The Great Reveal

4 years … 4 months … 3,391 hours, not counting time spent prepping the piece in 2021, cleaning week before last, framing yesterday.

I can now hear myself repeating the words of Olivia de Havilland, in the closing scene of her 1949 film the Heiress as she placed the finishing stitch to her canvas … "I shall never do another".

There was a snafu in delivering the frame, which is why there was no delivery on Friday as notice indicated or on Sunday, as a revised notice indicated.

Going into tracking, I found the package was stuck because, at some point in the shipping process, the Apartment Number had been left off the address.

Once I added the Apt Number into the system on Monday, the snafu cleared and the apt number then appeared twice …… once because it was already correctly listed in the system, twice because I’d reentered it.

Go figure, but whatever works, and it did work as there was a successful delivery yesterday.

The week started off with a hug from Ernie on Monday …… even though I was wearing the "Look but do not touch" top and even though he saw it, read the words out loud before he pulled me into a hug.

I’d had to leave my sanctuary that morning to pick up photos that had been developed at the drugstore.

While in that area, I drove through the Starbucks down the street and, driving out, spotted that Nazi car again …… the one I’d spotted outside of that same Starbucks near a Dental Office a few months ago.

I get excited every time I see one of these abominations, am able to capture a pic. The feeling is much like hunters must feel at having caught big game in the wild.

I'm easily entertained, LOL.

Arriving back at the complex, I stepped out of the car, heard Ernie’s voice teasing, "Where’s my coffee" as he walked towards me, opened his arms for a hug, paused, read my shirt out loud, hugged me anyway, LOL.

With coffee in one hand, a package in the other, I was pretty much at Ernie's mercy, couldn't straight arm him.

Ernie is friendly, sweet, incorrigible, and I suspect may be a bit of a perv …… that all this hugging is his way of copping a feel.

Hopefully he’ll one day get a girlfriend, so he can rein in all this random hugging.

Today, I’m off to the medical center in Redlands for a blood pressure check to get the doctor off my back.

She’d been requesting a BP check, have people calling me to take it, even went so far as to schedule an appointment for me to take it at a facility I never go to for BP checks because parking is problematic and, once checked in, it takes too long to get the check.

Once, they left me sitting waiting for a full hour. Whereupon, I was too upset, BP surely off the chart from aggravation, so I walked out, only to get a threatening call later that if I didn’t get a BP check, the medication would be withheld.

What the hell, said I. I showed up for the scheduled check, it was you people who dropped the ball.

At any rate, I’ve been going to the Redlands facility ever since, where the process is easy breezy.

After that’s taken care of, who knows what wonderful adventure today will bring.

A Week Without Monday

I’ve been so preoccupied with whatnots that I not only missed the time change, I missed Monday.

Upon receiving a text at 5:30 pm on Sunday that started with "Hey beautiful", asking me to post photos to the Residents’ facebook page of the day’s Craft session, I questioned why Crafts was on Sunday then realized the day was not Sunday, it had to be Monday.

Later, while reading blogs, I saw mention of "falling back".

My taking no notice of either the day of the week or time change is somewhat understandable because, as a retiree …… who cares. Unless there are doctor appointments or a gym schedule to adhere to, the weeks, days, times are pretty much moot, one does what one does when one does it, on a daily basis.

It used to be I could tell days of the week by which of my TV show was on, but now that I’ve discovered Chinese Dramas, I pretty much let the VCR record things like Food Network Competitions, Survivor, Amazing Race for later viewing.

So anyway, as of today, I’m current on which day of the week this is …… Crafts Wednesday, and the microwave is set to display the correct time.

Though Crafty Lady continues to address me as "Hey, beautiful", I don’t think there’s anything in her mind other than business. I can sense she’s taken a giant step back and is now a little less salty about having to do so.

That doesn’t mean I’ll be comfortable enough with her to go down to Crafts today or ever again.

Besides, now that the never ending needlepoint canvas has been completed (I’m waiting for the frame to arrive before I do a big reveal), I’ve crafts enough with catching up on scrapbooking the great grandkids photos, backed up since last December.

Crafty Lady has made no more mention of my hosting Scrapbook Classes for the seniors, which I had no intention of doing. However, it hit me that 1) the seniors don’t take sufficient or any pictures at all to justify scrapbooking and 2) it’s an expensive hobby, a hobby they probably can’t afford to waste money on considering the rising cost of food, medication, and rent increases. So, if she ever revisits that idea, those points are viable shutdowns if my simple "no" doesn't satisfy her.

