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.