My daughter Pat and hubby Tom came last Friday and hung the big pictures I brought from the house.  It’s starting to feel like home.  I can’t begin to tell you how much better two rooms are than one.  And now that the big pictures are up, I can figure out where the little ones go.  And which wall is going to get the family photos.

They are going on a long awaited vacation next week sailing off the Eastern coast.  Pat has been working since she was 17 without a break.  She sent herself to college by working for the Job-Corps as a dorm supervisor and never quit working.  That was fifty years ago.  She said she would help me hang the rest of the pictures when they got back.  I need help.  And she has been good to help me get through moving. 

Becky is having my estate sale this weekend.  Look at the pictures on Swan Estate Sales.  She is now the #1 Estate company in Oklahoma.  It looks really good the way she has set it up.  I just hate to leave all my pretty stuff behind.  But it’s just stuff.  Kim Larmon is driving up from Pryor to help with it.  The house has sold.  It all seems so final...  I guess it is.

Everything around here shuts down at 4 on Friday.  The main crew leaves for the week, and subs are put in place that are new, seldom the same every weekend, and run late for meds and everything else.  I guess that’s the way the world runs.  It’s frustrating.  I like my meds with food at dinner.  I’m lucky to get them before I go to bed.  It is wonderful at 6 AM on Monday when the professionals come back.

It’s kinda like the military health system.  We used to joke that you better not get sick after it got dark.  When really it wasn’t that bad.

I went to the doctor today.  Hadn’t been in four  or five months.  She declared me good to go.  I am better.  I’m stronger, I’ve gained 15 pounds which I sorely needed--you could see my bones through my skin--after my bout with C-dif.   I’m still 15 pounds underweight, but with the food they feed us here it won’t take long.  I’ve even been eating ice cream and I’ve never liked ice cream.  The food is not bad.  Sometimes it is really good.  The best part is that I don’t have to cook it.  Or do the dishes.

 

 Fridays are squeezed--as in “scheduled time” for a number of things.

7:30 Breakfast

9:00 Exercise

10:00 Drive to pharmacy and get junk and prescriptions for the week

10:30 Hair appointment

11:30 Back home for lunch 

12:30 Recover from all of that--before my great-grandson comes for the afternoon to play “cars” with me.  He gives me the black and white patrol car and my job is to chase him all over the floor to arrest him for speeding.  Needless to say, I am exhausted by the time he goes home.  But it is so much fun to hear him laugh when I catch him.

5:30 supper

6:30 watch the news to see what the latest abomination is.  It seems like it is always bad news anymore.

7:00 Read my Bible to give me peace that God is still in control.

8:00 Fall asleep without planning on it just yet.  Sleep just happens anymore at 8:00 on Friday. 

 I washed my sheets today.  And--no surprise--I couldn’t get them back on.  Fitted sheets are awesome, but the fourth corner is impossible to tuck into place.  It takes a 200 pound heavy-weight to get it done.  One of the aides took pity on me and finished the job, or I would be sleeping on the mattress tonight.

I have three things to keep track of.  Room keys, phone, and jacket.  I inevitably walk off without one of them.  It’s the third item that has caused the problem.  I always had a phone and jacket,  but now, by adding my room key, I need a third hand.  I get a lot of exercise retracing my steps trying to find what I’ve lost.

The only human interaction going on around here is meal time.  Everyone has their own special seat, and you don’t know it is theirs until you sit there, and it throws the entire group awry.  I’ve found two different tables where there is an unclaimed seat and I alternate--but if someone doesn’t show up, I grab their chair.  It’s the only way to meet new peoeple.   There are activities--like exercise, bridge, bingo, etc., but I haven’t been able to get involved in anything but exercise--and that is awful.  I am so out of shape.  But I am doing that. 

I have published two books.  If you haven’t read them, I encourage you to do so.  One of the false beliefs about the book publishing world is that the author is making a lot of money.  Not true.  I get one dollar for each one sold which I will gladly discount to you if you just buy a book--then read it and share it with someone else.  My hope is that you will learn something about how life is lived in difficult settings.

 

The first book is a story about the hardship of military children when their dad goes to war.  And the difficulties of moving every year or two.   And the frustrations moving presents when they try to make friends.  They sadly learn not to get too close to others--because they will soon move and never see them again.

The second book is a factual novel set in Macau, China that covers the difficulties my brother faced living an underground life as a missionary to China for 37 years.  Set in the 70s when China was closed to American citizens.  And the underground life he led--getting in and out of multiple countries without being arrested--or worse. 

“The Letter” was an Oklahoma Best Seller.  Everyone who has read either one of the books has encouraged me with their kind words.  I have a third book coming out in a few months.  “The Corsair Pilot.”

I don’t write fiction.  I write about things I know about in “fictional-faction.”   I hope you enjoy what I have written.  Stories based on the real life of real people.

 I am having a “procedure”  today.  As far as I am considered, it’s not just a “procedure” because they are going to put me to sleep.  I had surgery for breast cancer 14 years ago and even though it had spread into a lymph node, after chemo, I recovered.  However, one of the lingering side effects is lymphedema in in my right arm.  

Sometimes when I scratch myself--or unconsciously forget and pick at the skin on a fingernail--I end up in the hospital with the entire arm infected--and they keep me three days or so--to hook me up to antibiotics intravenously--which is irritating.  But, I thank God for modern medicine or I guess the infection would kill me?  

They’ll go through a vein (?) in my arm up to my neck and basically will roto-rooter it.  I have no idea what that helps do. I just trust God and the prayers of my friends and family.

Today I had to be at a doctor’s appointment at 9 and get back here by 10 for the movers to bring end tables, lamps, pictures for the walls and my piano.  “Piano” being the operative word.  I had been the pianist for my church before I moved to Edmond 9 years ago--or maybe it was 10 years?

Anyway, I had been negligent to practice since then, because--no!! No reason for “because.”  I just quit.”  I played my marimba for groups on a regular basis, but not the piano.

So after the movers left, I sat down to play, without a clue as to how rusty I had become.  It was terrible.  Three sharps, four flats, etc.  Brain to fingers wasn’t functional.  The only cure will be to start all over again.  Key of C.  One sharp---what key is that?????  etc. etc.  My cousin Ann lives here and I am going to have to go take literacy piano all over again.  Training my fingers to function will be easy compared to that.  All I have to do is do it.  Sit down and play. 

 I missed blogging Friday, so I’ll do it today--which is Saturday and I don’t usually post on the weekend.

My first week here, we had a fly that constantly landed on our dining table.  We named him “Sam.” Nobody in the dining room did anything about it--so I found a flyswatter and killed him.

 He was immediately replaced by another fly.  And the six women at my table agreed to name him “Joe.”  Within a week, one of the women deep-sixed Joe.  And we thought that was the end of the flies.

There are around twenty tables in the dining room, and since Joe and Sam both seemed to favor our table--we decided it was the sugar everyone used in their tea.  And we also thought we were done with flies.

However, yesterday a new fly found us.  He is doomed; it is just a matter of when.  But he will go to his doom with a name.   We are calling this fly “Jim.”  You would think the flies would have caught on by now that this is personal to our table of women.  We’re already talking about what we will name the next one after Jim has been swatted into fly-ever-after.
     

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.