand kids thought it was the best winter they’ve had in their short lives. It was the most snow I’ve seen on the west side of the mountains in the 28 years I have lived here.

It was a Christmas truly worthy of the title “White Christmas.” My family live on the side of a very large hill. Not called a mountain here, but it would be the highest mount in Saskatchewan. They had a few days where they parked near the bottom of their hill and walked the remaining mile home. On Christmas day my son-in-law had to come get me with his four-wheel drive Jeep and take be to their house. He drove way south of his house and came in on a long back road that ended up about a football field length from their house. We hiked through the woods to their home. It was a gorgeous Christmas. Truly what northern dwellers think Christmas should be like. It was terrific. But I would have been happy to see it go away the next day. It didn’t. We had many a day when that patterned repeated.

I grew up in snow. Not mountains, but hills and snow. I loved the snow and the sledding and the fort building and the snowman building and the angel making and the snowball fights. But those days are long gone. When we first moved here with their usually snowless Christmas’ we had to adjust. It didn’t take long. There is lots of rain, but we reasoned, at least you don’t have to shovel it. I have really adjusted to that and again hope for a shovel free winter.

What am I talking about? I don’t care for the yard or the walk any more. We have people. Let it snow; let it snow; let it snow.

DISCRIMINATION

I love books. Most of my working years I read only work related material. Since I was a college professor for a chunk of my time I was just trying to stay abreast of my field. That was part of all my jobs.

I clearly remember the first book I read for leisure or pleasure or whatever you want to call it. It was a Larry McMurtry book about Calamity Jane. The book was a gift from a friend before my wife and I left for a trip to Hawaii. This friend felt it was time I started reading for fun. I liked the idea, but my initial response was, NOT a western! I had already seen Lonesome Dove on TV and while I like western movies, I had serious doubts about a book.

It hooked me. I started reading the book on the plane and nearly had it finished by the time we arrived. My wife, daughter and her cousin watched the movie. I stayed with the book (I had already seen the movie anyway.).

In the winter I read almost a book a week. I slow down in the summer. I would usually rather be outside talking with people (Don’t want to miss the gossip). But a friend here at The Home gave me a book earlier this week and I cannot put it down. I especially love US history novels, fact based stories, autobiographies, legal thrillers, Ted Dekker books (he writes books about subjects I would never pick up) but I now get everything he writes. He does a lot with fantasy thriller (I guess that’s right) other world things. Not usually my cup of tea.

Anyway, the book I was given is “Destined to Witness – growing up black in Nazi Germany” by Hans J. Massaquoi. He is the son of a German woman and a Liberian father. The title alone captured my attention. I have been reading quite a bit about blacks in our south and watching movies and TV shows about their struggles. Hans father and mother never married. He returned to Liberia and she moved to Hamburg, Germany where she reared her son. He survived the rise of Hitler, but with many reasons to be fearful. I have spent all day reading instead of cleaning my apartment. Oh well, it will just get dirty again.

I know why my interest has peaked. One of my best friends in grade school was a black boy I’ll call A.H. He was in my class for as long as I can remember. I think since Kindergarten. I was too self-centered to know anyone else in that grade. We all were.
I remember really getting close to him in seventh and eighth grade. It was then I began to be aware that blacks were treated differently and began to see a small slice of his world though his eyes.

We were on safety patrol together. In the 50’s you put on a skinny white belt around your waist and over your shoulder then courageously stepped into traffic with your arms spread wide open and hoped cars saw you and stopped. I always prayed they would, but had my doubts at times.

A.H. and I both wanted to be stunt men. To prepare for our future careers we did a lot of fake fighting in an empty lot at our safety patrol corner. Only five kids crossed at our stop so we had plenty of time. I got the shock of my life (probably A.H. also) when on one occasion a car stopped in the middle of our busy road and came a pulled A.H. off me. He screamed stop beating up on the white boy. A.H. tried to protest to no avail. He was told to get out of here before he got the - - - - beat out of him. He ran as fast as he could. When I got home my father had to explain what happened to us. I was mad. A.H. and I began to play a game. We moved our fights closer to the street and kept a record of how many cars we could get to stop and what caused the stop. I don’t remember the total any longer, but no cars stopped when I appeared to be beating A.H. Cars only stopped when he looked like he was beating me to a pulp.