4 years, 4 months, 3,391 Hours Later

Not yet tired of carrot soup for dinner, I had my third batch cooking in the crockpot yesterday afternoon when the power went out.

We’re having way too many power outages lately, and all the power company can tell us is "analyzing problem".

Luckily, it was only out from 6:00 to 8:30, instead of all night, but the timing of the outage was inconvenient as not only did I have to give up the idea of soup for dinner, switch to kale salad, but I was also in the middle of putting the last few stitches in that never ending needlepoint project when the craft lamp went out.

Retrieving the portable power station from patio storage, I was able to hook up the craft light, get sufficient light to finish.

4 years, 4 months, 3,391 Hours Later.

All that’s left to do is to wash the piece, iron, frame, post the great reveal in a few days.

Tomorrow is Halloween Bingo. When asked if I was attending by Painted Rock Lady, I did say yes but, as time has gone on, I’ve retreated further and further from the Usual Suspects, not so sure I wanted to go back to mingling.

Delivering November flyers to The Baker the other day, she asked, "You’re coming Friday, aren’t you?" So, I guess I’m going.

Billed as bingo, with a Halloween twist, it might turn out not to be as boring as I imagine.

I’ll be in costume, not wearing my "Look but don’t touch" tee, so hopefully Crafty Lady won’t give me any grief by trying to hug me ……… Cause me to create a scene by rudely backing away should it look like she's coming in for a hug or request a hug, like she did last time.

Wish me luck.

Weekend Update

We have a new neighbor in the quad.

As I was heading out to Friday’s workout, I saw a moving company truck parked at the end of the walkway. A little lady, whom I took to be the new neighbor, hurriedly passed me on the walkway.

She seeming so rushed, I didn’t get to greet her other than to say "hello". She responded "hello" and was gone in a flash.

Just as I was making my way around the moving van bringing her in; simultaneously, one of those self-moving vans was driving by, exited the gate, moving someone out.

It’s like a revolving door around here. A lot of newbies, very few of us long-timers still around.

My guess is us long-timers are still here because we’re in that gray area — over income for most "affordable" living situations, but not so flush that we’re willing to pay the exorbitant sums being charged elsewhere.

Long story short, we will follow the path of other long timers who did leave .... they left because they died.

So, anyway, the new neighbor doesn’t look like she’s going to provide any blog fodder. She reads as quiet, no drama.

It's nice to look out in the morning, see a window free of debris, a patio not cluttered with a dresser drawer and miscellaneous items, but real patio furniture and cute decorations.

Saturday was a milestone for me because of this ……

Any guesses as to what that is and what it signifies?

I’ll wait.

Spoiler: If you thought it signifies my reaching the bottom of that never ending needlepoint project, you would be correct.

After 4 years, an estimated 3,630 hours, I finally touched bottom and, over the weekend, I managed to fill in the corner, left of that one bottom row.

Now working my way across, rather than down, looks like I may complete this project around this time next year; then I can get rid of the frame, put an exercise bike in its place, and have time to read books again.

Over the weekend, I also managed to put in some scrapbooking time. I’m very far behind on that craft, with last year’s Disneyland visit and the Mission Inn’s Christmas Festival of Lights to be scrapped into the Places book.

I was going to fit in doing my nails up for the holiday, but between scrapbooking and the needlepoint project, I somehow managed to break both pinky fingernails down to the nub.

There will be no fancy nails until the two grow back.

I didn't get around to posting yesterday and had two Funnies for you; so, here's a late Sunday Funnies.

Out and About

Snow on the surrounding mountains made for a cold yesterday, but it was a dry day, the sun was shinning, so I headed out of the area to replenish my needlepoint floss stash.

I’ve been getting low on colors needed to complete the never-ending needlepoint project — a project now 3 years, 3,350 hours into the making with no end in sight, and couldn’t run to one of the local craft stores (Michaels or JoAnn’s) because they’d both surprisingly gone out of business.

The only craft store still in business, a few cities over but within driving distance, is the craft store with the mission "to honor God by operating in a way that follows Biblical principles". Translation: racist, homophobic, rethuglican Orange Menace supportive.

It’s the only game in town, so I drove over, got the colors needed, made it out alive.

