Problem Solved

Insofar as I know, not a lot has been going on last few days. The heat is pretty much keeping everyone on lockdown, so not much to glimpse through the patio window and I’ve had no desire to check into the Community Room, catch up with the Usual Suspects since the BBQ.

Nor have I had the desire to pressure myself into getting out by 9 am for the Tahirobics class.

After eons of the daily grind …… up early, get myself and the twins together, drop them off at school, make it to work on time and then, after the twins were grown, on their own, myself still having to make it to a job on time until the day I was mercifully freed from the grind through retirement, I was beginning to feel resentful of having to pressure myself, in these Golden Years, into another early morning schedule — this time just to keep my body from deteriorating, stay somewhat fit.

There’s just has to be an easier way, thought I.

Researching nearby senior centers, I found no activities that made me want to drive to, engage with other people.

The gym in the strip mall next to Ralphs Market, adjacent to Starbucks, has always been a viable option. I’d looked into it years ago, before I found Trainer but, at that time, it was just opening, and it turned me off that memberships were aggressively being pushed before the gym had gotten its act together.

Now there’s a pool, exercise classes, tons of equipment.

The classes offered looked to be the same as that covered by Tahirobics — at $10 a pop as opposed to the cost of a gym membership, plus Tahirobics is medium impact, safer for my body than the high impact workouts the gym offered.

Inasmuch as the only equipment I was likely to take advantage of at the gym was the treadmill, it didn’t seem worth the expense of a membership, plus again there’s the issue of my currently not wanting to be around a lot of people, but the tour gave me an idea as to how I could safely walk and strength train, on my own time, in an atmosphere free of others.

Problem solved.

My own home gym station — air conditioned, open 24/7, a cross trainer for full body workout, a foldable portable treadmill, and there’s even a coffee bar.

So, if anyone is looking for me, you’ll find me snug as a bug in a rug, working out in my in-home bunker unless and until people no longer so easily get on my last nerve, and it's safe to once check in on Community Room activities, engage with the outside world.

In other news …… not my creations, but good on those who created.

How it Started

How it’s going.

Maybe our two dolls are working.

Who Wants to Tell Her?

Popping into the market, after this morning’s workout, I ran into Next Door Neighbor.

We chatted for a bit about how we were going to survive, where we were going to live, when Elon takes away social security.

I said I’d probably be living in my car.

She said it would probably be the same for her.

We were both laughing, making jokes, but the humor was only to keep from crying …… if you know what I mean.

We moved on to the topic of the three earthquakes we’d experienced, her saying that, like myself, she’d been in bed the night the third earthquake hit.

Unlike me, who stayed in bed, she said she gotten up, run into the bathroom, sat in the tub until she felt it was safe.

I never left the comfort of my bed. Of course, I couldn’t fall back asleep, so I browsed TikTok until I felt sleepy again …… three or more hours later.

Heading back to the complex, I pondered the idea of the bathtub being a safe place to seek shelter in an earthquake.

Going over it in my head, it seemed to me that should the building come down, the floor give away, I’d have the mattress at my back, nice soft pillows and quilts surrounding me; whereas, if the floor gave away and the tub fell, broke into pieces, the sharp edges of the tub's broken bits and pieces could be injurious.

Arriving back at the complex, I posed the question to Google …… "Is getting in the bathtub during an earthquake better than staying in bed?"

Google answered …… "No, generally staying in bed and covering your head with a pillow is considered safer than getting into the bathtub during an earthquake; the primary reason being that the bathtub offers little added protection from falling debris while getting out of bed could expose you to further danger during the shaking …… If you are in bed when an earthquake hits, stay there, lie face down, and cover your head and neck with a pillow".

Who wants to tell Next Door Neighbor?

Not me.

Now disturbed by thoughts of Elon still in my head, I decided to do something about it.

I had cotton fabric, freezer paper, ironed the two together to make paper I could run through the printer.

I found an image I could work with, printed the image onto the fabric side, pulled away the freezer paper.

Now having an image on fabric, I cut around the image, fit cotton fabric as a backing, pulled out my sewing machine and VOILÀ …… a voodoo doll.

