Such a week or so

Too much new going on. I was a couple of weeks without the new computer. It was set up, and transferring the data, but silly little glitches held up progress. First, Beth assumed I had a monitor, but the old computer actually was self contained, and the monitor left with the CPU (if that's what it's still called). 

New monitor arrived, synching set up, but it took some time for the new kid on the block to absorb all the information. Beth came back in a week or so for the wrap and all seemed well. But soon I realized my new monitor had no speakers. Back to the well. I expedited the speaker; back in business.

Then...ever since that high blood pressure attack several months ago, I've been plagued by my startle response. An unexpected noise and I jump. I threw my Chrome button off the screen when my phone rang yesterday. I can still use the start function to access Chrome, but I simply could not drag and drop that shortcut to the home screen.

I cleverly decided just to download Chrome again. Bad choice All my old Chrome settings are lost. That's enough of that. I am leaving well enough alone. I can still get around until my computer guru's reappear.

In the meantime, I saw on this morning's news that Anna Maria of Aurora has been named by Newsweek as a (the?) number one in their "America's Best Nursing Homes of 2025". I certainly have always been impressed by the services. Decent food, good staff, good housekeeping. My only complaint is that people keep dying.

We have one resident who, to me, epitomizes the sort of care at Anna Maria. Bill is a Vietnam veteran, who has PTSD. Bill never stops talking, except to listen a bit and then rejoin with his knowledge. He is a very well read man who knows and pretty well understands 20th century history. He can hold forth for hours, and does.

Interestingly, he has a core of friends and acquaintances who keep him company much of the day. If they don't know WWII, he fills them in. WWI, the same. Don't know what each president accomplished, well, Bill does, and he'll get you up to snuff. A happy, harmless veteran who does need reminded to change his clothes.

That same resident who cannot be responsible for her walker also believes Bill should be in a veteran's home, "where he can get the help he needs." She's pretty adamant about that. She's bothered that he talks so much.

Veteran's homes are not run by the VA; they are administered by the individual states, under their nursing home regulations. There are two in Ohio. Ohio does not have a sterling nursing home reputation. My knowledge is limited to two veterans I have known before and after they lived in a veteran's home in Ohio. From my experience with them I think Bill would be chewed up and spit out in such a facility.

I disabused Jean of her belief that the VA runs veteran's homes, at least in Ohio. I think Bill's family did well to place him here in such mixed and accepting company, and asked her to just stop listening to him at the next table if he interrupted her thoughts that much. Sadly, he's not the only resident on her last nerve.

All that's left is the weather. We had ten inches of snow, and though it's sagging, it's still here. Daily flurries and temps from twenty down have seen to that. It will not change in the next couple of weeks. So, let's see if I can dig through Windows 11 and find a picture.

Here's one. I'm currently weaving the purple. It's lovely!

A bus trip and any other news

Living in an old folks home certainly limits my adventures. The most I generally have to discuss are my gripes, and who wants them! Not to mention, I cannot remember what I've already complained about. 

Here's one, just to flesh out my post. When you were young, did one or both of your parents make sure you didn't inconvenience other people?  Stand back, stay out of the way, watch where you are going, etcetcetc! My parents, my grandmother, my neighbors, even strangers. So, does courtesy abandon people past a certain age?

Many of us here in the OFH use devices to get around. Walkers or Rollaters. I have the former. Also the later, but am not confident in controlling it. Anyway, they take up space. In our breakfast area most tables seat four. I deduced early on I had to keep the walker tucked close to me to allow aisle access to everyone else. About three of us figured this out; most everyone else just leaves their device in the aisle.

I try to get to breakfast early, to avoid the rush. Last week I was alone at the table, but Marcia soon joined me and then Maureen. Device abandoners, both. My egg came. It was the usual cook's regular day, and I ordered a poached egg. The cook who cannot was on that day, unbeknownst to me. He thinks vinegar will save him. So it was a semi raw egg, steeped in vinegar.

I gagged, shuddered, stood and took my plate to the trash can, then ordered a bowl of oatmeal. Returned to my seat and found Jean in the third seat, walker in the aisle. I literally could not go around the table to my seat. I said "The table cannot take four walkers!" and asked Jean to hand me my coffee cup, which I could not reach. I went to an empty table.

