A Character Study from my CCC: Alphabet Soup and Social Glue

Some people reveal themselves slowly, like novels that take a few chapters to settle in. Others arrive fully formed — bright, unmistakable, and impossible to ignore. In this week’s dispatch from life inside a continuum care community, Jean turning her observational lens toward one such resident: a woman whose energy, quirks, and kindness shape the social weather of the place. What begins as a simple invitation to a “J Party” becomes a character study of the sort of neighbor who keeps a campus stitched together with birthday cards, gossip, and a surprising amount of alphabetical desserts… AI

Last night I went to a “J Party.” What’s that, you ask? So did I when I was first heard about it. Before I explain, let me backtrack a little.

When I first meet people, I make snap decisions about them — whether I’m going to like that person or not. Over time, as I’ve gotten to know people, I can’t think of a single time I’ve changed my mind about that first impression. Call me stubborn and judgmental or insightful and intuitive; I don’t care which. I’m just stating a fact about my character.

When I first met our resident cheerleader here on the continuum care campus, I didn’t know she’d actually been one in high school and college. I didn’t know she’d spent most of her career as a kindergarten teacher or that she’d been married more times than our current president. I didn’t know she’d be the kind of neighbor who makes sure everyone in the building gets handmade birthday cards, or that she’d be the one who puts a basket in our mail room to collect cards when someone is in the hospital or when a resident passes away. All I knew was that I liked her from the first moment we met, and I gave her the Cheerleader nickname.

Later on I gave her a second nickname: The Ambassador. If our concierge is not at her desk, the Cheerleader jumps up from a dinner or lunch table to help visitors find who (or what) they’re looking for. She knows everyone’s apartment number. And if the stranger is a Looky-Loo, she’ll know everything there is to know about them by the time they walk out the door. Call her nosy or curious — I go back and forth on that one.

The only thing about her that annoys me is her attitude about people from the neighborhood who walk our 40 acre campus to enjoy our woods and lake. She’s not alone; a few others here think that because we pay the taxes and upkeep on the property, strangers shouldn’t be allowed to walk our roads and sidewalks. They even campaigned to get signage put up declaring our campus private property. Those of us on the other side of the debate were delighted when the signs didn’t slow down the dog walkers, joggers and nature lovers. And heaven forbid she sees someone put a bag of dog poop in one of our trash cans — I’ve seen her more than once get up from a meal and run outside to confront them. But as foibles go, if this is the worst thing I can say about a person, then give me a whole building full of like-personalities.

Now onto the “J Party.” Ms. Cheerleader has this weekly project where she’s working her way through the alphabet by inviting people whose names begin with the same letter to dinner in our dining room, followed by dessert in her apartment. Last night it was the “J” table. There were six of us: three Jeans and three Judys, plus our host. She served jello in fancy footed champagne glasses. For the “D” table she served donuts. The “B’s” got brownies.

I’ve known all the other Jeans and Judys for a long time, but it surprised me how different our conversation was when we didn’t have to worry about eavesdroppers. We laughed a lot, gossiped a little, and got the ten‑minute tour of Ms. Cheerleader’s apartment. She was quick to point out her twin-size bed: “When I moved here,” she proudly announced, “I decided I was through sharing a bed with a man!” I didn't share the fact that I went from a twin to a full-sized bed when I moved in, I guess, out of  fear she'd erroneously read something into that decision.

Not surprising, Ms. Cheerleader's place was as blonde as she is — her hair is long and champagne-colored, her skin very fair with pale blue eyes that match the accent color of her decor. Even her carpeting and living room furniture are white. We didn’t sit in there to drink our non-alcoholic sparkling red grape juice, for which I was grateful.

Why? That same afternoon I got my stitches out and I acquired an awkward splint on my dominant pointer finger. Eating and drinking was — and will be — a challenge for the next four weeks. I haven’t mentioned this before, but two weeks ago I had the arthritis scraped out of a joint, the joint fused together, and a screw put down the middle of my finger from its tip to just short of the knuckle. Two years ago that same joint had surgery to remove a myxoid cyst. I felt silly going to the surgical center for these procedures — it’s so First World at a time when so many others around the globe are living with hardships of wars, wildfires, and other devastating conditions beyond their control. But I’d put up with getting jabbed with a jolt of pain every time I typed, picked up a pen, or opened a cupboard door long enough. And not getting it done wasn’t going to help anyone else. Ms. Cheerleader has been concerned about my finger from the get-go. She kept threatening to put googly eyes on my bandages and now on my splint.

The social makeup of places like my CCC is mostly shaped by the people who live in them. We are lucky to have a woman like Ms. Cheerleader here. And if you’re looking for a similar place to move, ask if there are any retired kindergarten teachers in residence. I’d bet money they all have the same, engaging glow and playful energy — and a stash of silly sweaters for every holiday.

Should I do more posts like this? I can't decide. All I know for sure is that small portraits like this — the quirks, the kindnesses, the odd habits — are part of what gives this community its heartbeat. And if nothing else, writing word pictures of my neighbors reminds me that even in a place where we’re all in the same stage of life, there’s no shortage of characters worth noticing. ©

Until Next Wednesday.