Stuffed and edges completely sewn together, pins in his vacuous eyes, a pin straight through his cold dead heart, and he was ready to join his sidekick.

I feel better now.

"I Don't Know Who's Happier, Me or Melania"

Whichever of us is happiest, I'm pretty damn happy the jurors had the good sense and guts to find him guilty, but I'm still scared.

Consequently, I’m holding off on uncorking my bottle of champagne, or taking down my voodoo altar, or stop wearing my Lock Him Up tee until he’s actually in jail, or off the ticket, or not reelected, or recalled by the Infinite Invisible so I can feel safe.

I can’t wait to see what Randy Rainbow does with this guilty verdict.

In other news, John over at Going Gently, a few days ago posted about "looking like a twat" while visiting the Museo National Centro de Arte Sofia after ripping his pant leg on the corner of a door when entering.

I’d responded that inasmuch as people here in California pay good money for ripped pants ……… knees, hips, etc., that his rip was more than likely viewed as a fashion statement.

John then queried, "How about a fat ankle?"

Oh for sure, and these hideous Huckleberry Finn looking jeans that popped up on my feed are a prime example.

I don’t wear jeans, I’m a leggings woman. However, if one is so inclined, they can own these unflattering to the female figure jeans for $65.90.

Watching the Next Baking Master Paris on Food Network, I did see a pair of ripped jeans that I would wear ……… that is if I were to ever wear jeans again.

So cute, and probably cost a small fortune.

Speaking of Next Baking Master Paris, are you watching?

If so, did you make the same connection I made when one of the bakers became ill and had to bow out of a challenge?

That connection being that, while at the shop of the Baking Bastards, learning how to make those very rich buttery and chocolate ganache filled Croffins, she shoved two into her mouth and practically swallowed them whole.

Croffin: Cross between croissant and muffin

And For My Next Trick

A few days ago, Dawn the Bohemian displayed a voodoo doll in a casket on her site.

It was then I realized a casket was just what was needed for Inmate#P01135809’s voodoo doll, but the only miniature casket I could find large enough to fit his puffiness was plain, unfinished wood.

Not a problem, because it's amazing what a little leftover acrylic paint, scrapbook paper, and a fresh can of gloss sealant can do.

A-Tisket, A-Tasket, Inmate# P01135809 in a Casket.

Rest in Darkness You A-Hole

Rained In

Plan for today was to head back to the craft store, nab that coffee cup before they sell out — if they haven’t already, but it’s raining too hard to go anywhere.

The sky opening up, pouring out all this rain, is like an omen as to how I feel today’s election is going to end …… many of us in tears for years to come.

It rains so seldom here and, when it does, it’s not unusual to see it rain in the morning, see the sun come out in the afternoon, everything dry up to where one would never know it rained at all, so that can happen. However, barring a break in the rain, I won’t be able to make it to the craft store until Thursday.

Thinking I can probably just buy the cup online, I see I can … but not from that craft store because online is sold out already.

Evidentially, I ran up on this year’s hot ticket item.

Must be a lot of women out and proud about living the single lifestyle.

There was one other online option, but obviously the seller is aware the cup is a hot item, because he’s raised the price by an additional $15 over the craft store price.

That’s a nope for me.

Thinking back … when I abandoned my cart, I should have hidden the cup to be retrieved when I came back.

So, unless things change, Thursday will be my next try at that cup.

Speaking of lasts, today is the last day of Mildred’s 30 Songs in 30 Days Challenge, today’s challenge being "A song that reminds you of yourself".

Unlike my girl Lizzo, I was not born with confidence in myself — the "shine" she describes as causing those that come into her atmosphere to also shine.

I've slowly grown into my shine, have confidence in spades now, and this is how I currently see myself.

Not looking for a new challenge, I was nevertheless intrigued by TikTok’s Lucid Dream challenge.

The way it works is that when one is asleep, having a dream that feels vivid and real, but you know you’re dreaming, you are to attempt to interact with others in the dream — ask a question, preferably "What date is this?" or "What time is it?".

