Progress report

Let me start out telling you about bingo. A while back I ran out of quarters. That's the euphemistic way of saying my wins did not cover my losses. I blamed it all on not locating that original card that was a winner a couple of weeks in a row. I bought two ten dollar rolls of quarters.

I steadily lost those eighty quarters. I said to the room that I would give up the game if I did not have enough quarters to play. We play for an hour, a quarter a game and four quarters for the jackpot game. Four dollars generally is enough to cover the cost.

Mary Lou has been winning steadily. She sits to my right, and we've become buddies. One time she was so tied up with physical therapists she was out of breath when she arrived for bingo and worse, had forgotten her quarters. It was game time; too late to go back to her room. "Sit down, Mary Lou, I'll stake you" I said, and put four stacks of four quarters in front of her. She made enough to repay me at the end of play. She loves to tell how I fronted her bingo money.

Mary Lou generally comes out even or ahead. Lately she has been way ahead. Sadly there were jeers from the other tables, criticizing her good fortune. She won almost every game, and come time for the jackpot game wondered if she should sit it out. I told her to ignore the sourpusses and play. She did, and she won. She was ashamed and embarrassed by the not so good natured ribbing.

One of the ribbers was the Mary Lou at my dinner table. I took advantage of her proximity to tell her how upset her table made my Mary Lou. She didn't really believe my Mary Lou was that upset; however, since then I've heard her shut down the other three at her table when their ribbing began.

So to return to the story, last Friday I was two quarters short of the four dollar stake to play bingo, assuming no wins. Mary Lou was so upset; she would give me the two quarters. I refused; it was time to quit. But on Monday I bought a new roll of quarters, and showed up, to Mary Lou's great delight. I only needed two more quarters, for crying out loud.

I'd tried out several different cards over these losing weeks, never coming up with a winner. Monday I picked a card that gave me a couple of wins. Wednesday I picked a card that gave wins like the very first week I'd played. I think I lost two of the first twelve games. 

Then come the jackpot game. It's cover the card, with a marker on the Free Space and on the lucky numbers. This time they were 7; cover every square whose number ended in 7. The game began. I covered and covered as the numbers were called until one number remained. Pretty much the story of my previous games; I waited and waited, and it was not called. Someone else won the jackpot. I asked the caller if the number 67 has been called, and she said it was a lucky number, to be covered at the outset. My mistake, my loss. The winner wanted to split her jackpot with me but I didn't. I lost fair and square.

My daughter Beth belongs to a group that holds an occasional, very popular white elephant sale. She volunteered to take my towels, and took every one I had woven. After the sale she texted me the recap of my sales. I read that I would be receiving over $1,000. Woo-hoo, that would pay my taxes.

Tuesday I took the car to get new front end brakes. Because the towels made so much, I paid cash for the brakes, $400. When Beth came with a huge box of towels to return that night, I knew something was wrong. She does accounting backwards from me. I was only getting $400, which won't pay a $1,000 tax bill.

Fortunately, it won't be paid before April 14th, so I have ample time to decide which Peter is robbed to pay Sam. Bingo could stay very lucky, especially if I remember to cover all the lucky numbers.

Real cat whisperer

Beth and Caroline were coming this morning, so I kept an eye on Kitty, after all her morning routine was accomplished. Now, after she eats, she approaches me for a treat. I toss out a dozen or so for her, then I put them on the edge of my chair to encourage her to stand up and take them or eat them from there.

When that fails, I eventually put them away. Kitty trails sadly away, to whatever hiding spot she has selected for the day. Lately she has selected my red Lane recliner. The little minx discovered the spot where Toby split the liner to slip in.

Caroline immediately asked, "Where is the cat?" and I replied "In the recliner." That was fun for a second, but her face was so sad when no cat was obvious that I relented and told her there is a cat hole in the lining, and a cat in the hole. She got down on her back, shimmied under the chair, found the hole and reached in for the cat. She fumbled a bit, announced there is a cat sized 2x2 to sleep on, and eventually produced an armload of cat.

Kitty was satisfied to squeeze into a small space. Speaking of small space,

Kitty stuck out her tongue to let Caroline know how she felt. We were very impressed that for all the handling done her, the cat was fairly docile. She did not hiss, spit, bite or scratch. On the whole, she mostly looked for a way to safely escape. She badly needed her claws cut. She has not hopped up to the scratching pole in the month she has been here. So, Caroline took care of that.

When Caroline considered Kitty trim enough to pass on, I got her.

My lap kitty. Well, almost. True to her type, I doubt she will ever voluntarily sit in my lap. She probably will sit beside me, when she is more comfortable. In the meantime, I am satisfied she spent half an hour in my lap and found nothing hurt her.

                                                                       

Friday afternoon happy hour

Another week has rolled on by. Every Friday afternoon we have "Happy Hour" in the hour before dinner. The entertainer tonight was a singer who everyone appreciates. Then it's on to dinner, which became quite subdued. 