 After surgery.

 

Before the stitched came out.

The splint I have to wear until August 24th.

Covid on Campus and Exercise Woes

Thursday morning I sat waiting for the results of a rapid-Covid test because a married couple here on the continuum care campus has it and is under quarantine. Contact tracing of their whereabouts put them within one degree of someone I sat next to at a recent meal and she’d been in their unit with them the day before they got sick. The dining areas in both restaurants were closed (until Monday) and that night they got thoroughly cleaned which included the use of a large ultrasonic UV-C cleaning machine that the company describes at a “dual emitter UV-C sterilizer specifically designed to work in tandem to emit germ deactivating UV energy.” It supposedly cleans the very air we breathe and every surface with lights so strong you can’t look at it without special goggles thus it’s done during times when all good little soldiers are no where around. It’s same machine they use to disinfect airplanes and hospitals. The management applied for a special grant to buy it and this was the first time it was used.

Everything on our calendar got canceled for Thursday including I was supposed to get my apartment cleaned in the morning and I set my alarm at the crack of dawn to be ready for the guy. But he’s the only one trained on our new ultrasonic UV-C machine so I’ve been put on hold while he gears up for being The Germ Terminator. By the end of the day when the results of everyone’s rapid covid tests were known we all breathed a sigh of relief because they proved that the only ones with it are the couple with covid symptoms plus three others who’d been in close contact and tested positive but they don’t have symptoms. All are under house arrest until they test negative again. And yes, the One Degree Woman was one of "the three others."

The rest of us could resume normal routines but masks and public distancing through out the place are required and we can only get our food in to-go boxes until Monday. I’ve already gotten my first boxed meal and it was so good I wouldn’t mind emergence rations every day. In the box was a thick steak to die for (poor choice of words considering), mashed potatoes and broccoli. All we had to do is place an order by phone from a three item menu and then pick it up 30 minutes later, disregarding the normal 11:30 to 1:00 and 4:00 to 7:00 hours when the kitchen is generally serving.

Topic Change: When I moved into this place in October my weight had dropped eight pounds due to the packing and unpacking and forgetting to eat during those craziness days but the holidays put them right back on again. So I dug out my I-pod with my treadmill playlist and I’ve been on that machine every day for the past five days. Going to a gym that is virtually across the hall is handy and when I get off the treadmill I walk the distance of our hall and back to Helen Reddy singing I am Woman and that always makes me feel like---well, I could do anything. Anything but stay on that treadmill for that last song on my playlist...but I'll get there. 

I have such a love/hate relationship with exercise---mostly the latter. I love the fact that it helps me lose weight but I have to work myself up to do it, get thoroughly disgusted with myself. It just doesn’t stick as life style routine. Never has, never will. It’s always been punishment for being fat from the time I was 14 and my mom took me to my first gym aka fat camp where one of the things they did to me was wrap me in wet cloth and stick me in a sauna.

There’s a woman here who is a perky and petite blonde who I nicknamed The Cheerleader the first time I saw here at a tailgate party. She was knitting and throwing her arms up in the air often enough that I was sure she was loosing stitches. Turns out she really was a cheerleader in both high school and college. Married the star quarterback. Divorced the star quarterback. Then she married twice more, both times apparently to nice guys who ended up dying on her. She’s an exercise fiend. She’s always got her Nordic poles with her walking her little feet off outside inside, good weather and bad weather. She says it’s her job to stay healthy and walking with her Nordic poles keeps her arm bones strong. She doesn’t believe in popping pills like I do for my bones. I don’t believe in spending several hours a day doing something I’d absolutely hate.

It the past I had the typical stereotype for cheerleaders in my head---stuck up and shallow---but our cheerleader is nothing like that. Whenever someone new walks into to the cafe` or the lobby she’s on them with a greeting---a regular little welcome wagon. She’s not the least bit shy which I both admire and recoiled from at first. I kept looking for a hidden agenda like maybe she’s noisy and her perky little welcome wagon covered that up. But, nope, she genuinely seems to care about people. For example when she found out I like art she told me about the art professor living here and she made sure to point her out to me when we happened to all be at the same dinner table. The Cheerleader does that sort of thing all the time, matches people up with like interests.

There are two people here on campus who are tuned into what everyone else is doing, and The Cheerleader one of them. If you want to know something you know who to ask. But the two of them are opposing forces. Our cheerleader is all about spreading positive energy and the other is all about spreading discontent.

Since I wrote the above I got a request from the management to go to the office to get a second Covid test because contact tracing---again---put me at a party earlier in the month where someone in attendance just tested positive. I passed this test too, but it makes me want to google where I can get a bi-hazardous suit so I can socialize without fear that we're playing Russian Roulette.  ©

My latest 600 piece jigsaw puzzle, started is Saturday night, finished Monday morning. Fairly easy but still fun and different than others.