“Not in Assisted Living (Yet): Dispatches from the Edge of Independence!

Welcome to my World---Woman, widow, senior citizen seeking to live out my days with a sense of whimsy as I search for inner peace and friendships. Jeez, that sounds like a profile on a dating app and I have zero interest in them, having lost my soul mate of 42 years. Life was good until it wasn't when my husband had a massive stroke and I spent the next 12 1/2 years as his caregiver. This blog has documented the pain and heartache of loss, my dark humor, my sweetest memories and, yes, even my pity parties and finally, moving past it all. And now I’m ready for a new start, in a new location---a continuum care campus in West Michigan, U.S.A. Some people say I have a quirky sense of humor that shows up from time to time in this blog. Others say I make some keen observations about life and growing older. Stick around, read a while. I'm sure we'll have things in common. Your comments are welcome and encouraged. Jean

Wednesday, June 15, 2022

Rat Race Week and Bickering old Women


I made it through what I’ve been calling Rat Race Week. A week when I had ten commitments stacked up: Book club, mahjong, a lecture about NATO and a follow-up appointment for my cataract surgery, my annual bone density test, a haircut, a blood draw and an ultrasound screening test for stroke risk, aneurysms and peripheral arterial disease plus my second appointment with my new financial advisor. Added in the mix was a last minute invitation to go downtown to an art show and because the Ring Master of Rat Race Week didn’t think I was busy enough he threw in the unpredictable---two fire alarms, two days in row and a washing machine that quit working in the middle of a cycle. 

The first fire alarm was caused by someone taking a long, hot shower and the steam setting off the alarm. A maintenance man with a couple of firemen close on his heel burst into the woman’s door using a pass key but with an axe handy in case that didn’t work which put the fear in all of us regarding taking long, hot showers. And doing them naked if we do. The second fire alarm was harder for the fire department to assess and they were all over the buildings trying to figure out what caused the alarm to go off. They finally concluded it was caused by the maintenance men who were power blowing and washing our underground parking lot. It took over an hour of it annoying everyone with ears before the alarm company was able to talk our maintenance men through disconnecting the main system because even the fire department couldn’t over ride it this time---the dirt in a smoke alarm fried the unit. Thankfully that happen the morning I had to get up early for my blood draw so I was dressed properly for standing on the sidewalk. 

My follow up for my cataract surgery went as well as could be expected. I didn’t see the surgeon, knew I wouldn’t as another doctor does most of her pre-op and post-op appointments. He says in a year I’ll probably need laser surgery for tissue that has already started growing over the artificial lens. I didn’t know that could happen but I guess they do the laser thing in the office and it’s no big deal. My sight in my left eye with the macular pucker still sucks, but I did get a prescription for computer glasses which should simplify my life. Finding the right space to look through on trifocals is a constant and annoying series of head bobbing. He also gave me a sample of over-the-counter drops for dry eye that are supposedly easier to get in your eyes because the container is softer to squeeze. I do 3-4 drops for every one I get in.

The blood draw should have been simple but when I got to the blood lab I used just a month ago it was closed down permanently and they sent me to an urgent care I’d never been to. I am not good with driving changes like that in parts of town unknown to me and in the morning rush hour to boot. But I did it and the results were waiting on my patient portal before I got back home. If I was a doctor I’d be ordering me an iron infusion but I’m not so I’ll have to wait and see what happens next. At least I’m finished with blood tests until late July when I’ll need them for my bone infusion treatment.

That same morning I got invited to go to an art show downtown and out for ice cream afterward with four others from my CCC. I didn’t really want to go because by then---Friday night---I knew I’d be dead tired but it was the first invitation I've gotten to go off campus so I didn’t think it was wise to turn it down. I did managed to stay a wake and not drop my ice cream cone in my lap. 

It was also the day my washing machine quit working with an error message that the filter needed changing. I’ve never had a washer with a filter before so I dug out the manual to figure out where it was but I couldn’t get the little door off to get at the trap. I called maintenance. It was the end of the day so they sent someone who’d never done it before and it took him over a half hour and a YouTube video to get the damn little door open. When he finally got to the filter and unscrewed it water flooded my laundry room. So I’m grabbing towels to soak up the water and wondering why he didn’t have common sense enough to screw the thing back in until I could find something to catch the water draining out. You can’t yell at a maintenance man like you would a husband so I kept that thought to myself. 

That was late Friday afternoon and the clothes I wanted to wear to the art show never made it on my back. One of the other ladies I went with had the same thing happen to her with the filter shutting down the machine and water all over the floor. But another woman in the car kept insisting her machine stops all the time, too, but if you just wait it will start up again. Hint: I met my match in the bullheaded department. I kept insisting this was different, that all machines appear to stop/pause before they change cycles but when the filler needs cleaning you could wait for a month and it’s not going to start up again and she kept laughing, while insisting I didn’t wait long enough. The other woman in the car who’d had a filter problem too was smart and dropped out of the bickering contest when even the fact that the machines flash an error messaging wasn’t getting through to the woman. "I'm not in the laundry room when it stops and starts up again to see any messages." The whole thing was like living in a Golden Girls skit and I was Dorothy trying to reason with Rose. I wish I had apologized to the group for my surliness, though, with one of Sophia’s famous lines: “Forgive me [for bickering], I haven’t had sex in 50 years and it’s starting to get on my nerves.” 