Some young people have reported success in asking the questions, with various reactions from those in the dream. However, I’m taking Judge Judy’s position on the veracity of young people these days — that "If their mouth is moving, they’re lying".

There is, however, one middle-aged guy who seemed credible when he said, upon asking his dream brother what time it was, he heard a head full of whispers that expressed concern he had become conscious and was starting to ask questions.

I found it terribly interesting and, inasmuch as most of my dreams are lucid, I’ve actually been working on trying to remember to ask the question for over a week, with little results. Except one time, when I realized I'd made it into the dream only to simultaneously become aware that I was inappropriately dressed.

Seated at a conference table with others, I was initially simply dreaming the dream, observing in a sleep state. Then I guess, it began to work that I became aware of dreaming and suddenly I myself was no longer observing but seated at the table.

At this point, I simultaneously became aware I was inappropriately dressed, had forgotten to put a blouse on, was seated in a bra; And not just ANY bra, but a brown bra that I actually own. Whereupon the woman seated on my right gave me a wrap to put around my shoulders, at which point I woke myself up from the dream altogether.

I think the bra thing was to block me/distract me. Consequently, succeeding in this challenge may take some time.

BTW, taking commenter Drum Major’s suggestion, that errant quilting needle now resides up the nose of No. 45’s voodoo doll … both the needle and thread that came with it.

No News is Good News

It’s been a quiet few days, and I like it like this.

There was an errand I’ve been wanting to run since after Friday’s workout, but the high winds sent me straight back to the complex and is keeping me inside. Winds so high that I could barely make it to the dumpster or mail center yesterday.

So, thus far, it's been a peaceful weekend of catching up on recorded TV programs, needlepoint, meditating, and thinking about how I could simplify my surroundings and/or move things around to display my latest acquisition.

My friend Q recently lost his partner Ron to a non-Covid related illness and thought I might like some of the items left behind in the china cupboard.

I did indeed.

So, after pondering, thinking, moving other things around in my mind, I find I can't squeeze them in. I need a bigger unit with more storage and display space.

Since that isn’t going to happen, unless and until I win the Lottery, looks like I’ll have to bubble wrap and put in storage.

I think what I have here are Vintage Black Americana Aunt Jemima salt/pepper shakers, cookie jar an Uncle Remus shaker and a nameless Chef.

Some find these collectibles offensive/racist.

I’m not that uptight.

In fact, I can remember back when the elementary school I attended offered summer arts/craft classes, and we painted ceramic figurines, I’d paint mine jet black.

Even now, I do needlepoints depicting Black and Brown people and, back when I was making mop dolls, I’d do their faces black, brown, beige.

I showed you the Black Cowgirl back in July, but my favorite mop doll is one that will display nicely with the Black Americana I received.

This doll, along with the cowgirl, and a kazillion other items, are in storage until, like I said, the Lottery comes along and I have more space.

Purging and Reading

Post pandemic, it’s not so easy to pass on books that I outgrew many moons ago, of a spiritual nature.

There’s always someone somewhere, starting off on the path, that can benefit from what I have, but reaching those persons isn’t as easy as it was pre-pandemic, when I could drop them off at a metaphysical bookstore or pile up on a table at one of my meditation retreats and watch them disappear into eager hands.

Meditation Retreats are a thing of the past, for now, and I don’t believe the books to be the type to donate to the local library, not to mention donating books to the library has now become a complicated process as well, and it appears the used bookstores I used to donate to are no longer in operation.

I reached out to a Meditation Center in Lincoln, Nebraska, run by an individual on the path I used to communicate with. His groups are pretty much closed down, but he’s going to check with a few folks he’s still in contact with to see if there’s any interest there.

It’s criminal to throw books away, especially books no longer in publication but, if some other way of disposal doesn’t present itself, I may end up committing that crime.

Reading back through that old journal, I’m surprised to see the work experience was far worse than I recall and though all the Witches were awful, Henrietta seemed to have been the main antagonist and the most disturbed.

Towards the end of 1990, she went bat $hit crazy. What follows is the excerpt about that.