Heading back to the car, hearing music and seeing the top of white tents off in the distance, I suddenly remembered this is the area where there’s a Farmer’s Market on Saturdays.

Sprouts has no eggs available to sell, none, not a one, and store management can't say when the shortage will end.

No such shortage at this farmer's market.

The 18-count at $17 comes to $0.67 per egg but one doesn't know where these eggs come from, what conditions the chicken that laid the eggs are being kept in, what feed they've been given.

The 12-count is $1 per egg, but same problem with not knowing whether the eggs will make one ill.

Plus, I don't care for diversity inclusion equity in my eggs ... prefer all brown or all white, not a mixture of the two.

These are supposedly Organic, but who knows, and I can't make out the price.

At any rate, I still have a few Eggland's Best Organic (12 count at $8.79 comes to something like $0.73 per egg), so looks like I'm getting the best and safest deal at my local supermarket ..... for now.

No thanks!

Empanadas and Oxtails WTF

I probably have food issues today due to what I ate as a child, because my mom was from the country, cooked slave food country like her mom, and I didn't know any better .... thought it was normal to eat, what I now see as horrendous concoctions, like brains and eggs for breakfast, oxtails, chitlins, hog head cheese.

The fact that I've not continued that tradition, have not eaten that way, may be why I, the oldest of my mother's children, am still alive while everyone else .... brothers, sister, all died long ago.

And p.s. ... I never fed my children any of that goop, but others seemed to enjoy it as the line was long for either the Empanadas, the Oxtails or both, so whatever.

The Farmer's Market was a good place to recharge — put in some walking steps, breath in fresh air, get some sunshine, listen to music.

It was a nice afternoon. Too bad the day did not end as well .....

Yep! We had another quake, but at least it was tiny one.

Oh Brother! Then There Were Two

Last week’s peace calm quiet extended through the weekend. No little knock knock knock at my door, no annoyances from Compton — which may be because I’ve not been outside to see/be seen, and the new window camera has caught him doing nothing suspicious.

Nothing "suspicious", but it is weird that he’s so active in the wee morning hours — going out when there is absolutely nowhere to go, nothing to do anywhere near this area; sometimes he steps out, stands at the edge of the stairwell doing nothing, just looking, surveying the area when there is nothing to see during those early hours.

Weird, but so long as he’s not bothering me, no longer thinking of me in terms of a MILF, I’m good with whatever else.

I was surprised that the camera footage showed it’s not just Compton living with his mom, it’s also his brother.

It was either Red Light or Next Door Neighbor who, a long long time ago, told me both sons were living with mom (Ms. Neighbor on the blog because she once gave me a Christmas Card and instead of simply writing her name added a Ms. in front of her name, which I thought presumptious. Not to mention, if you want to get jiggy with it, since it’s obvious I’m older than she, I should be the one addressed with a Ms. in front of my name). But, as I was saying, it was either Red Light or Next Door Neighbor who’d said both sons were living in that tiny one-bedroom unit with their mom.

At the time, the info went in one ear out the other because I didn’t care and, inasmuch as I'd never seen the other brother, I wasn't sure that rumor was true.

I'm now realizing I have seen the other brother, but the two look so much alike (twins maybe) that I didn’t realize it was two different sons I sometimes saw, thought it was Compton walking around without his ever present cap on; and even seeing them go in/out on the camera, I still didn’t realize it was two separate beings until I saw Compton leave, his brother step outside two/three minutes later and then, yesterday morning, seeing both of them together around 4:30 am.

I’m fairly certain the brother does not work. He rarely even steps outside and doesn’t seem to go any further than the edge of the stairway, watch Compton leave.

It’s understandable families have been forced to squad up in these difficult financial times, help each other, and I am a bit envious I don't have a family that helps each other, but this is a senior community and the estimated 597 Sq. Ft. units we’ve been allotted is barely enough space for just myself, my crafts and exercise equipment, so I can’t imagine what that unit looks like inside with two grown-ass men living with their mom.

Where do they all sleep … hang their clothes … store their body essentials?

It must be a mess down there.

Speaking of mess. I had planned to shampoo the carpet this weekend, ended up not only not shampooing but not vacuuming with plans not to vacuum for however long it took me to find my favorite tapestry needle.

