Tom, Pat’s hubby, came last night and transferred my shower curtain.  And Pat took all the pictures and hooks off the walls.  And cleared all the small things I had left on the floor.  I turned in the key to 208 and received a key to 205 across the hall.  And slept 7 hours without waking up in the night. First time in years.  Praise God.

Now, I have to arrange all the stuff.  I’ve got the bathroom and closet in shape and have shelves left over.  Today I think I will do nothing, or if I do something, it will be something  small.  Like---I’m thinking about arranging extension cords so everything can plug in without wires draping across the floor.  I couldn’t get my charger plugged in by my bed last night.  I’m afraid I’m going to have to have Tom or Craig (Becky’s hubby) to solve this problem since it involves moving furniture.

But today, I plan on doing nothing.  Reading a book, watching TV--which I haven’t turned on in three days.  The world could have turned upside down in the meantime!!

 

 I have moved.  Move #29.  I said move #28 was it, that I would never move again, but a two room came open right across the hall from me with a bedroom!  

 I now have a couch.  I don’t have my recliner shoved between the bed and the wall.  It looks like a real home.  The movers came and took everything out of my house and transferred it to here.  Hallelujah.  It is like normal again.  I am so ecstatic.

Now all I have to do is arrange doo-dads on end tables etc.  Yes!  I have room for end tables next to the two matching couches.  I have room for memorabilia.  Pictures.  A place to set a coffee cup.  Actually a tea cup since I rarely drink coffee. 

I am exhausted.  But it is a small price to pay.  All I need is for someone to transfer my shower curtain.  I could do it, but it would involve something I am not supposed to do.  A step ladder.

 I made a decision to blog again, but then, I forget to do it.  It’s not like I have anything else to do.  But the schedule of this place hems me into time segments that confuse me.  I’m used to eating when I’m hungry.  Here you eat when they tell you to eat and they don’t change the schedule because you aren’t hungry.

I always started projects in the morning when I got up.  Now, I go eat at 7:30 because that’s when it’s ready.  The good thing is that I don’t have to cook it, and it tastes good.  The servers (about eight different of them) all know my name and what I want for breakfast.  They say, “I put your usual order in for you.”  I get through about 8:30 and in three more hours (11:30) lunch is served.  Which I’m not hungry for.

I’m adjusting to being regulated.  I just eat whether I’m hungry or not.

I’m getting a new room on Monday.  It will be a two room apartment which will be 100% better than the one room I’ve been in--which is really cramped.  Getting the bed and TV far enough apart while getting the recliner and TV far enough away is impossible.  Everything is smushed together.  I end up doing crosswords etc., instead of watching TV.  Which is probably better for me anyway.

Friday was “hair day”--which means I had to leave the facility and drive myself to town.  Which I didn’t want to do.  I could have my hair done here, they have a beauty shop, but my hair-dresser that I have gone to for nine years is over 75, standing on her feet all day, and has no other income.  I don’t feel like I can desert her now.  She needs the money.

We are all so blessed.  I have enough to get my hair done.  Which is a luxury for many people.  One thing that I have found out is that Edmond businesses cost twice as much as Pryor things do.  Maybe because it is a “bedroom berg” of Oklahoma City.  Houses here are huge.  Lawns are luxurious and kept by crews of immigrant workers--you see their trucks full of equipment on every street.  People in this town seem to have money.  Big money.  Like Tulsa used to have when it was the oil capital of the world.  Everyone seems to have a lawn guy.  And a swimming pool.  Personally I think a swimming pool is a lot of trouble.

I went over to my house this morning to get some things I needed and found a cap that Ken literally wore out.  I knew that was something I needed. (?)  Marine Corps.  Bright red.  When I got back here with it, my arms were full of other junk, so I put it on my head.  I had to bear a bit of ribbing when I came in the door to “assisted living”   The Marines have landed to assist us?