"There was the time when I was learning to make mop dolls. When Henrietta saw the one I made for Shirlene’s birthday, Henrietta asked me if she could pay me to make one for her. I couldn’t tell Henrietta I was making her one for Christmas, so I stalled by saying I’d consider it after Christmas because I was going to be tied up making dolls as gifts until then".

"Then Connie asked me if she (Connie) could pay me to make a mop doll for her. I wasn’t making Connie a doll for Christmas, because Connie was not one of my bosses, so I let Connie purchase a doll. Henrietta saw Connie’s doll and got all tight lipped and yelled at me right in front of Connie, ‘I THOUGHT YOU WEREN’T GOING TO MAKE ANY FOR SALE!’. Connie and I were stunned and just stood there for a second with our mouths open in disbelief. Connie and I both were embarrassed, so Connie just quickly put her doll away and took it home that same evening, without showing it to anyone else in the office".

"Henrietta was so angry at me for making a doll for Connie that Henrietta punished me for 4 months running, right up until Christmas. Henrietta punished me to the point where I crossed the line and moved from pity, to uncomfortable, to dislike, to hatred for Henrietta. Whatever little bit of respect for Henrietta I had managed to hang onto up until then, just all flew out the window. Henrietta punished me to the point where my New Years Resolution was not to allow Henrietta to yell at me ever again — I actually wrote that down on my goals list — and I followed through with that. Whenever Henrietta started browbeating me after January 1 of 1991, I would simply get up from my desk and quietly walk away. In the interim, Henrietta punished me to where I didn’t even want to give Henrietta the damn doll I had made, but could find no graceful way of giving Joyce her gift without giving Henrietta one, but I made a vow to myself that it would be the last thing Henrietta ever got from me — and by God it was! And I also never again took anything from her, not even a lunch or a cookie, and anything and everything that was in my apartment Henrietta had ever given me was gotten rid of”.

"On that initial day when that particular period of Henrietta’s intense anger over the doll began, Henrietta was so mad at me that Henrietta walked around the entire rest of that day tight mouthed, and giving me those hard, nasty looks and spitting words at me. Henrietta was so angry that Henrietta had done a document earlier for Dan that she told me to attach a particular manila file to — which of course I did. Henrietta was walking around her office enraged and muttering to herself about Connie’s doll when Henrietta spotted a manila folder. Henrietta ran over to my desk and started berating me that ‘DIDN’T I TELL YOU TO blab bla bla !!’"

"I said I did give Dan the file. Henrietta sucked in her breath as though she couldn’t believe what a liar I was, got all puffed up and shouted, ‘I BEG YOUR PARDON!’ and proceeded to infer to my face that I was lying because ‘I HAVE THE FILE RIGHT HERE IN MY HAND!' I was shocked and in that semi dazed state I’m always in when Henrietta has beaten up on me non stop all day, so I just kinda said that I had given Dan the file she’d told me to give him, but that if she wanted me to also give him the file she held in her hands, I would. At that point, Henrietta opened the file, looked inside, and that confused embarrassed ‘why do I always do this’ look washed over her face, and Henrietta said ‘Never mind. This is just some old notes.’ Henrietta ran back into her office, sat in her chair staring off into space looking confused. As Henrietta was running back to her office, I heard her say to no one in particular ‘Why do I do this — what’s wrong with me?’”

What was wrong was she was insane. If that woman is still alive today, it would not surprise me to learn she’s institutionalized.

Did anyone hear her tirade?

You bet.

The Office Manager heard it, Henrietta's boss Jane — the Head Attorney heard it, as did other attorneys and secretaries. Everyone always heard, but it was an embarrassment for them, so no one in power wanted to get involved. The other attorneys would give me a sympathetic look, and the other secretaries did their best to avoid all contact with Henrietta. 

I don’t remember what Henrietta's mop doll looked like, but I usually personalized the dolls to fit the person’s skin tone, manner of dress, personality. For instance — if the person was into cats, everything would be the same insofar as dressing a regular doll, but I’d put a cat face on the doll and a tail. If the person wore glasses, I’d put glasses on the doll. Henrietta was a beoch, so I just can’t remember what I’d designed for her — it should have been a witch, but wasn’t.