On Saturday, I’d been working on that never ending needlepoint project, begun in June of ’21 with still no end in sight, when my favorite needle vanished from my fingers.

I had it one moment, the next moment it was gone and no amount of checking every nook and cranny of the canvas or crawling around on the carpet located it.

I have other tapestry needles, but that particular needle was my favorite; we’d completed many projects together, so I had no plans to shampoo or even vacuum the carpet until the needle was located, as it would have hated to hear the sound of it being sucked up by the Dyson.

Yesterday morning, when I wasn’t even thinking about looking for the needle, just knowing it would show up eventually, the light drew my attention to something shiny on the carpet.

I looked down, gasped out loud and said "There it is!"

My Precious

How the needle got so far from the canvas is a mystery — maybe stuck to my clothes and fell off when I got up to look for it, but vacuuming is back on and maybe I’ll get around to shampooing this next weekend.

When I logged into Facebook yesterday morning to play Candy Crush, I was first met with a question.

Expecting to find I was committing a fashion sin by wearing the trendy shredded denim shorts, I was ROFLMAO when I read ……

• Maxi pads on the right ear.
• Maxipad Ear covers.
• Red caps accessorized by gauze on one ear, the new swastika armband.
• Maxi pads on the ear tinged with orange foundation.
• Red hats, Ear Pads and cruddy Toupees.
• Red caps and Kotex ear bandages.
• Panty Liners as fashion accessory.
• Maxipads in places they don't belong.
• Maxipad on your ear when a butterfly bandaid would work.
• A mini pad hanging off your ear.
• Ear diapers.
• Performative bandages on completely uninjured ears.
• Ear patch
• Deer tagging own ear.

ROFLMAO! I can’t with these people 🤣

The previous day, before I even saw this question/answer posting, I'd made changes to the voodoo doll to reenforce the bad juju.

Mouse Trap

So far so good with staying indoors this weekend — not seeing anyone, not going anywhere, catching up on recorded TV programs, crafting.

That never ending needlepoint project, which I began in May of ’21 having no idea it was to be as challenging as it has turned out to be, is now in its 25th month, with a total of 1567 day-by-day hours put in thus far.

I also pulled out the sewing machine and began mapping out a quilt for the great granddaughter, expected to be born into this troubled universe around Christmas time.

Though granddaughter and her husband would probably prefer boho colors — gender neutrals that would be appropriate for either a boy or a girl, like I somewhat did with great grandson’s quilt, except I did work in the color blue .......

Great Grandson’s Quilt

...... because they want their children to not be pushed at birth to a specific gender, I couldn’t resist going with little girl colors when I saw a Princess panel, which I'm paring up with fabrics that seem to go well.

Barring any unforeseen circumstances, this upcoming week looks to be free of errands necessitating I run all over several towns. Consequently, I may attend Activity Director’s 11:00 – 1:00 session on Tuesday — which I see on the calendar is a class, "Tips on saving with entertainment, followed by a fun game of bingo".

Those are two hours I’d much prefer devoting to my crafting projects but I had a thought — wouldn’t it be fun to set a mouse trap, be in the Community Room if Meat Man continues his newly acquired pattern of coming in on Tuesdays to continue his pursuit of Homegirl and be faced with the two of us girls together.

To see the look on the face of that two-timer … three-timer if he actually does have a girlfriend or is engaged, would be worth giving up two hours of my free time, don’t you think?

Of course, I’ll tell Homegirl what my motive for being there is about and ask how she wants to play it if he does show up.

Hopefully he won’t disappoint, ruin our fun by not showing up.

T.G.I.F.

I live for Friday, what some would say is "Wishing my life away".

Not that the week was bad. It’s just that my favorite thing to do is to stay inside, not leave the unit unless I want to and Friday signifies my having two whole days in a row — rather than a day here, a day there to indulge myself in doing my favorite thing.

Yesterday was one of those rare days when I was able to stay indoors and, while sitting in my perch on the couch, it occurred to me that, but for the fact I must leave the unit on Monday, Wednesday, Friday to work out, I could easily turn into a complete recluse. Be perfectly content opening the windows to the sun, spotting neighbors out and about during the day while I myself meditated, watched television, worked on that needlepoint project (now in its third year with it looking like another three to completion) and, when the sun goes down, leaving insufficient lighting to continue needlepointing, switching to work on the scrapbook of the most photographed child in America, my great grandbaby.

