Last Chance Cafe

Yeah so, quiet lately, but busy. Couple more pics of the store: First one is an overview with all the lights in place waiting for the mirrors and merchandise racks to be hung.

I was painting the register counter and main tables today, tomorrow more painting to finish the black touch-up on the shelves, then the red. All the inventory is loaded into the database, just waiting for the shoes to actually get here, then I can open. The clothes are pre-hung on the second floor, gee-gaws are waiting for dry and clean shelves.

The projector and screen go in tomorrow, and as far as construction goes after that, all that's left is the coffee bar (and espresso machine, of course). I can open without that though if the shoes get here first.

Here's a partial shot of the front window logo. The ladder was up to run wires and hang speakers. The neon guy will be in early this week to add a blue tube beneath the store name on the main sign and adjust the red tubes below so they light the 'catchphrase' better. It's really cool looking but I'll wait to post a picture until it's finished.

It's been a little over a year and a half since Grandma passed, and my little project wouldn't be possible without her. Grandma always said she'd be my bookeeper if I ever got a running business off the ground, and Gramps would be in heaven hanging out at the coffee bar talking up all the women. Miss you mucho Grams, and thanks for everything. And nudge Gramps for me, will ya?

Posted by petefredbob at 05:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I spent some months with her while she was in an assisted living facility in Florida, and then a month or so back in Jersey where she wanted to be. Click here for my small takes on being with Granny and her friends. I can only say spend as much time as you can with the old people. Give them another look, they've got a lot to give.

God bless, Granny. Rest in peace.

Posted by petefredbob at 06:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I swear, I thought I had made another entry. When I brought up the site I started screaming like a little girl, "MT ate my last entry!" Alas, it's just me. The following is unedited, unlinked, and un-something or other that sounds clever. Use the links on the sidebar for the part about professors, lawyers, and rocket scientists. And, of course, Steven den Beste.

I spent the week mostly fretting over my 'talk' on Friday to the elders. When it was all over I had yabbered on for 90 minutes and was getting tired of my own voice when someone pointed out that it was lunchtime. I still had another 15-20 minutes of material.

I remember thinking a month or two ago while I was at 'Deadwood,' that it was too bad that the entertainment at these assisted living communities was, ah, less than star quality. I had little fantasies about digging up a real swing band or barbershop quartet and using my ample powers of persuasion to talk them into doing a gig or two for peanuts. Needless to say, as I was gearing up for my presentation on Friday I was feeling a little short on star quality myself.

The residents that come down to listen to this kind of discussion in the 'Garden' are the ones that still have most of their marbles. They watch Tim Russert and George Stephanopolis on Sunday, and are used to 'old Sid' coming over every other Friday to rattle their cages. In other words, although I had a captive audience, only politeness and decorum would keep them from chewing me up and spitting me out during the Q & A.

It was fortunate that I had the good sense and the good luck of asking for, and getting permission from Steven den Beste, to use some of his material for my presentation. I also grabbed a couple of articles from the Fox News web site. One of the residents asked me afterwards what I did for a living, and when I told her, she and the two standing next to her were floored. "We thought you were a professor." If den Beste can make me look that good, He is a God. What's even better is that he himself, unlike many other top bloggers, is not a professor, rocket scientist, or lawyer. Go read his bio.

At the end, at lunchtime, I still had about 15 people out of the original 25 or so. I would like to say that this big turnout was because of slick marketing or that my Grandmother has undue influence, but it was mostly because there was an exercise class going on just before I got up there. Nonetheless, I'm happy that I did it. Although the crowd voted for Clinton by a sizable majority, the word 'Bush' is regularly spat out as an epithet, and the NY Times is the paper of record; I received no injuries due to flung walkers or canes. Our elder population, by and large, is a class act.

I'm heading back west this coming Friday and I'm going to miss hanging out with the geriatric set. I'm seriously and deliriously thinking of putting together some kind of pat talk of this nature, maybe a current events kind of thing, and picking out a local old folks home to infiltrate on a regular basis. I don't play an instrument (badly or otherwise), I can't give dance lessons, and I never did really master the art of juggling, so I'm thinking about honing my public speaking skills at the expense of people that can't run away that fast. Poor bastards.

Posted by petefredbob at 10:00 AM | Permalink

B is Grandma's newest bestest friend. She's a smoker and befriended Granny on her first day at the new place. She's also manic/depressive, and obviously so. B at least twice a day will tell stories about her "fruitcake" dead husband. "His girlfriend got the aids, and I got the money. Hah!"