If you’re unfamiliar with mop dolls, I have no photos of those I’ve made for others, but I do have a photo of one I made for myself.

17 Months 3,594+ Hours Later

I finally finished the needlepoint I’ve been working on, daily, for what seems like forever — the one for Twin 2.

The frame I ordered is way too big, so I’ll save the reveal for when the new frame arrives and this masterpiece is ready to be presented.

There will be none for other family members, because my girls are the only ones who can appreciate possessing something made by me. Cash is the only thing the grandkids treasure.

Back in the day, when fabric was cheap ─ which made it more economical to sew rather than purchase, I made most of what the girls wore.

They loved it, bragged “My mom made this” until they hit that period in life of not wanting to be matchy matchy twins.

Leftover fabric went into quilts for the two of them, which quilts the girls hung onto into adulthood.

These many years later, Twin 2 probably has her quilt in storage somewhere. Twin 1’s quilt was stolen when, at one point during her prodigal experience, she had to move back in with me when I was living in that now super expensive heart of town building with the loft.

The quilt had been washed, was in the laundry room dryer and, when Twin 1 returned to retrieve, it was gone … stolen.

She posted a notice in the laundry room, imploring the thief to return it, saying, “My mom made that quilt for me when I was a little girl”.

No go. The quilt was never returned.

What some people do, for no rational reason, astounds me.

A neighbor in that building said, when she’d removed her clothes from the dryer, her panties were gone. No kidding. Someone had gone through and stolen all her panties.

Weird as that seems, that is something I can understand, it had a reason. The thief was probably a panty sniffing pervert — though he wasn’t likely to get much out of clean ones. But the quilt was old and worn by then, so taking it made no sense whatsoever.

Even here ... we’ve been warned to stay with our clothes as they wash and dry in the laundry room, because someone was stealing sheets and towels.

Pathetic.

At any rate, though I won’t be making a needlepoint for anyone else, including granddaughter, I did make her a doll ─ when she was little which, surprisingly, she’s held onto.

Then

Now

Laundered so many times over the years, fabric old and worn, the doll needs a hair transplant, leg surgery, not to mention some clothes.

Though, I can and do occasionally sew, I’ve grown out of it and don’t like sewing that much. So, granddaughter will either have to find a doll hospital (do they still have those?) to do the surgery or learn to sew, fix it herself. 

Nowadays it’s the easy way out for me with granddaughter, and other family members other than my girls, which is cash for birthdays ─ though granddaughter hardly needs it now that she’s married to that rich white boy, and nothing for Christmas.

Speaking of dolls, the voodoo doll has three new additional pins. One in the head for Sandra, one in each knee for Dawn the Bohemian.

That guy has made so much trouble for himself, that sticking pins in a doll with his likeness seems redundant. From what I’m hearing on the news, if we really want to cause him grief, we only have to shout “Richard Nixon, Richard Nixon, Richard Nixon” at him. LOL.

I’d essentially put all other things around here on hold last two years, as I worked on first, that needlepoint project for Twin 1, then Twin 2. It now feels strange to not have a needle in my hands when sitting on the couch watching television. 

A multitasker by nature, I’m rarely doing just one thing ─ either simultaneously listening to/watching television while crafting or reading or browsing the internet, reading blogs, or on the computer entering data into my budget tracker or playing Candy Crush or checking video on tiktok.

So, It feels strange to now not be multitasking, needle in hand, but my hands won’t be needle-free for long, because I already have my next project at the ready.

However, I’m being strict with me — forcing myself to wait until I get caught up on, first, my neglected Creative Memory Album then a few other things that require updating, because I can get lost in needlepoint and never get anything else done for another few years.

I’ve already started in on sorting photos, trying to make sense of where they belong in the timeline, and it ain’t easy since photos are cued up as far back as late 2018, with no notations as to date.

The blog is helpful in that I’ve posted activities, with photos, can scroll back, match, and get a handle on things. In fact, waking up early this morning, I began browsing old posts, beginning November 2018, looking to match photos and ended up reading those old posts, cracking myself up, as I had no idea my day-to-day existence could be so entertaining. 

