New Player on the Field

"My looks are deceiving" said I to the new old guy on the complex, that I've decided to name Talker No. 2.

Last few weeks, on a daily basis when the weather's pleasant, I’ve spied an old guy that I’ve never seen before resting on the bench outside my bedroom window.

A new resident, I'd assumed.

Turns out he’s not new at all, has lived here for an entire year …… came to us from an apartment building down the street that he says the County took over and where the entire management staff "all look like serial killers".

He was sitting on the bench when I headed out for a short walk on Wednesday.

At the edge of the walkway, near that bench, I paused to give way to two residents on walkers, and joked "Are you two in a race …… Who’s winning?".

"He is", one of them said.

My being so close to the old guy on the bench, I included him by joking, "Are you not joining in the race?".

"I have a walker, but if I start using it, I’ll become dependent and have to always use it", which is a very true statement.

Now that the two on walkers had passed, before getting started on my circuit around the complex, I asked if he was new here; whereupon he launched into a conversation where he told me everything about himself, his son, his son’s wife.

He was talking so much, giving me so much rapid fire information that I couldn’t take it all in, remember details; but the cliff notes are he himself was a medical researcher. Not in the sense of being a doctor, something to do with researching the effect of certain foods on the body.

He told me to eat organic, LOL, but I mostly do.

His grandma was a full blood Cherokee, which he says people find hard to believe because he has blue eyes, and grandma would go out into the forest, find plants, make poultices and drinks which the kids hated, but fixed what was wrong over night.

His 6 foot 4 inches 250 pounds son used to play pro football, injured his ankle, became a Deputy Sheriff, recently retired from that gig and is now Manager of a trucking company. Old guy seemed pretty proud of the work his son’s wife was doing but, like I said, I couldn’t take it all in. By the time he got to the wife’s details, my brain was in overload …… could not retain any further data.

As for how Talker No. 2 has lived here for an entire year, and I’ve only recently seen him, he said that when he was living down the street, he was in pretty good health, walking 2 miles a day, suddenly began to weaken, ended up hospitalized after which black mold was discovered in his apartment — he’d been breathing in poisonous spores.

When released from the hospital, his son said no way would he let him return to that apartment building, got him a unit here, where he has been recovering.

After a year of recovering, he is just now able to get around, but can only manage around 400 steps a day.

Out of the blue, stroking the gray in his beard he asked me, "How old do you think I am?".

I really don’t know what he thought to accomplish by asking me that question.

Did he think he looked recovered/fit/youngish and wanted me to guess an age that would mirror that?

I sensed around 80 years of age, but was really reluctant to voice that, reluctant to answer the question period, because I hate when people put me on the spot with that question. I’m not a good guesser of age and have been known to unintentionally burst someone’s bubble, trash their ego, damage their sense of self.

Like the woman at the gym in San Diego many years ago, on the machine next to mine, who seemed pretty pleased with herself, had been bragging to someone on the other side about something she’d done, and suddenly turned my direction, asked "How old do you think I am".

I gave her a good look over, saw she had a banging body — well maintained, fit, youthful looking, but here’s the thing.

While living and working in San Diego, I’d noticed there was something about the weather that caused the skin on the face of its residents to look dried, aged, weathered, like 30 miles of dirt road.

I had in fact fought that happening to my skin by using baby products — oils, lotions, baby bubble wash.

So, though the woman had a fit/young looking physical body form, her face gave her age away — worn, weathered, deep spider veins around her eyes.

So, I generously/kindly (I thought) guessed "50".

The light in her aura went out, she looked stunned, like I’d slapped her and said, "50? …… I’m only 39".

I am just not the one to be asked, "How old do you think I am".

Skirting around answering Talker No. 2’s question, I replied, "I’m probably older than you".

"Oh, I highly doubt that", said he.

"My looks are deceiving …… I’m 82".

"I’m 82 as well", said he.

Turns out not only were we both born the same year, but also the same month, with me 8 days before him.

So, I was correct in responding, "I’m probably older than you", but same year, same month ?????? …… what are the odds of that. Plus, his grandma was Cherokee, while my Great Great Grandmother was full blood Oklahoma Choctaw Cherokee.

We might be related.

While typing this post, I looked over and saw something strange peeking out from the edge of the carpet near the blinds.

ROFLMAO, it was another misplaced item left by the great grands.

Since Sunday, I've laughed myself silly running across misplaced objects — one day an inspirational rock I'd picked up at a meditation retreat ages ago, alongside a glass bead from a jar their little hands had managed to extract from behind other objects back of a shelf. Another day it was a rather large red rock — a piece of the Sedona Vortex a coworker brought back for me when she visited the Vortex.