Posted by petefredbob at 12:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

So today I went to the 'Garden' around 10:30 AM to hear a guy talk to the old folks about politics. 'E' had told me about him the other day at lunch and said he was really good, really smart, and that everybody liked him. I knew from a few brief conversations that I've had with E that she was no raving-right-wing Republican, so I expected a leftward tilt to the speaker.

I arrived about five minutes late and sat near the back listening. The first Bush bash was low key, something relatively general about the government that could be applied to any administration at any time by folks simply disgusted with the polls being polls. This is a great tradition in this country, and leaning libertarian myself, I've bashed a-plenty, and certainly didn't take offense. Then the next bash came, then the referenced article from the NY Times, then the New Yorker, then more anti-Bush vitriol, and more referenced articles, not exactly from National Review. The kids ate it up. I took a breather to go sit with Granny and my brother out in the smoking area, and later went back for the grand finale.

Finishing up there was some mumbo-jumbo about Liberia, and a general agreement about not wanting us over there, and I blurted out something about sending Al Sharpton over there at the head of a UN peacekeeping force. Slight confusion, turned heads, but mostly nobody heard it. Afterwards I waited to talk with the speaker. He was a nice guy and was happy to speak with me, and, I don't know why I do these things, but I volunteered to give a similar talk next Friday with a slightly different slant. He was delighted and wholeheartedly encouraged me. I should just shoot myself sometimes.

So next week I'll be defending the war effort and dodging tossed canes and walkers from nice old ladies who get their news exclusively from the New York Times and analysis from a nice Jewish man who comes to visit them once every two weeks. Maybe I won't have to shoot myself.

Posted by petefredbob at 09:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Yesterday was tough. It was slightly more subtle than kicking and screaming, but Grandma made it be known to God and Man alike that she was not pleased with her new digs. At the end of the day we had to have the "talk." Now, having the "talk" with Grandma is hard. After weighing in at 94 pounds (then subtract 10 for the two braces), the tears add about a ton.

Then, the years of my dysfunctional family kicked in. After going through my speil about how I've busted my back for the past months, and now "I want something in return," she asked, "How much?" Perfect. "I want some effort."

There's nothing so grand as to be on the right side of a moral equation. It worked; for the moment. While it stabbed being thought of as a moneygrubber, as my dear old mother has it, the bigger picture is that she for now might pay attention and figure out how to get from her room to the dining hall. Plus, my Bro' is picking up my expenses.

It's time to get back over to the 'Garden,' as we'll call it for now, and I'll try to post this evening.

Posted by petefredbob at 07:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Tomorrow Granny gets dragged kicking and screaming to her new home. Me and the Bro' spent today getting things together and bringing the furniture and paperwork. Actually, Granny finally admitted that she needs help. After just a few days back at the ranch she has figured out just how difficult it would be to stay here. This by no means means that she's at all happy about her circumstances.

But on a lighter note, Bro' has already made friends at the new joint. I was left behind in the room today fixing Grannys push-button bed, and after about twenty minutes I found him outside chatting up one of the locals. This one is loud, rambunctious, and had already expressed her opinion that "this place is a jail!" By the time I arrived they were laughing loudly (Bro' and 'B') and were ready to poke fun at me as a small crowd of gawkers looked on jaws-a-saggin'. Hoo boy.

Posted by petefredbob at 11:35 PM | Permalink

This will be the last post for a few days, as manana me and Grams head north, and post this post, I will be dropping off the cable box. Net Zero dial-up posting will resume Saturday.

I'm of two minds about my experience here at Deadwood. First, these places are a great invention of the market. They provide a safe environment for our older Americans to live out their final years without having to stay at a nursing home, or a worse institution, or feel that they are being a burden on squeezed family members. As we become busier and busier, these people want to see their offspring succeed, and sacrifice closeness, as well as family squabbles.

Every case is different, as my own situation shows. Most people can't take nearly six months out of their lives to just 'hang out' and observe. I've been very lucky to have been able to spend this time with my own Grandmother, as an adult grandchild, though it hasn't been a cakewalk. Watching my Mother self destruct with jealousy, ruin her relationship with me and her own Mother, and attempt to (and succeed in at least two cases) ruin my relationship with other family members and friends, in a word, sucked. But it also showed me forcibly that my impressions as a child of my family life, and my memories of them as less than idyllic, weren't that far off base. If I can't have my Grandmother with me in California, I at least am able to keep her out of the clutches of her over-the-edge daughter, who seems to have some, shall we say, "Mother" issues. So much for public group therapy.