Just to protect ourselves, we kept an ear to the traffic and when a car stopped we took off running in different directions, met up later and laughed ourselves silly.

I could tell dozens of stories I learned while hanging out with A.H. Most were fun, but some made me angry. The first experience of rejection he had with me was at a school roller skating party. I was approached and told I could go in, but he could not. I protested that our teacher was inside and we were there for the class party. Nearly half my class was turned away. Rather than go in with him, we went to a movie. It was the first movie I had ever attended. My parents would not have approved. I can remember very little about the movie, except that it was a western and a teenage boy was hung for cattle rustling (I think). All I knew was if my parents found out I could very well be that boy hanging at the end of that rope.

THAT KIND OF DAY

Did you ever have one of those days? You don’t know what you really feel. You’re not happy, nor sad. You’re not glad, nor mad. Blah is not right either. There is no real explanation for the feeling. At least not that I know. But then, what do I know. I don’t even know this feeling I feel or why I feel it.

I should feel terrific. I got paid yesterday. I got most of my bills paid today and there is money left (that’s a great start to a month). I went grocery shopping and to my knowledge only forgot three things I need and one that I really wanted — ice cream. Don’t need it, but sure do like it.

Bread wars this morning was not bad. A little confusing. They changed the process and it didn’t make sense to me. Maybe because of how I feel. There were very few loaves, but lots of everything else. The two women that go with me to fight the good fight each Wednesday got into it at the beginning of the day. I wasn’t playing that much attention; so don’t really know how it got started. I heard enough to know that it was a misunderstanding, but they continued to argue trying to make their point. I stayed out of it. I’m not stupid. I had no desire to have both cats turn on me.

They little bickering continued at the bread pickup. One has come with me longer and was directing and correcting the other. It wasn’t appreciated. From my point of view it wasn’t necessary. If each did was they were suppose to do, everything would be fine. So they argued, made rude comments to one another and basically tried to make my life miserable. I’m a stubborn old dude and was not about to let them ruin my already strange day of feelings. I didn’t know what I was feeling, but it was better than what they were trying to feed me.

One complained about the other later in the day and I told her to stop directing and correcting her. It’s not your job and she already knows what to do. She doubted the truth of my statement (surprise). I let it go and told her to do the same. She ended by saying she wasn’t coming any more. I said nothing. If she stops, OK. If she continues, OK.

Those are the kind of reactions you have when you have a “———“ kind of day. Sorry, don’t know the word I should use and don’t want to take the time to figure it out. It was just that kind of day.

My health is good. The women did not change my feelings for the day one bit. I face that stuff nearly every day. Since I wanted to make the day somewhat profitable, I worked a great deal on the September newsletter. I like to get an early start. I need to do an interview of someone for the cover, but most of the rest is done. So, no matter what else the day was — it was profitable. What more can I ask. Only fake people are happy every day and depressed people are angry every day. That ain’t me.

COMPLAIN

I have always struggled with complainers. I know there are things to complain about. I accept that everyone does it and I am not an exception, but I’m talking about those who have nothing to say that does not include a complaint.

Ten of us went to dinner tonight. It was a very nice dinner prepared by a gourmet cook. It’s put on free of charge by a local church for anyone who needs a night out. This is the second time I’ve gone and the meal was equally as nice as the first. No one who works on this meal is paid. They are all volunteers from the church including the cook. The volunteers are not the same every week. For example, our waitress had just arrived and came right to our table. She was reading the menu as we were.

All this to set the stage. Our group sat at two different tables. One of our group invited her sister to join us. Most knew her and it was OK. She did not sit at my table.

Because of the set up, the system does not work smoothly or as efficiently as a working restaurant. Little things go wrong. For example. The tray our salads arrived on would only hold 6 bowls. One person waited for the second delivery. There was a mix up on the orders and therefore a brief wait for one of our group. The food was terrific and the personnel kind and helpful.

That was out table. The guests from “The Home” at the other table had our experience. But the invited sister was one unhappy camper. It started with the menu. The choices were fine. However, there were only two menus at the table and she let the hostess know she wanted a menu for each person. As kindly as possible the hostess said we only print two per table with the assumption that people could share. Everything here is on a shoestring. No matter, she demanded menus all around. When that did not happen, she apparently decided not to have a positive experience.