Having been too sleepy Monday to watch this season’s Summer Baking Championship, on Food Network, I’d recorded it and while catching up yesterday, seeing the new crop of bakers, how they’d fared, I couldn’t help but wonder how embarrassing it must have been for a baker who introduced herself as "Executive Pastry Chef ……… previously nominated for a James Beard award as Best Pastry Chef", to be the first to go home — before a home baker even, and before a guy who didn’t finish decorating or get the mandatory twist on his cake.

First round, the James Beard baker produced a cake donut, which Duff pronounced as "really chewy, tasting like a pretzel that’s not done".

Elimination round, she produced a cake Damaris evaluated as "Leany"; Carla said her water feature gelatin was "Rubbery, looked like a piece of salami". So, the James Beard baker was eliminated, the first to go home from the competition.

Calling 'em as I see 'em, when she first introduced herself, there was something about her that caused me to think I’d not choose her to bake a cake for me. She seemed stern, dry, humorless.

Further judging her book by its cover, I guessed she, as Executive Chef, might be difficult to work alongside of, that she was probably a pill, pompous, arrogant, lording over those she was in charge of, throwing her James Beard nomination in their face.

Going home first had to be the absolute worst humbling experience ever for her.

Thinking about her returning to work, after having failed so miserably, opened the vault and made me think of a guy I worked for at the law firm.

Some kind of personal friend of the General Counsel, who was head attorney over all attorneys in the firm, this guy had just finished law school, not yet taken the bar exam but, because of whatever relationship he had with the GC, was hired on with the expectation he would pass the bar.

This guy came in like gangbusters. He wasn’t mean or cruel to me, it was just that he was pompous, arrogant, pushy, creepy, always had a blank look in his eyes as though the lights were on but no one was home.

My skin crawled when he’d call me into his office to give instructions, because he never looked in my face, never talked to ME. He talked to my pelvic area. With a creepy smirk on his lips and a faraway look in his blank eyes, it was like he had x-ray vision and was undressing me as he gave instructions to my pelvis.

I didn’t like him — no one really did, but being assigned as his secretary, working so closely with him, I saw what others did not see, was witness to the weird things he did.

Like the time, we received a very big bill for the rental car I’d ordered for a business trip he'd taken.

I couldn’t figure out how it was he’d returned from that business trip weeks and weeks and weeks already, but the rental place was still charging us.

Getting to the bottom of it, he said he didn’t understand it either because, upon his return, he’d parked the car on the back lot of the airport rental place, left the keys in it.

He didn’t seem to know or understand that just parking the car somewhere on the lot, without notifying one of the agents, did not serve as having checked the car back in.

Also, any part of his job that he could push off on me, he did. Up to and including, when it was time for him to take the bar exam, he gave me his paperwork, told me to fill it out and submit.

It was an odd request but, of course, I did as I was told ..... except, there was a check yes or no question on the paperwork that I couldn’t just assume, so I asked. He didn’t answer my inquiry. Instead, he just smiled his creepy smirky smile at my pelvic until standing in his office became so uncomfortable for me, as I waited for his reply, that I just exited the office and left the yes/no question blank.

The yes/no question was "Have you ever been in a mental institution" or something to that effect.

I remember thinking it very telling that he would not give me an answer.

At any rate, the paperwork was accepted, he took the exam and failed it miserably.

I can still see the look on his face, and his frantic body language, when he returned to the office the morning after being notified of failing to pass the bar.

He was frantic, running back/forth to the GC's office, here/there like a chicken with its head cut off, and I didn't know why.

Word quickly spread, and it was a secretary in another section that called me to say, "God does not like ugly".

"What do you mean?", asked I.

"He didn’t pass the bar", said she.

The guy never said a word to me about failing, and the General Counsel removed him immediately from being assigned to my Environmental section, into an obscure office closer to his own (the GC’s) office, which was great that I didn’t have to deal with him any longer.

The secretary that got stuck with him called me one day but, for the life of me, I can't remember what it was he'd done that she needed to talk out with me; but she didn't have to suffer long because, from what I recall, the fiasco was such an embarrassment for the GC that the guy just disappeared one day, without a word as to whether he was let go or quit.

I doubt he ever retook the bar exam or, if he did, passed because had he done so, the GC would have wanted to save face, found a way to bring him back.

I know another who failed the bar. It was early in my career, and I didn't work for this second guy per se.

