Big Changes

Laura dropped by, with a bouquet of flowers. She called me, a month or so ago, to announce she was back, no longer in Greece. She ended her term prematurely, for two reasons. Her asthma, souvenir of one of her several bouts with Covid, seriously inhibited the twenty minute uphill hike from her residence to her classes. And, she was homesick.

She still intends to go to Australia, "which will be very different," but first she has fences to mend and bridges to rebuild with her university advisors. This won't happen for at least a year.

Well, the towels sure are winding down. I began probably my next to last set of towels, garnet. I love this color, and my fond memories of childhood vacations, squatting in North Carolina creeks with my dad, looking for garnets. Fun little stones. My grandma had a garnet necklace I really admired. I'm sure it wound up with my cousin, who never understood that his grandma had another set of grandchildren!

The garnet I started this morning, after a serious round of housekeeping. The only task I cannot do well is to vacuum, and I set about doing laundry, and folding and putting it away, emptying wastebaskets, cleaning sinks, blablabla, with determination.

This is all that is left of that warp Caroline and I wound on last January. Enough for the garnet towels, and possibly a few more cream towels. The black towels are done, on the web site and on the shelf.

In less boring news, I must give you an update on life at the Atrium, a year and three months later. In spite of that time, it's still hard to believe I am stepping out the door into Portage County, not Summit County. It is half an hour to forty five minutes back to anywhere I need to go in Summit County. And since most of those "needs" are doctor appointments, I decided some time ago to find doctors who practice closer to home.

I saw the first of these "new" doctors Friday, a new kidney doctor. He told me I presented well, certainly not like an eighty year old. Who recommended me to him, he wanted to know. And I told him he'd met my basic requirement, the first available appointment when I'd called scheduling, months ago. 

He warned me about trusting to luck. And I told him another requirement had been fulfilled when I scheduled a new primary. The scheduler told me the first primary available next February was Mary Grace..."Tell me no more," I said. Mary Grace Charisma, repeated the scheduler. When I finally looked it up, the spelling is totally different. But who cares.

And last, and least, a look from my window (and Kitty's):

My green area grows smaller and smaller. That's not just a drive way to the two back doors. It's a parking area for about five cars.

Table talk

I've been here something over a year. That and a contentious election helped me settle a couple of issues. Last fall I approached the activities director to see if she could help me sort the more liberal from the more conservative. Her response was to pull up her tortoise shell. All the residents are old, she said, and mostly more conservative. Hell's bells. I could deduce at least half of that for myself.

Conversation around our dinner table was friendly, non committal and restrained after my outburst about forced vaccinations. Then one evening Rose and I lingered after Betty left. Margaret was semi gone; she moved to a condo with her daughter, but seemed to be here all the time, with Frank.

In short order Rose confessed she was voting for both the abortion right and marijuana consumption bills on the November ballot. I confess it was wonderful to hear that from someone ten and more years older than I. I know Marilyn, my next door neighbor, and Madi, a floor mate, agree, but I don't have opportunity to be together as much with them.

And now both bills have passed, and reproductive rights are a constitutional right in Ohio, our Republican legislature is having none of it. The mildest remark has been it all must be tested in the courts. But the extreme right position is to overturn it or ignore it. So, the fight goes on. I wonder how many more liberals I'll turn up.

My sister made a quilt for Kitty. She diabolically used a wool batt to quilt the little thing. We both know, from a long history with cats and wool, they find it irresistible. I was not here, and Kitty chose to hide when Jan delivered her little goodie. When I came in:

And after supper, when Kitty usually is busy at play,

I bought Kitty a bed, a sung little igloo (in size large), and set it up on the other end of her sofa. The next morning I found it in an ignominious lump on the floor. Not only dumped, but beat up. Tomorrow Jan is bringing a new quilted igloo floor with wool batt to fit the bottom of Kitty's new room. We'll see.

Better luck next time

Yesterday I made a list of all I wanted done. Top of the list, "Ask Diana how to use the new washing machine." It was my day for housecleaning, my best opportunity to find Diana and myself near the machine at the same time. It's pretty much the opposite of the old machine. Instead of turning on the machine last, turn it on first. That activates the panel to make the selections.

It was a fairly long list of mundane jobs I would forget or overlook otherwise. Get gas. Pick up script. Etc. The job I didn't put down, because of course I would remember it: Put snow scraper in car.

I pass it on the way to the door. Easy peasy. I needed a new snow scraper because the old snow scraper went to Minnesota, with the Subaru. Did I remember it? No! Did it snow? Yes!

The good news is I have nowhere to go for a week, and after the weather gets over snowing, then rain, it will be sunny for a few days. And yes, it is an unholy trash mess out there, as we go into the second winter of construction. In my lifetime there will be a lovely green courtyard from out the window!

Kitty now is the mistress of most of her domain. She holds her post on the sofa no matter who comes through the door. She watches them carefully, and only leaves if the new person approaches with outstretched hand. Fair or foul, she leaves. And petting still does not please her. One stroke and she leaves. She also leaves for the vacuum cleaner, the other intolerable intruder.

I guess she's also in charge of me. I've quit buying what I think she will like and stick to what I know she will like. The banana toy, for example. It's just a fabric banana stuffed with catnip. She loves it. Oh, great, I thought, and bought a fabric pickle, stuffed with catnip. Total disdain. 

The old banana is worn out, chewed flat. I bought a new new banana toy. It's being thrown about the living room at this moment.