The food did not come fast enough. There was too much dressing on the salad. She didn’t like the soup and wanted the other choice. She got it but didn’t like that either. She chose the fajita. She makes a better fajita, she said. There were too many onions. She doesn‘t really care for onions. The drink choices were not to her liking. She settled for water and I guess was satisfied. There was a choice of four deserts. All four were ordered at their table so she saw them all. Too small. Not attractive enough. Did not appeal to the eye.

After we came back to “The Home” I asked our resident how her sister liked the meal. Fabulous! She just loved it. Eyes rolled from all directions.

This lady is mild compared to Hazel. She is the most negative, demanding person I have ever met. She had tasks for a maintenance man every time she saw him and she often sought him out. I spoke to her yesterday for the first time in several months. I prefer not to get caught alone. She had a phone call she wanted me to make. She doesn’t ask, she tells me what I should do. Many of you may enjoy that approach, but the hair on the back of my neck stands on end and I am immediately resistant. Actually, angry and refusing in my mind before the sentence is finished. OK, I knew I wouldn’t do it. I’m stubborn. Thankfully, she did not ask for a response. She just expected I would do her biding. I don’t know when she will figure out I ran away.

Like our maintenance man once said, “I just wish that one day she would wake up and decide to be happy.” I hope I’m here for that day.

TRANQUILITY WITH A VIEW

I’m not sure how I feel about all the economic transition periods the advertizing world has established for us. I mean, when I got started as a miniature adult the advertizing world had not yet seen me as a consumer. There were no credit cards and I could not get a loan without daddy’s help. Mom would not do. She was a housewife. I needed a working responsible adult. Dad signed for my car loan. That was tough for him. He had never had a loan before. He paid cash for everything. When I decided to return to college after a little more than year of car payments, I decided to sell the car. But dad would not let me. I kept the car and he made the payments. Not my plan, but greatly appreciated. The details are another story all together.

My daughter’s high school graduation was another matter. She began to get what seemed like dozens, maybe even hundreds of offers for credit cards, if that’s what you call them. She had to place a minimum on “her card” and they made interest on her loan to them while they paid “her charges” from “her money.” That sounded too much like cash to me so my wife and I threw the offers in the trash. Bless her heart, she never knew she got those awful offers.

About the time I turned 40, additional credit card offers began to pour in weekly. Maybe daily. If I had taken every offer I got I think I could have bought anything I wanted. Naturally, I would not have ever been able to pay the debt. My offers were genuine credit, not me pay them and they pay my bills with my cash and my interest. Fortunately I resisted those temptations, but I was tempted.

I did play the rotating credit card game for a while. When a new offer came in offering no interest for a year I moved all my money and kept doing it until the card was paid off. I’m glad I didn’t do that for long, but some big bill probably came in that I did not have the money to pay.

As I got close to my golden years (feels more like tin years), I got plenty of offers for retirement communities, disability insurance and long term care facilities. Those may have all been good options, but I was living too close to the financial edge. Besides, they were all way over my economic head. I needed offers for the poor. Didn’t get any of those.

Now they want to put me in a wheelchair or scooter and when I can’t handle that any more, they want to burn me to a crisp and put me in a very expensive glass jar. Did you know I can prepay for all of that? Now the day may come when I want a wheelchair or even a high-speed scooter. I’m even considering being cremated. It’s cheap and I like the fertilizer I could become for my daughters garden. OK, that’s crude, but they live on five acres of forestland and they have a nice view of the canal, like I’ll ever see the view. If I was being sold a burial plot they would emphasis the view and tranquility. Spread on her land I would have both and be near them.

Okay, if you know me, you know I think that’s a bunch of hogwash. Frankly, I want to leave as much as possible to my daughter, and I plan to go straight to glory so will not need a place with a view or even one that is tranquil. They need the money and I want them to have it. Terminate my body on the earth in the most economical way. Keep what little I will leave for those who will follow me later and need what I might have. And please, do not try and have any offerings for eternal peace forwarded. I’ve made my own arrangements.