The junk I was carrying included things that are secondary to real necessities.   Like brick-brack you like to “look” at.  Along with some things I really need--like Darjeeling tea.  One of the “look at” things was a tiny wooden church with “Baptist Church” printed on the front.  That has been with me for a bunch of moves--but didn’t make the top-twenty when I moved here.

I’m going to have to quit going to my house and getting more stuff.  They (Craig Becky) are going to have an estate sale soon and then the house will go on the market.  I’m sure there will be things that I forgot to get.  Oh well...in the end it’s just stuff at this point.

 
I went to the cardiologist today.  A waste of time.  They listen to see if my heart is beating.  And check how many times a minute.  They are the ones who put a pacemaker in--so it beats and beats and does its job.  I don’t have any beats of my own.  Just pacemaker.  I asked the cardiologist once how they would know if I died because the pacemaker would keep on beating---and the doctor said, “Oh, Janie, we would know because  you would stop talking.

I should have been offended, but it’s the truth.  I talk a lot.  Or people say I do!  Anyway, that “office appointment” is over for six months.  Then I have to do it again.  They were supposed to check out my pacemaker but they forgot and so did I.

I got back to my jail cell in time for supper.  The head honcho came by and told me that they have a one bedroom apartment coming open in two weeks--and did I want it?  Yes!!!.  I’ve been living in a one room for three months that barely has room for a TV, a bed, and a recliner.  I’m ready for two rooms!!!  Living in 12 by 20 feet seems like a cage.  It makes me ashamed when I think of all the people in the world who dream of living in a room of their own with running water and electricity.
 

 I sat down to eat last Friday and the woman next to me turned and said, “I don’t like your attitude.”  I have no idea what I had done to get a attitude-notice like that.  I hadn’t even said anything since I had sat down.  Maybe I unfolded my linen napkin wrong???  

There are all types of people here.  You have to keep changing your dining room table to find out who the nut cases are.  Eventually you run out of tables.  But this is not a “sick-people” place.  Almost all of the people are just unable to cook and take care of themselves--thus, the name “assisted living.”  It’s not a nursing home.  At least half of them are like me.  They were alone, and just got tired of trying to fix their meals and hiring people to help them.

I already knew a lady at the table I’ve now moved to. (Since I didn’t want to stay at the other table and waste a week trying to figure out what kind of new attitude I needed to adopt) She and I have been going to the same beautician for the last few years.  So I have found one person who is normal to sit with.  

Most of the people who come to the dining room to eat are nice.  (A lot of people eat in their rooms.) But every now and then you sit down next to someone who wants you to get a “new attitude,” so you find a new table.  One table I sat down at had a person tell me not to talk to her with my mouth full of food--all before I sat down.  It sure isn’t like a group of church people.  There are all kinds of people with all kinds of idiosyncrasies here.  Of course I don’t have any. (Ha-ha) 

 There are around one hundred residents in this facility. Most of them are women in a ratio of at least ten to one.  The men sit alone.  Women have been the facilitator for group fellowship for the large part of their lives and they don’t seem to know how to mingle. I feel sorry for most of them.  One man sits at his dinner table by himself and asks every one who passes by if they know where his wife is. 

The people who wait on us are really kind and patient.  That is probably a criteria for being hired.  Everyone, me included, sits there trying to decide what to eat while the waiter “waits.”  The menu only has two items that change each day.  The rest of it is the same and eventually you get tired of those things.  I don’t like meat, and of course the entrees are meat heavy---to keep us protein charged.  There is always soup, etc.

I have gained 12 pounds.  Which is good.  I had lost thirty pounds that I didn’t need to lose.  But I am going to have to quit eating ice cream pretty soon.  I don’t like it anyway.  I was just eating it to gain weight.  I don’t like milk products or meat--which is probably why I had lost so much weight.  I should have been Italian or Mexican. 

Today lunch was not good.  An attempt at Swedish meatballs.  I ate the noodles.  But the peach pie made up for it.  One lady at the table I sit at never likes anything they serve her.  It makes for pleasant conversation (Ha ha).  I am learning about people in a different setting than church.