Muffins and more

I learned over the summer that my sister Jan had fallen into the apple sauce muffin trap. First, on a trip to Amish country last summer, she wound up with a lot of apples. In her amble in an apple orchard, she picked up a peck of apples. When she returned to the car, or more accurately, when Tom returned to the car, too, it turned out they had three pecks of apples. Or maybe four, I don't remember.

At home, she made apple sauce. And apple pie and apple crisp. And more apple sauce. Then she heaved a great sigh, bought a supply of half pint jars, and began canning applesauce. I heard Tom enjoyed the apple sauce and occasionally had a jar for lunch. She gave me a little jar, and it was darn good. (I must return the little jar!)

Then she told me Tom asked again for apple sauce muffins. Talk of nostalgia. When Mom was still alive, up to 1989, she made me a dozen apple sauce muffins to take to a show. They were my breakfast, and supplemented cheese sandwiches for lunch.

The muffins are made with apple sauce, oatmeal, raisins, some cinnamon. Fortunately Jan knows the recipe; I don't. However, I think that is the basic recipe. No flour, no sugar, no shortening. Or as an exhibitor friend who took one for breakfast said, "women always know how to put a days worth of essentials down your throat by breakfast!"

One day I came in from an appointment and found a dozen muffins on my counter. I also found a message on the phone:  "I left muffins on your counter!" I called at once to thank her. I had one for lunch every day. The day I ate the last muffin I also called her because I hadn't had a word with her since the day the muffins appeared. 

We caught up the news and then she said "How are your muffins doing?" and I had to confess the last one was gone. "Well, you're muffin-worthy," she said. And today I had a text, "I'm on the way over with more muffins." Since I seldom read my texts, I had no idea until there was a knock on the door, and Jan with a dozen muffins.

I'm down to one table mate at dinner this week, Rose Marie. Rose is a tiny little lady with snow white hair, who uses a bright red Rolator style walker. In good weather she tries to take a daily walk and generally goes around the building. Two sides of that walk involve public sidewalk. Yesterday Rose told me that as she came up along the side road a car pulled off the road beside her and asked "What are you doing here?"

"I live here," from Rose. "But what are you doing outside?" "Taking a walk!" said Rose and proceeded on her very slow way. The woman exited her car and confronted Rose. "Should you be outside?"  Rose realized she thought she was a Memory Care or Assisted Living resident, and told her the very large building behind her was the  Independent Living facility, where she lived. Rose isn't sure she convinced the woman, who thankfully left. Probably to go around the corner and call The Atrium.

Long ago, in a chat about my weaving days, I published this picture. In the olden days we applied to shows with slides of our work. Here is my photographer's model wearing one of the shirts in a size too large. Sigh. Anyway, this was "cool" in the '80's and '90's. There is no describing the "feel" of the cotton fabric. It had great hand.

I know the work of many artist friends from thirty, forty, fifty years ago routinely comes up for sale on EBay, but I never considered Jan's and my work to be that sort of stuff. It was way more "feel good" than artistic. 

Imagine my surprise when my daughter texted me this:

This seller knows nothing about presentation! Grrrrr. This is a lovely jacket, and looks nice hanging, without the wrinkles. The hem hangs even; I know, I pulled every thread for the straight of grain. I even painted the blue wooden buttons. Forty years ago we sold this jacket for about $125. Beth found it on EBay for $225, down from $250. I'll keep an eye on it and let you know.

Good grief

Next Tuesday, then again in November vaccines will be administered here. That is excellent, save the page of tiny print we have to fill out. So much of it runs together, I think it is unintelligible. So I will take my wallet of cards with me. They can white out and re-enter the info, though why it cannot all be done on a tablet I don't know. We all are quite adept at signing electronically--I think.

Another weekend has come around. As none of my relatives has offered some recreation, I guess I'll stick with slipping in my load of laundry on Sunday morning. I thought I'd rustle up Ruth and arrange a lunch at the Cabin. But I found her without car, as I had been early in the week. My problem was resolved on the day, but hers awaits a part. So, I'll wait for her call.

I think I must order a small, cozy bed for Kitty. She is making herself crazy trying to build a nest behind some of my studio shelving. Far be it from me to argue with an eight year old street cat. She will only sleep under the goose duvet when I am not here. She won't sleep on it. For one night she slept at my feet, and I thought Hooray, settled. But I guess it didn't suit, and nothing has since. 

All summer Kitty contented herself with the furniture, the sofa, a chair, my desk chair. But now that it's growing colder, she's on the hunt. Last year's winter nest of a carpet on a shelf is turned down this winter, and she's busy pulling my shipping envelopes down behind the shelving, trying to fashion a nest. I guess I must intervene.

In other news, romance is in the air. A former dinner mate, Margaret, now dines exclusively with Frank. Her former dinner mates are kicked to the curb, as is said. Both arrived here about the same time last winter. Margaret was seated at our table. Frank sat next to me in exercise class and we introduced ourselves. 

Frank told me his very first girlfriend, in the third grade, was named Joanne. But then Margaret recruited him to help her campaign for that supermajority constitutional amendment, and he went to sit by her. I figured it was just a pick up line, but I never did ask Margaret what his first girlfriend was named. And the supermajority need for an amendment failed. 

 In good news, remember Craig and Debbie? Craig has been carrying around a wedding band in his pocket since forever, and can't get her to say yes. Well, they are getting married, right here at the Atrium, in January, and we're all invited. He's one smiling man.