I was working for a small municipality, where he was a member of the City Counsel.

Very nice man, he became a legend for having failed the bar exam 47 times before passing, but his job wasn’t incumbent upon his passing. Passing was a personal goal he was determined to accomplish and, after 25 years, he passed on his 48th try.

Sometimes bad things happen to sketchy people, even when they have a GC carving a path for them, and good happens for good people who persist on their own.

So, anyway, if my assumptions of the James Beard baker are correct and she's not a sweetheart who is highly favored by those she's in charge of, I would have loved to be a fly on the wall when she returned to the workplace.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

So this happened.

I’ve been dealing with tremendous guilt for freaking out at being coughed on, frightening my little stalker. Pretty sure she was now too scared to knock on my door, but equally sure I’d see her around, I felt so guilty that I planned to apologize for scaring her and, when I popped into the market after yesterday’s workout, I picked up a little sumthin sumthin to go along with the apology.

Didn’t take long for me to "see her around" because, returning from the market, just as I pulled into my parking spot, she and Grandma Talker pulled into their spot next to mine.

Talker said they were returning from the doctor’s office, where granddaughter had gotten her allergy shot.

I guess this was Talker’s way of letting me know the coughing wasn’t cooties, but allergies, nothing I needed to worry about.

But tell me this … Are allergy sufferers given shots? I may have misunderstood, she may  have said "medicine" instead.

At any rate, granddaughter looked afraid of me, was kind of hiding behind a pillar, but came out when I said I was sorry I freaked out and asked, "Do you forgive me?"

She said yes, LOL.

I then asked that she follow me upstairs because I had something in one of the grocery bags for her.

Grandma Talker made her mask up (so I wouldn't freak out if she started coughing again???) and she followed me up the stairs where she seemed pleased, said "No way" and gave me a hug when she saw what I had for her.

I’m back to being hugged again.

Two steps forward, one step back, but at least my guilt has abated, my conscious is clear, and I think she does now understand, or at least will be hesitate, to continue with the knock knock knocking at my door.

Dressed for warm weather today, because that’s how the sunny weather made the day appear, I was halfway down the stairs, on my way to the college campus to test out the crazy glued trekking poles, when I realized I’d been duped. It was actually chilly and a little too windy to be out walking.

Since I was outside, I decided, though it’s nowhere near Easter, to go hunting for eggs because, when I’d popped into the market after yesterday’s workout, I’d found tons of eggs at the reasonable price of $4.99, but they were the cage free store brand and I’m spoiled. I prefer Eggland’s Best Organic.

First stop was the market in the opposite direction — the one I’ve been avoiding because the kid that works there, who doesn’t even know my name, refers to me as "The nice one" had gotten a little too friendly and invited me to a party at his house.

I lucked up. He wasn’t there … in fact, it didn’t look like any of the cashiers were there. I only saw one and the other stations had been converted to those self-checkouts.

Did they fire everyone else … lay them off?

I keep seeing on the news that there’s a hiring surge "U.S. adds 517,000 jobs, Unemployment Drops to 3.4%". I’m calling B.S. on that because, how can it be true when so many are being replaced by self-checkouts and even tech companies are laying off.

So, anyway, I did find Eggland’s Best. They only had 3 dozen at $8.99 in stock. That’s twice as much as the store brand at the other store, but the heart wants what the heart wants, so I took two of the three dozen.

Back at the complex, I spent the afternoon working on that needlepoint project while catching up on recorded TV programs.

I’d seen the finale of Worst Cooks in America, missed a few episodes in between, but this season had been the best season ever, the group of contestants so stupid hilarious that I watched the recorded episodes I’d missed.

While doing so, I noticed a shirt one of the contestants was wearing matched a 12x12 sheet of scrapbook paper I had in storage.

What do ya say?

I say it's a dead ringer.

If by some odd set of circumstances our paths should ever cross, I'll give him the sheet. He can use it as background and frame the photo of himself wearing that shirt.

Time is Relative

I had the bright idea last night, when there was nothing worth watching on television and the lighting was not bright enough (inspite of the LED magnifier) to work on the never-ending needlepoint project, to put together the gingerbread house I purchased in December ………… December of Last Year but never could fit into my schedule until now.

Didn’t take long to become frustrated with the royal icing included in the kit.