She'd asked if I'd like a souvenir from her trip to Arizona. I'd asked for a simple rock to add to my collection, and she walked in with a huge portion of the actual Vortex; which btw, is illegal. Considered theft from a federally protected site.

Yet another day, I discovered another glass bead. It had made its way to the bathroom counter; and today it was a Wooden Easter Egg I'd painted years ago in a craft session.

After these many days, I can't imagine I'll run into any further surprises, but you never know.

Aging and Bird Behavior

I took a blow to my ego yesterday when, leaving the Pain Cave, the friendly neighborhood homeless woman I’ve seen around so frequently that I’ve gotten to know her (62 years old, homeless 15 years, never asks me for money but will try to sell me something she’s managed to get her hands on and will occasionally ask me to buy her a beer) instead of referring to me as the ususal "mama" — "Thanks, mama …… Did you workout today, mama?" referred to me as "grandma".

What the hell, thought I. Am I starting to look my age?.

And then this morning, after finishing the latest battle with the birds, heading out to run errands, the drug dealer’s wife (they live in the complex), who always refers to me as "My Black Queen" — "Good morning, my Black Queen" referred to me as "Mama" — "Have a good day, Mama".

Two back-to-back blows to my ego. I’m crushed, LOL

The day started off with yet another battle between myself and the birds.

Around this time every year, for thirteen years of living here, I’ve successfully discouraged birds from moving into the highly desirable corner eave, which is way too close to my living space and access to the patio storage area.

I don’t mind, and rather enjoy, seeing birds visiting the patio area and frequently take photos of them relaxing on the railings.

Occasionally, a hummingbird gets curious …… flies all the way up to the patio window, looks inside, then is gone before I can grab the phone, take a pic.

What I take issue with is when the birds bring their bags, prepare to occupy the corner eave, make babies.

Sorry, but I don’t want to have to listen to the noise of the parents cooing, the kids going chirp chirp chirp, and don’t want to have to deal with cleaning up the mess they bring, so I tell them "You can’t build here. Go somewhere else" and chase them away.

But just like Red Light, they refuse to move on, and the battle begins.

After a few days of seeing fly overs, birds checking the space out, it was yesterday I caught a couple bringing in supplies.

I pulled out the holographic scare tape.

It wasn’t easy, but I managed to tie some of the tape around a pipe, hoping the tape, flying in the wind, would scare the couple off.

It didn’t.

There they were, this morning, slaving away bringing in more supplies.

Looks like the tape slipped down the structure, was not close enough to the eave to deter the build.

So, this morning, I balled up some of the holographic tape and again, not easy, but I managed to drop the ball of tape in front of the eave, hoping that, because the ball was so light, the wind didn’t blow it away.

The wind didn’t, but the birds swooped in and somehow, between them and the wind, the tape rolled away from the eave, and it was business as usual for the birds, who flew away when I repeated there was no room at this inn for them here, go elsewhere, and watched me, from across the quad, to see what I was going to try next.

What I did next was to ball up a plastic grocery bag, wrap holographic tape around it.

I managed to drop it in front of the eave.

This heavier ball is probably going to interfere with drainage, but being my last option to win this battle, it is what it is.

I did try unsuccessfully to push the balled-up materials back into the opening, to bar entry; but having no luck with that, was hoping the reflecting tape, at the front door of the home they were trying to lay claim to, would at least scare them away.

Would you believe …… it didn’t.

Scare, the holographic tape did not. However, it does look like the curve appeal is no longer quite as pleasing because, after what looked like an inspection and discussion between the two, they flew away and have not returned.

If they do decide they can live with the eyessore and come back, I give up, they win. The corner eave is theirs.

Stream of Consciousness

Also known as, this and that on this Labor Day ─ not looking much like a holiday around here, except for the absence of staff.

I made it through the weekend without the smoke detector going off again.

This may be because I didn’t move the stepstool.

When I’d pulled out the stepstool to disconnect the beeping mechanism on Friday, the beeping stopped. This made me superstitious that, if I put the stepstool away, the smoke detector would start beeping again. Not wanting to take the chance, I left the stool as was.

With staff back tomorrow, I can then take the chance to put the stool back in storage.

If there is no beeping during the day but, if after hours, when staff has left for the day, the beeping restarts, I’ll know for sure the smoke detector is possessed.

A spiritual practitioner I’ve worked with for years, now basically retired from the practice, living in Hawaii, celebrated her 100^th birthday over the weekend.