Oh and what was in the filter? A Color Catcher sheet which brought on another round of crazy talk. Two of us use them and the other three didn’t have a clue what they are. ©

Saturday, June 11, 2022

Do Bold Things, Live Large---or Not

It’s Saturday morning and I should be half finished with writing a post for next week but inspiration isn’t coming. I have a file of possible topics to write about when my muse leaves me and even that file is uninspired. It’s filled with poems and half written posts---some I just deleted because their timing has come and gone. Also in that file I’d bookmarked several pages at Advanced Style Magazine. That internet based fashion blog for older women both fascinates me and revolts me at the same time. I would never in a hundred years dress like those women but I’d love to have the self confidence to do it, not to mention the money. It would cost a fortune to come up with the costume quality of their unique looks day after day as they walk the streets of New York.

Sue Kreitzman (photo above) was born a year after I was and is the author of many cookbooks. She's also a pop-culture artist who’s been featured a time of two at Advantage Style and she says when she leaves the house she wants to take her art with her and she likes to push the envelope to one step below looking like a clown. In an i-D Vice article about Sue they included a CCN video tour of her New York apartment and I don’t know about you, but it would drive me to Crazyville to live with that Colorful Clutter Fest. (When I'm not trying to be a Nice Nancy, I'd call her apartment a hoarder's nest.) I do admire her philosophy of life, though, but I couldn’t live it. “Be bold, be adventurous. Do profound things, dazzle yourself and the world. Contribute to society, and live large. Life is short, make every moment count. It is never too late to find your passion.”

My passion at the moment is watching the first squirrel I’ve seen since I moved here last October. The complex just put landscape bark down around some steam vents opposite my den window and the Fox squirrel is having a grand old time digging it up to find nuts that he then goes all over our green space to find a place to relocate the nuts underground. One nut, though, he took to our piazza which is all cement except for a 2’ x 10’ strip of bark around some shrubbery. And that’s where the little ‘genius’ choose to bury it. Another time he took a nut on a full tour of the green space only to come back to bury the thing two feet from where he found. Inquiring minds want to know how did the squirrel know to come across the green space from the woods beyond to look for nuts in the bark?

Back to Sue. She says something else that I find amusing: “I am not really an old lady, just cleverly disguised as one.” You can bet money that I’ll find a way to work that into a conversation around here and that’s about as profound and bold as I’m getting these days. Except for the fact that I’ve been eating my lunch alone on the piazza lately so who knows how long I’ll have to wait to say it. Others here say it’s too hot out there but for someone who is always cold from anemia it feels great even if occasionally it’s like eating in a wind tunnel. The piazza overlooks a lake and the wind coming across it blew the sunglasses right off my face once and chair cushions from the decks that over look the piazza are routinely banged up against the resident’s glass doors.
According to the IT guy the wind is responsible for the bad TV reception in the lakeside apartments. It cuts in and out. I love hearing the cons about owning one of those apartments with the fabulous views. It keeps my jealousy at bay. The wildlife they get to see every day, all day long is like a stop at Diary Queen or Starbucks to me---an occasional treat. I’ve got the squirrel. They’ve got swans, geese, ducks, herons, egrets, turtles bigger than dinner plates, three foot koi, hawks and harriers. 
Do bold things, live large. That advice from Sue sounds good but its not that easy to follow and I question if people who are "on" all the time, who are always looking for the next bold thing to do, might be trying too hard to be happy? I would also question if anyone whose living space is a hoarder’s nest is truly happy. Sue’s apartment is a colorful, well organized hoarder's nest that gets photographed and praised because she's well known but so was Howard Hughes before his eccentric behavior, his obsessive-compulsive disorder took over his life. Rich hoarders fascinate us but poor hoarders who live in gray mountains of plastic bottles and old newspapers we report to our the zoning boards.
One might make a solid case for there being a difference between hoarding and collecting. According to the Mayo Clinic website the difference is that collectors search for specific items where a hoarder can’t part with anything. Sounds good on paper but I say there is a lot of overlapping of the two. Haven’t we all seen collections that have taken over someone’s life? Doll collectors, Avon bottles back in the day. Someone living here has over 200 blue bottles in her one bedroom unit. 
We knew an artist once who saw beauty and value in broken things. He wanted a worn out broom my husband took off his street sweeper because he saw it as the body of mythical creature/sculpture. A few years later that artist was fighting with the zone board because his rusty metal sculptures took over his yard. All marked for sale, but marked so high no one would buy them. We had tried to buy the dragon with the old street sweeper body but the artist kept raising the price because he couldn't let his 'baby' go even knowing the city was breathing down his neck to get rid of it all. I suspect that’s true of a lot of the 'art' in Sue’s apartment. ©

