Still sobbing

Yesterday I sat down to rest my stupid leg on my trip back to my room. Sometimes I break out the phone and read some news while I wait. This time I pressed the Local tab, and for fun selected Akron.

Akron, Ohio that is. The home of every important tire company when I was a child. Goodyear Aircraft, who employed my father all his life to work on, first blimps, those wonder aircraft that escorted ships across the Atlantic during the war, and finally space craft. What a city.

I've written about growing up in North Hill, home of all the Italian immigrants and infiltrated in my childhood by immigrants from all over the country and world for employment in the factories. We had to tell mom if we were going to the black Wagners for the afternoon, or the white Wagners.

The International Institute of Akron was on the other side of the street from my junior high school. It welcomed immigrants and refugees from around the world to their new home in Akron. We went to school with children for whom English was a second language. I walked to school with Sonja Jones, who lived with her grandparents a street behind me. Sonja's family was from East Germany.

Where am I going with all this? The headline on the local, Akron news yesterday was the lockdown at Forest Hill Elementary School because ICE was patrolling the neighborhood. Driving their stinking cars up and down Damon Street, so the kids couldn't go out for recess.

Tears rolled down. A friend stopped and asked and I told her, the effing feds are trolling for immigrants at my elementary school. She said "Well, they voted him in!" and I lost it. I have not checked, but I sincerely doubt Akron voted red. Never, ever! Those children did not vote. They just went to school, like kids. Babies, five year old kindergartners. Ten year olds off to middle school in a year. Still walking to school, no one lives far enough away for the bus. She apologized.

I am overwhelmed by the knowledge I cannot throw enough sand, support enough marches, write enough letters, weave enough towels to abate this cruelty from the capital.

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.