She said it was a goal to live to 100.

It surprised me that she, or anyone, would actually set 100 as a goal.

To each their own, I guess.

It also got me to thinking that, even though this practitioner looks to be in good condition for her age, living to 100 would not be something I’d want for myself.

As it is, I continue to be surprised that I’m still here, when I’d always felt I’d be gone by 35 ─ one way or another.

Here I am 40 years past that, with no end in sight.

That’s the reason why I signed up to workout at the Pain Cave.

Inasmuch as it never entered my mind to live this long, I’d not paid a whole lot of attention to maintaining my physicality, other than normal upkeep.

I’ve got a few things that, had I been more concerned with my physicality, would not be a challenge now. But, as has been said, “If I knew I was going to live this long, I’d have taken better care of myself”.

At any rate, it is what it is and, looking around at how some of my neighbors have fared in this aging game, what is could have been a whole lot worse.

Sitting on my couch perch, people watching through the patio window, it was scary to see residents previously observed bouncing along the path, had deteriorated to the point of shuffling along, looking like one of AMC’s Walking Dead, or now dependent on a cane or walker.

Realizing the deteriorating atmosphere was rubbing off ─ that I myself was getting slower, weaker, felt tired all the time, I decided that, since I don’t know when my expiration date will be, I didn’t want to go out the way the other residents are going and had better make the best of it, get myself in as good a shape as I can at this stage.

But though I feel, had I known I was to live this long, I’d have taken better care of myself, Trainer tells me I’m in better shape than some of his clients in their 20’s and 30’s.

“How is that possible?” asked I.

“Too much partying, overindulgences”, said he. “By the time they get to me, it’s a complete rebuild, rather than a restore”.

Trainer says it’s not unusual for the younger clients to find the work so hard that they throw up during a session.

He says, one young lady stopped in the middle of a workout, said, “It’s too hard. I can’t do this anymore” and walked out, never to return.

Other clients have complained so much about it being hard, and whine about not wanting to do this routine, not wanting to struggle with that equipment, yada yada yada, that Trainers says it brings him down. He’s told them, “I can’t work with you” and sent them on their way.

LOL.

So, though I still occasionally wish I’d known I was going to live this long, so I could have done some things differently, it is what it is and I’m grateful the is isn’t worse.

Still, I’m hoping so not to 100.

All day Sunday was prep work for the new stitch piece.

I had to zigzag stitch the edges of the aida cloth, so it would not fray. And it took hours and hours and hours to set up 65 different floss colors.

I’m so anxious to start the new project that, though I’ve not yet finished the current piece, I’ve decided to work on both, but on alternating days.

This should be interesting.

Later in the evening, while watching Big Brother, I decided to give myself a mani/pedi.

When I’d been at Michael’s the day before yesterday, I’d gotten into a discussion with the nicely manicured cashier about her nail art and how I was thinking about, but was reluctant to try, the new social media sensation ─ Skittle Nails.

As seen on the internet

I told the cashier that though I liked the way it looked on other people, I was afraid I myself would look like a clown.

“Sometimes, we’ve got to step outside our comfort zone”, said she.

That statement struck my somewhat conservative basic one-color or french manicure self, and I thought … why not.

I’m liking it.

Think it will be my thing for a while.

It’s a great way to use up a stash of leftover colors.

Candles and Flashlight Batteries

The Santa Ana Winds rolled in like a giant freight train last night.

Along with the Santa Anas came an emergency message from the power company that they’re exploring options for a potential public safety power shutoff in this area.

What the heck?!

To prevent the spread of wildfires, I suppose, but how inconvenient.

I’d better stock up on candles and flashlight batteries.

As far as shutting off power for public safety, this is an area where to do so would have the opposite effect. It would be like that movie Purge, where the bad guys see darkness as an opportunity for mayhem.

Speaking of which, there was that issue of damage done to mailboxes when, under cover of darkness, someone broke into the boxes middle of August.

Management did a temporary fix to keep the metal from harming anyone, then pushed it all into position, kept in place by use of  duct tape.

And in that condition the mailboxes remained for weeks and weeks and weeks until Apache, the unofficial mayor of the complex, began bugging management to fix it so residents effected by the damaged boxes, could begin receiving delivery again.

Management blew Apache off so, in mid-September,  he called his contacts at the County who came out, assessed the damage, gave management an October 6th deadline to get repairs done.

They missed the deadline, so Apache promptly turned management in.

A representative from the County came back on October 9th to verify repairs had not been made.

In addition, Apache contacted Corporate, even tough Corporate had long ago have their lawyers send Apache a cease and desist notice to stop bugging them.