It wasn’t dry, just wasn’t of a smooth enough consistency to spread and wasn’t holding the walls together.

I was ready to quit when the first structure collapsed.

Remembering a hack I saw on TikTok of using sugar glue instead, I set about boiling sugar.

Takes a long time to melt sugar down into glue and I came too close to burning my fingers when dipping gingerbread pieces into the hot glue, not to mention it got sloppy at times with the glue leaving strings. I even dropped an entire gingerbread wall into the glue at one point.

Before I even got the walls of the first structure together, I lost my patience, abandoned the project, tossed the kit into the trash, disposed of the glue down the garbage disposal, telling myself ain’t nobody got time for this!

How interesting is it that I’ve the patience to stab aida cloth thousands of times to create needlepoint works of art, but not the patience to spend an hour or so building a gingerbread house.

Time really is relative.

I’ve been working on the never-ending needlepoint project practically every day since January of 2021, logging in upwards of 1,116 hours thus far and though not even halfway through have no problem with spending more hours, days, weeks, months, years to completion while I was pretty much over the gingerbread build in the first 15 minutes.

Inspired by Food Network’s Gingerbread Showdown, I still want to do a gingerbread house this season, so I’ll pick up something after this morning’s workout, maybe make my own royal icing and try again.

As for progress on the needlepoint project, though nowhere near completion I’m at least seeing a face appear.

Though my first gingerbread build of the season was an epic fail, I’ve been having great luck in finding My Hometown Elf in the market.

In previous years, our Hometown Elf was Cindy. This year it’s Zippy and he’s pictured holding a candy cane across his body.

I actually spotted what looked like it could be Zippy pretty quick. He was on a ledge nestled in with other holiday items but, inasmuch as there was no candy cane, I couldn’t be sure.

To make certain it wasn’t a decoy, I searched the store, saw nothing elsewhere and correctly announced to the cashier I’d found Zippy nestled and tucked away in a Christmas stocking.

I declined the little Candy Cane reward. I just enjoyed announcing I’d found it.

Next time at the market, I found Zippy with a fishing line hovering over the seafood station.

That was a cute and clever spot, obviously visible thought I.

Running into a 5K friend coming in to hunt as I was leaving, I didn't spoil her fun by telling her where the elf was located.

She later posted to facebook that she couldn't find it.

HOW could she have missed it?

Calm Before the Storm

This past weekend was eerie quiet. The only signs of life were seeing the new resident walking through the quad a time or two and Painted Rock Lady dropping new rocks along the walkway.

Other than that, I didn’t see or hear the voice of a single other resident.

Not that I’m complaining. I enjoy the calm. I’m just suspicious as to WHY. It can’t be that everyone suddenly turned into me, opting to stay inside all weekend. Nope, my spidey sense is saying something’s in the wind.

Perhaps it’s anxiety over the ice cream social Management has planned for tomorrow.

Last time they did a fun event for us ─ the Summer Social, it was to soften the blow of the rent increase posted to our doors the very next day. So, justifiably, I’m now wondering what’s behind the ice cream social, and I’m sure others are suspicious as well.

I’ll go down to the Community Room tomorrow, check it out, but won’t be surprised if no one else shows up.

Nothing new on Black Bikini.

Though I wasn’t outside over the weekend, I did keep an eye out for her hanging around the pool all of last week, but no sighting.

At this point, I’m now beginning to think she may not have been a new resident but perhaps visiting a resident for a few days.

With no distractions and staying indoors all weekend, I’m at last caught up with getting those almost 200 photos into the Creative Memory album. Actually, it was albums — plural, because the photos took up all the space in not one but two new albums.

With not much planned through the end of the year — except maybe the Mission Inn 5K, few photos will be coming in and I can devote my attention to that never ending needlepoint project.

Spending time on Tik Tok last night I ran across "Michael Cohen Reacts".

You remember Cohen don’t you … one of the many who lost their careers as a result of their involvement in No. 45’s shenanigans.

Well, it seems that prison time served as an awakening to having been used and tossed aside. So now he’s out for revenge by spilling the tea and reacting to current shenanigans ─ the Hearings, the raid and it’s all so hilarious.

His latest reaction is about No. 45’s desperate search for the mole — who the informant in his close circle is that told where to look for specific documents. Cohen is certain it’s Jarod.

Wow. Wouldn’t that be a kick in the head if it turns out to be.