I sat down at a new table last week and a man who was sitting there looked up, and his opening salvo was, “I’m an atheist.”  He didn’t know me from Adam, but I guess he wanted to be sure I wasn’t a “Holy Roller” who was going to talk about hell.  He followed that line with, “Christians make God up in their own image.”  I guess he had been bitten by a “Holy Roller” somewhere in his past.  I didn’t even get to say, “Hello, my name is Janie.”

I’m learning.  I certainly don’t wear a name tag that labels me as a Christian, but maybe we followers of Christ have a certain persona? I certainly hope so!!!

Getting back into to habit of blogging is difficult.  I don’t have a routine yet.  Getting used to being in a new place is hard enough, and I am now living in one room.  A recliner, a TV and a bed.  It is so small.  Moving from four bedrooms, two baths and a full kitchen is difficult.  Although I didn’t use the kitchen much.

I have asked for a two room apartment, but so far, I’m stuck.  And the thought of moving again, even across the hall, is more than I can bear right now.  I am just a short way from the dining room here, so the thought of moving far away from that is not attractive.

The thing that is the hardest however, is not having a purpose.  What in the world am I supposed to be doing?  I have taught a Bible class since I was seventeen.  Seventy years.  I need a group of women who want to discuss God’s word--who want to be who God wants them to be!

Everything here is regimented.  Breakfast at 7:30, lunch at 11:30, supper at 5:30.  The waiters take your order from a prefixed menu that has two main choices that change every meal, and ten fixed.  You can also ask for something special and if they have what is needed to make it, they will.  I can’t complain about the food.

It’s the opportunity to meet people that is hard.  People find a seat at a table, and never give it up so that there is mingling.   I have now gotten to know eight people fairly well, none of which are like me.  There is a large diversity of people types.  You have to adjust.  And I am used to having a family in my church of people like me.

But I wake up every morning to my favorite meal of oatmeal, crisp bacon and toast.  And I don’t have to do anything to fix it.  I watch national geographic after that and marvel at the diversity of God’s world.  What a wonderful thing television is to bring the world to our living rooms.

 Getting back into the habit of posting is going to be harder than I thought. Habits are hard to renew when you have broken them.  My life is now regimented by the assisted living schedule.  Breakfast, lunch, dinner.  You don’t eat when you are hungry.  You eat when the schedule dictates.

They have activities that give you something to do.  I am going to exercise class twice a day--I have never liked to exercise.  I’m a couch potato.  I want to read.  And read.  And read.  Which requires no motion at all.  Brushing my teeth is the most exercise I want to do.

You can only watch so much TV before you go brain dead.  It is just one murder after another.  The daily shooting highlight.

I swear I am adjusting.  It’s just so slow.  And I really don’t want to adjust to tell the truth.  I liked every thing the way it was.  But....I’m not forty, or fifty, or sixty any more.  Adjustment is not an option.  I have to do it.

I don’t like it.  But I’m trying.  

 Well, it’s been a year, or more--since I posted.  I now live in lockup.  Assisted living.  Which is a misnomer.  There is very little assisting.  They do what you ask them to do, and then charge you for it.  But I get three meals a day which is three more than I was getting.  I had lost thirty pounds I didn’t need to lose.  It’s hard to cook for one.  Easier to eat a tablespoon of peanut butter.

My room is okay.  Room.  Not rooms.  Very confining.  But I have a bed, a TV, a recliner, and most important...a marimba.  Something to keep me in motion.  No one has complained about the noise yet.

The food is good.  The ability to make friends is terrible.  I’ve always had a church to do that.  Here, there is no unity of Babtists, Catholics, or anything.  It’s a fish-pool of everything.  I’ve had a number of people ask me to start some sort of class.  Probably the best way to do that would be to get the 1st Baptist Church to authorize me to start an off campus class.  That way I wouldn’t have to use any discretion with the subject of baptism.  That way I could assert myself and say, “Jesus saves you.  Not water dipping.  You need to be baptized, but if it saves you, the thief on the cross was out of luck.”

Nice to be back.  It will give me a reason to get out of bed.