So, other than completing one project, starting in on another, and continuing to workout with trainer, I’m transfixed to CNN’s reporting on the after mat of the insurrection. 

It is so interesting to see the reaction of those tracked down by the FBI. 

Talk about having one’s white privilege bubble burst. 

When confronted by the FBI, they seem so surprised to be tracked down and for why. It’s like “What? … Me? … I’m no terrorist … I’m just a regular person”. One arrestee (Rick Saccone, the former Pennsylvania state lawmaker who handed his cell phone to his wife and recorded , ‘We are trying to run out all the evil people and RINOs that have betrayed our president’) said, when tracked down by the FBI, “We were just playing, having fun”.

People died, people were injured, terrorized, traumatized and “We were just playing, having fun”?

Listening to the politicians refusing to uphold their oath of office, either out of party affiliation or out of fear and a desire to appease their racists constituents ─ so they can keep their jobs, get reelected, it occurs to me these cowards are making the same mistake No. 45 made in satisfying the few, forgetting about the country as a whole.

Forgetting about people like me, who took no interest in politics, never voted before, satisfied to get along by going along so long as going along was somewhat tolerable. But then No. 45 gave a green light to the racists to openly show themselves, to the degree where going along became so egregious that people like me had no choice but to get involved ... vote. 

These complicit and cowardly politicians are repeating No. 45’s pattern, counting on the few, their racist constituents, and can ultimately kiss their careers goodbye. There are more good people than bad and those good people, together with minority voters who, like me, are now awake, will turn out, as they did with No. 45, and vote for the opponent, whether they like the opponent or not.

Watching all the protective measures set up for next Wednesday’s inauguration ─ the walls, the show of force, my thought is it’s too late. Especially since the threat is not only from the outside, but from the inside ─ members of congress themselves.

Twenty-Three Hours Later

No idea what time I finally fell asleep last night but, waking a little after 9 this morning, I still felt wired … speeding from the magic beans ingested at 10:00 yesterday.

I found myself whipping eggs for breakfast at an unusually fast pace, rushing here doing that, rushing there doing that, cooking, cleaning, organizing, shredding, all at the same time.

It was a VERY productive morning.

Deciding to take advantage of the momentum, I thought it a good time to give minimizing another go – tackle all the things I couldn’t let go of through previous minimizing sessions.

With the idea of moving light -- when I eventually do move, I had been trying to employ a technique which called for tossing one thing a day.

You can’t imagine how hard that is to do. I’d look at an item not serving a purpose and think … but it’s so pretty or it might come in handy one day or someone in the family might want it as a memento after I’m gone or, as in the case of dozens of t-shirts, I might turn them into a quilt one day.

High on magic beans, items look less pretty, handy, like anything anyone in my family would want, and I’ve been using that “quilt” line for as many years as I can remember, so out went eight empty perfume bottles and Mop Dolls I’d made so many years ago that I can’t even tell you.

I thought about taking the dolls to the Salvation Army but, except for two – which I’m keeping, the dolls just didn’t look pretty or sturdy enough, so I bagged ‘em and took to the dumpster.

If the dolls are to survive and be wanted by anyone, I’m leaving it up to the Dumpster Diving Resident to resuscitate and do whatever.

These are the two I’m keeping.

Out also went the dozen or so Starbucks paper carry bags I’d kept … because why? … especially since I have two of their cloth carry bags.

Out also went miscellaneous items usable not to me, but to someone, such as a table lamp I really liked but, after 5 years of searching, I’d been unable to find a replacement shade for after the original became damaged.

Inasmuch as Nurse Ratched will not allow us to have yard sales, when we have usable items, us residents place items in the area around the dumpster, instead of IN the dumpster.

Nothing I’ve ever left there has ever lasted more than a few minutes, and once I looked back and saw a guy walking away with a wooden coffee cup holder I’d just seconds ago placed.

I had to laugh when, typing this post, I looked up and spied a familiar item in the window across the quad.

It’s the lamp.

LOL.

I’ll let granddaughter pick through the t-shirts, see if anything there she wants, and donate the remainder.

The effect of yesterday’s magic beans didn’t wear off until around 2:00 this afternoon.