That notice meant nothing to Apache. Once he has a cause, he’ll take it all the way to the Supreme Court ─ joke that the Supreme now is.

At any rate, the fact that Apache contacted Corporate, got him and the new Community Manager into a heated discussion. Which, Apache also doesn’t care, but which spurred the new Community Manager to assign the two maintenance guys to the task.

The guys began repairs last Thursday -- two days after the County returned to prove they meant business, at which time Apache texted me urging I come down as it was quite the comical scene to see the guys struggle to, as his text titled, “How can you get a square object in a square space”, photo included.

Though I did not go down, I heard the guys struggled for most of the day on Thursday into the night around 8:00.

Yesterday, when I went down for mail and to check out last week's work, the installation looked done, but not quite, because the area around the boxes hasn’t yet been concreted in, just held together with duct tape still. Looks like management did just enough to get the County off their back.

They’d better get onto finishing quick, before Apache calls in his contacts again. Plus, if repairs are not completed before the power company cuts power, conditions will be perfect for the mail thief when he comes back for another go.

And I’ve no doubt he’ll come back, especially since it appears management did nothing to capture the thief or relocate the mail center to a more secure location inside the building.

On the other hand, inasmuch as this damage caused Head Maintenance Guy so much extra work, lazy boy that he is, maybe he will be more likely to do something when next he hears someone breaking into the boxes, which I’m sure he had to have heard as he lives right over that area.

On tap for today is my last chance to practice with online DMV tests, because my written renewal test is tomorrow.

I’m not feeling confident.

I know what to do on the road, but my brain scrambles on written exams, written scenarios, especially when the DMV throws in trick questions.

The notice to renew indicated one could renew online but, when I tried to go that route, it said I was not eligible. Inasmuch as my driving record is clean as a whistle, I’m assuming my ineligibility is age discrimination.

I’m hoping DMV doesn’t further age discriminate against me by requesting a behind the wheel test.

Aging for Dummies

Today went by fast.

I drove out-of-the-area to a city I’ve never been -- Yucca Valley, and got off my to-do list an Estate POA (Power of Attorney) and POA for Health Care opting to have the plug pulled.

I still have to put together an addendum that I wish to be cremated, sprinkled someplace warm – like the desert, and do not want a memorial service.

Downside of being a loner is I don’t know enough people to make a memorial service worth the effort, but don’t cry for me Argentina because I’m good with that.

As far as I know, I’m not going anywhere soon, but you never know; and that windfall necessitated those POA’s and it appears I also need a Transfer Upon Death Kit.

So much paperwork involved in aging, and with no clear roadmap – other than word of mouth, as to all that this aging thing requires be done so as not leave a nightmare behind for others to take care of, I’m feeling the need for an Aging for Dummies book.

After the initial meeting, as to names of individuals to be plugged into the POAs, I was told to wait for 20 minutes while documents were prepared or explore the area. Inasmuch as I was in the middle of four blocks of shops, stores, movie theatre, Starbucks, I took a walk. I don’t know if it was May Gray that made the area look so gloomy or if the area felt gloomy to me because it was just not my kind of chi, but the walk was good for getting me back out there. I ended up logging in 1.50 miles in 40 minutes.

That’s slow going, but a stop into Kmart was partly responsible for the slow pace.

I seemed to be in a spiritual flow, one where I thought it, it manifested itself, because I woke up this morning thinking how much I miss the stainless-steel copper Starbucks Thermos I had to toss because, last time I went to the movies – in 2012 to see Twilight Breaking Dawn Part 2, snacked on popcorn and Starbucks coffee from the thermos, I’d dropped the plug on the theater floor, was not about to pick it up, and was unable to find a replacement or another thermos I liked. I’d actually held onto the thermos, in hopes I’d be able to salvage it with another plug, but finally gave up and tossed it a couple months ago when I did a cleaning purge.

So anyway, here I was thinking about that thermos this morning and, passing Kmart on the walk in Yucca Valley, something said go inside and take a look at what they have. Since I no longer stop into Starbucks, I was thinking I could carry butter coffee around.

What Kmart had was another of my favorite things, and they only had one, like it was waiting there for me.

How much do I love camo?

My outfit for today consisted of black long sleeve top, camo leggings, camo headband, camo fanny pack, and actually, with four pairs of camo leggings in the closet, that’s been my day-to-day outfit for most of this year when I’m not wearing black leggings.

So that’s one productive day outside after days and days of hibernating indoors. Whether tomorrow will be in or out is anyone’s guess.