 Photo at top by Michele Martinali

Wednesday, June 8, 2022

Descending Down into Octogenarian Madness

 
I’ve been wanting a travel coffee cup since summer finally settled in and I saw people here on campus walking around with their insulated drink containers which coincided with the time I published the blog post, Coffee Cups and Great Books. In that post I outed my deceased husband’s passion for message cups and I revealed my dark desire to label myself a writer without using an adjective qualifying the term. Yadda, yadda, yadda. An anonymous commenter then left an Etsy link and off I went to spend the next two days shopping the bejeeies out of the message cups and travel mugs market. I was all over the internet like a dog with a new bone. (Some writer I am, using a tired metaphor like that one.) Who would have ever guessed you can get so many cups and mugs with words that label the owner as a blogger or a writer? My favorite ones---in the order I like them---are geared for bloggers:
 
Skilled Enough to be a Blogger and Crazy Enough To Love It
It’s not just Blogging it’s a Way of Life
Blogging Makes me Happy
I’m a  Blogger, what’s your Superpower?
Blogging is Kind of my Thing
Being a Blogger is Easy. It’s like Riding a Bike only the Bike is on Fire…
Eat. Sleep. Blog
 
The thought of my new finance planner putting me on a monthly budget makes we want to buy all seven---one for every day of the week---in case I have to curb my frivolous spending too much once he hands me The Plan. (Did I mention I went on a mini buying binge at L.L Bean and Lands' End, too, just in case I don’t like what’s coming from the guy?) But the fear of my blog being discovered by my neighbors should someone see me walking about with one of those cups in hand or on my deck table keeps me from ordering any of them. So I spent a half hour trying in vein to find my blog on the internet with only my full name and the word ‘blog’ to go on. Thanks to a very famous person who shares my name any reference to me or my various blogs have got to be a zillion pages back on Google. In conclusion, I could probably stand in the center of our green space and shout that I'm a blogger and no one would care or could find me if they did. Still....
 
I ended up getting a 14 oz, stainless steel travel mug that says “Writing is my Drug of Choice.” I figure I can walk around with that ambiguity and when people ask what kinds of things I write I’ll say, “Whatever crosses my mind” which is true but if pressed I might mention the three times I’ve taken part in the ‘National Write a Novel in a Month’ event and how I once achieved making the 50,000 word mark and another year getting close to it. I’ve been thinking a lot about doing the NaWriNoMo again. In fact after the coffee cup and mug shopping binge I woke up in the middle of the night with that exact thought pushing its way to my conscious mind as I walked to the bathroom and back.
 
God help me, I’m even thinking about setting the novel in an independent living apartment building. Hint, hint a thinly disguised, fictionalized version of my life only with a plot. I’ve never been good at plotting so it’s a good thing I have from now to November to get an outline of one sketched out. And with that in mind I’m tempted to buy the cup that says, “Please do not Annoy the Writer. She may put you in a Book and Kill you.” That would a fun inside joke to walk around with on campus, wouldn’t it. I’ve gone so far as to bookmark that cup to buy should I decide to do NaWritNoMo again. The last times I did it were 2015 and 2013. It's a lot fun to take part in their message board and to read advice and pep talks from famous authors who also chime in on the board. 
 
Jeez, I just remembered the joke-comment I made about the CEO hiring a hit-man to kill off residents so they could re-sell our apartments! Maybe that could be the bones of my plot and maybe I need to start researching how to structure a murder mystery? This could put a whole new spin on the kinds of conversation tidbits I collect here. Descriptions of accidental falls and doors left ajar and security guards missing when needed could take on a whole new meaning in a murder mystery.
 
I’d rather write a romance but senior citizen romances strike me as pathetic---like the guys are mostly looking for cooks and nurses and the women are looking for deep pockets so they don’t have to eat cat food. I'm likely doing a disservice to my peers but I cannot imagine any guy my age inspiring me to stick my tongue down his throat or me showing him my southward pointing nipples. Although getting undress for the dermatologist is probably more traumatic than having a tryst with a guy in my age bracket. Is this too much information?
 
If you’ve never heard of NaNoWriMo here’s what their website says: “National Novel Writing Month is a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to creative writing. On November 1, participants begin working towards the goal of writing a 50,000-word novel by 11:59 p.m. on November 30. Valuing enthusiasm, determination, and a deadline, NaNoWriMo is for anyone who has ever thought fleetingly about writing a novel.”  In the book written by the founder about the writing event he says words to the effect that you have lower your expectations of writing the Great American Novel to writing one that won't make people want to vomit. It's a first draft written quickly to help kick your creativity into a higher gear. I'm getting excited just thinking about it and I've got my writing seat in our cafe` picked out. And, yes, I would admit to taking part in the event. Half the fun in doing it is doing it in public. ©