After breakfast I refilled my coffee and passed the old table on my way out. Jean caught my eye and said I had been extremely rude and cold in taking leave of the table. Surprise! I said I was sorry her feelings were hurt, and kept on going.

The next morning she stopped me and said I had the right to sit anywhere I wanted, and we should talk about it. Told her I had nothing to say and sat down. She stopped me again later and said she wanted to talk. So, I told her that three extremely rude people had blocked all access to the table with my cup and silverware; I even had to ask her to reach my cup to me. I expected an apology from her for thoughtlessness. 

No response. So I wished her a good day and left. Sadly, I am assigned to a dinner table with Jean. I am polite, but no more. I enjoy Marcia and Maddy's company and have no intention of leaving unless I am reassigned. Marcia, Maddy and I leave devices at the edge of the room and shuffle back to our table. Jean still uses the aisle and has not apologized. The End.

Last Monday I had a doctor's appointment about fifteen miles away, so I scheduled a PARTA bus. Portage County senior transport system. They gave me a pick up time and a return time, with instructions to be waiting thirty minutes before the scheduled times.

The outbound trip was a woman in her forties or fifties, I'd guess. Very polite and attentive (I need the lift to enter and leave the bus). I was the only passenger. She never exceeded the speed limit, and there was a plethora of 25 mph zones. 

The return trip was a young man. I thanked him a couple of times before we left and his response was I needn't to that, it was his job. He drove his bus like I used to drive my extended van. At least ten miles over the speed limit, and strategic lane changing. He was very chatty and fun to talk to. When we got back I told him he was as good a driver as I had been. And "Thank You!" We had a good laugh.

Beth was here most of the afternoon, installing a new computer. Better her than me. All is now in the cloud, whatever that means. All because Microsoft will no longer support Windows 10 after this year. So, a new learning experience for me. There may be some complaining.

CleveNet, from whom I download books, stopped supporting Overdrive for downloads. Now it's something called Libby, which, I've learned, does not load to MP3, which tiny player I carry in my pocket. Apparently I need some Adobe interface to get the job done.

I put my grandson on it. His solution: get Alexa. I can even interface it to my hearing aids, which he will do. Not so fast, young man, I said. So he is in charge of a cheap Alexa and blue tooth headphones. I never thought I'd be saying "Shut up, Alexa!"

Here's a sweet picture of France and Caroline, the day he began kindergarten and Caroline started pre-school. He was five and she was three.

Are you Vivian?

I saw or heard or read something today that reminded me of this story. Of course I cannot remember. I even had to text my sister tonight to remind me of Vivian's name. This was long ago; my girls were still in school, and they will be sixty and fifty-eight on next year's birthdays.

It's also about my brother Walt, the old cornmudgeon. 

My neighborhood was unusual for it's time in the forties,  fifties, sixties, right through the late eighties, when mom sold her house and I mine and we all moved into the same house in Boston Township, with its studio for weaving. It was unusual in that there were black families and white. 

Walt lived on the street behind us, and across the street from him and up the street were black families. Walt was married to Hazel, his trophy wife. They were married many years, but then it all fell apart. Hazel eventually returned to England, and Walt kept himself busy finding women he could take care of. He always cast himself as the protector of women and children.

Vivian lived next door to Walt. She had several children. A couple of girls who were adults, a couple of boys, and then Crystal, a lovely little pre-school child. Crystal had wild, curly white blond hair. There were several fathers involved, but I was gone from the neighborhood by then and not involved. 

Walt was in full protector mode about Vivian and the children, and eventually he married her and blended the families. The marriage lasted a few years, but it too ended and everyone moved on.

Jan and I were living in Boston, weaving, when we learned the neighbor across the street from Walt's house, Bob, had passed away. He and his family had moved there after I moved away from home. He was close with my family and Walt's. When the screened room in the back yard was destroyed, Bob's son helped our brother Melvin rebuild it.

Jan had been a good friend of Bob's, too, and asked me if I would go to his funeral with her. I hadn't known Bob well, but I did have several family years with Crystal, and the neighborhood was aware that her father was Bob. And the service was at a black church we were not familiar with, so at least we would know each other and Bob's children and grandchildren.