Betty, who is new to our table, with the loss of Eileen to assisted living, was unhappy because "that woman" talked too loud. I told her "that woman" is Lara, who comes in almost every day to assist her mother, Gloria. I like Gloria, if for no other reason than her mother named her Gloria because she was "born in the glory of the morning". I love the little memory. 

Gloria used to have three table mates, little Marge, big Marge and me. When I first moved in I was offended by big Marge, who coughed and coughed and would not wear a mask. I protested that although she said it was chronic bronchitis, she had a mouth full of alien germs, and I sure enough caught a cold that lasted four weeks.

Big and little Marge are gone, moved to assisted living. No one has been assigned to her table yet, and I've noticed Lara stays through dinner to keep Gloria company. I also remember being very unhappy at that table with three very deaf comrades with whom conversation was impossible. I may mention the table mate need to the dining room supervisor, but I have no solution.

Conversation at our table mainly concerned those who have moved on. Mary Lou especially is bothered, and since she outranks Betty and me, knows a litany of people who have "moved on". This is bothering her tonight, why we are here and how quickly we become mist that floats away and is gone.

I felt badly for her. I was the youngest when I came here, but so many have moved in since and I am startled at how young many appear. But why not, I've asked myself. It's a place to live, and most of all, it's a safe place to live. If I fall and break something else, I have a button to push.

In the last month a fairly young couple have moved in. Sixties or less. I've been told the story and don't recall most of it. Apparently the man has a terminal illness that involves his brain and is affecting his memory and reasoning. They are not married. The man will cheerfully tell you "I have a ring in my pocket, but she's not ready to take it." He was diagnosed with this problem years ago, and she said she would stay with him to the end.

Remember Joe, the darling old man who had to dance with everyone. I posted a picture of him dancing months ago. He passed away maybe six weeks ago, before this new couple moved in. The man with the ring in his pocket loves to dance. I don't know if his lady friend is as interested, but she obliges him.

I hope they dance happy hour away for a long, long time.

Expectations

I'm getting older and slower. It amuses me that my children, at least my oldest daughter, expect I can produce stuff as fast as ever. The next towels on the loom are pistachio, and Beth expects a set of 12 for her show next weekend. I worked as long as I could all weekend, but it won't happen. But what I do have will fill two shopping bags when I see her.

It has been the usual uneventful weekend. I went to the drugstore this weekend. I packed up several loads of "donatables" to benefit a local women's shelter and moved them downstairs, in several loads. I have an order to ship tomorrow and a trip to the dentist on Tuesday.

I haven't updated the construction outside my window. It has continued, in abbreviated fashion, all winter. It has been a very mild winter, almost as if the only effect was some discomfort. There was one snowstorm, and past that, unending rain. 

There have been small crews working, two or three men. The snow was swept off several hundred square feet of flooring when necessary. Once the second floor was begun, snow and rain were less of a problem.

You can distinguish the units: window, door, next door, window, etc. The skeleton crews spent a lot of time getting the second floor laid and mechanics lowered under the floor and covered. Then the time has been spent downstairs.

There is a lot of mud and a small amount of water visible in the previous picture, but a lot of water in this longer view of the length. The crews seem to be accessing the building site from the opposite side.

Here's some cat news: Kitty now voluntarily approaches my outstretched hand, but will not take a treat from my hand. I messed up the other day; she approached my hand dangling over the chair arm with the intent of head butting my hand. At the first butt, instinctively I slid my hand to her head to stroke her, and she bolted. I must remember this is all her show, not mine.

On the other hand, the former hyper-allergenic, Toby, remains very happy at Bec's house. I cannot make out the surroundings, but the general state of chaos has Toby pleased. He is a boy, after all.

In case you wanted to know

 Someone asked if I'd finished the warp that Caroline helped me put on. First, I must confess, it may be the warp from hell, a name we occasionally had to give to difficult threads. I completely forgot the number of turns is 150, and gaily told Caroline 250. It didn't look odd to me until we took of the thread guides for the first bout, and the thread was stacked so high it just tumbled off. We unwound fifty turns

I just finished the turquoise towels, and no sooner had them posted than I had an order for four! Now I am working on pistachio. Here is the turquoise:

Today is Dr. Seuss day, I understand, and most everyone here was in the theater this afternoon for a YouTube presentation of this life and accomplishments. I seldom look at the movie schedule, and missed another good one. Since it is available on YouTube, I can still have a look.

The facility has a lot of lovely large windows. I have three in my very small apartment, and had to hang lined drapes to stop the cold. However, this is not about the air flow. At dinner tonight I saw a bird fly past the window and circle back, to land on the sidewalk in front of a residence. I was not close enough to make an identification, but by the tail, it was a hawk. A small, buff chested hawk with brown feathers on its back.

I said to look and it was a hawk. The woman at a table by the window agreed and said she didn't know what kind. Looking it up now I think it may have been a young red tailed hawk. It took a couple of turns into a little grove of trees, then left. I'll look more carefully next time.