The service was at a large church in Akron. It's pastor was a member of Akron's council. It was full of people celebrating Bob; we found seats way at the back. The service was lovely, and pleasant to observe. As my Catholic nun aunt told me after a funeral service for a cousin, years and years before, "It's just like our service!"

Yes, people are much the same. When the service ended, we found ourselves escorted as guests to a receiving line, and Bob's family thanked us for being there. Then we passed through a line of women who could have been the ones running the little community church I grew up in.

We passed down the line, shaking hands, saying our good-byes and thanking the women. Toward the end, almost at the door, one woman kept my hand and pulled me toward her. "Are you Vivian?"

"No, we're old friend's of Bob". 

"Well, we just wanted to know and I see no one has asked you yet."

Jan and I smiled all the way home. Another old curmudgeon, just like our brother.

Back again

First the usual complaint. I'm sick of being sick. Fixed the back, caught a cold. A bad cold. Or a sinus infection. It's getting old. I bought a new humidifier.

Well, we had a big storm for Portage County, here south of the secondary snow belt. Another is forecast starting tomorrow evening. A lot of icicles from the eaves of the new apartments.

I've sold my car and will depend on public transportation in the future. I have my doubts about the senior transport system here in Portage County. We'll see. Their website says they do not stop at senior citizen housing complexes, but the woman who answers the phone says "Of course we do!"

Then there is Uber or Lyft. My last attempt was a disaster. The app would not take my reservation in the morning for a ride at noon for the reason it did not know how busy it would be at that time. It seemed patently absurd to me. Laura gave me a clue, showing me an app that located all the Uber and Lyft cars and they all seemed to be cruising the interstate highways, fifteen or so miles away. A sort of What am I, Chopped Liver? moment.

Speaking of whom, she had a birthday last weekend. Blake (nee Emily) is next weekend. France is Christmas Eve. Blake shares a birthday with Ruth, and Aunt Flo's was in there, too. The grands are getting older. France and Laura will be 23, and are still in college. Blake is programming computers for a small company. Here's the rest: Bekka works for Lincoln Electric; Hamilton is still at University and manages a Starbucks; Laura is in her last year at Akron U; Caroline is a junior at Macalester in Minneapolis. 

Back to my physical complaints, which have been a hindrance for the last two months, I finally finished the green towels and have them on the shelf and on the web. The loom is tied up again and the next run of towels will be yellow.

Of all the colors I weave, yellow is my least favorite. Most of the rest have a silky feel to me, but the yellow dye seems different and even fulled, the fabric does not have the same hand. But they are cheerful and happy, and of course, dry dishes, etc., superbly. 

I think the last batch took me a month or more to get off the loom, and I doubt these will be ready before next year. My back still bothers me enough to limit the amount I can weave in a day. But I have a lovely array of colors yet to weave:

I just finished a wonderful book, The Boys in the Boat, Daniel Brown. It's subtitled, Nine Americans and their Epic Quest for Gold at the 1936 Berlin Olympics. Well researched, well written. If you are a child of the Great Depression, or a child of parents of the Depression, it will be compelling. Or a sports fan, or a history buff, or simply a decent person, it's a good book.

That's about all the news fit to print. I hope to be back sooner next time.

Pleased to report

I believe I'm feeling better. I certainly hope so. Headaches are gone so the blood pressure must be down. My back still hurts--from sneezing. Something in either the bedroom or the bathroom, or both, is setting off occasional fits of sneezing. Haven't located it yet.

Good news: I finally have a set of towels finished and up on the web page. The web site has changed since I last used it. "Improved"! Only when I figure it out. I've been warned for weeks it would happen, but I felt too awful to keep up with the news. The towel listed is blue, and the next set I will weave is grass green.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, interested residents were taken on a tour of the apartments available in the new wing. They are considerably larger than anything here in the older part, and considerably more expensive. I have no envy whatsoever. My world fits comfortably in my little studio. 

I am going for Thanksgiving to my sister's home, and a grandchild will take me and deliver me home. Sounds like a mighty fine time. Reminds me of all those years I would ferry my Grandma Rolf to and from family events.

That's it for now. Time for dinner. I'm not up to current events tonight. We've been here before and will come through again. We're down to local governments to provide the agency. School boards, libraries, food banks. Above all, do the right thing.