My second mind observes part of a large cultural shift. So much has changed in my own short life. The issues of family that we are dealing with, the changing of definitions and language, the role of gender, the attempted repression of dialogue in the public discourse (being aptly addressed by the blogosphere, thank your deity of choice, or not), and in this case, the role and relevance of elders in society.

I don't know about historically, but since I've been around, the impression from my teachers and 'learned' books gave me the impression that the 'new' way is the best way. Just look at the mess our forebears have made of the past. We, on the other hand are modern and have new methods and 'science' at our disposal. The ancients even thought that the world was FLAT! They thought that demons possessed the mentally ill, and that you could read the future from dreams. Dumb old old people!

This attitude expresses itself scathingly in our institutions of education, and in the political realm in the phrase 'Dead White Men.' You can't get older than dead.

As I get ready to begin my journey across the country next month, leaving Grandma behind, I'll get to ponder my role in society. Not anything grand mind you, but exactly where do I stand? What is my (our) responsibility to Grandma (all the Grandmas, and even the Grandpas), how does the upcoming change in the meaning of 'marriage' change responsibilities toward a brand new set of Grandma and Grandmas, or Grandpa and Grandpas? Will there be a backlash farther down the road? Hey, somebody's got to ponder these things, and the comments are open.

And now, so's I can get back to the old folk's home before my Grandma cuts me out of the will, I present K.

K is one of the loveliest persons in the 'wood. Again, very conscious of her appearance, as we've mentioned is the norm here, and always a nice word to say about everybody. This should be a good thing, but K was attacked by another to remain nameless resident that spread rumors about her that she badmouthed said unnamed resident. K lost her place at the card table, and a couple of friends in the process, and is an example of how human nature doesn't change as we get older, and not necessarily wiser.

K is also, like many of the residents, in constant physical pain. My own Granny is on two very potent pain medications herself, and would be bedridden without them. K also misses her family greatly. When her daughter comes to get her for an outing, the joy is palpable, and she gushes about how she and her daughter have such a relationship that they could spend forever together and not have a single argument. The unasked question is, "why not make it happen?"

This picture is post-scandal, and her smile is a measure of her stoicness and character in the face of much personal pain. I will miss her, and all of the other incredible characters that I've met here, including an amazing staff that is enduring the same kind of things that all working stiffs endure, with the added burden of caring for people that others no longer can.

Posted by petefredbob at 11:08 AM | Permalink

H earns the H.L. Mencken Curmudgeon award from this blogger. Only she does it with a lot fewer words. Needless to say that I am a fan of Mencken, so we have another favorite of mine here at Deadwood. We have a little ritual here between the time of the first and second meal sittings, we ask H, as she eats at the first sitting and we the second, what was for dinner. Invariably she answers, "It was so bad that I forgot already."

Although it is not difficult to repeat this scenario with any number of other residents, H says it with a quiet disgust that transcends the ordinary. It is a humble form of poetry.

Ever sporting, Grandma will at any rate say, "lets go check the menu," which can be futile at times because what is written and what is served are often quite at odds. Weekends are especially dicey. H also has a not uncommon habit here of picking out all the meat and eating the rest. Makes you want to suggest a salad.

H's deadpan delivery of exactly what she thinks about you and/or your opinion is the stuff of legend. She has the nickname of 'Mean H,' as there are at least two others with the same name, and nobody gets confused about who you are referring to. But there is subtlety there, and a gleam in the eye if your own myopia isn't too advanced. I caught on right away and ever since we've been nudging each other in the ribs. She managed one day to get a group of about six residents involved in hiding my cell phone and cigs which I momentarily left behind.

H isn't one of the snappy dressers here, she "doesn't give a damn," but she's all personality, most of which is lost on the others. For all of her pooh-poohing, she is the first one to volunteer to hand out the snacks at the parties and gatherings and takes care of the common caged birds in the halls as well as policing the cigarette butts that some of the others let drop when they can't be bothered to roll over to an ashtray. She just does it with a look that kills.

Posted by petefredbob at 11:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

'I' has come here from Switzerland to escape the cold. Of course it's summertime in Switzerland now also, and she has to go back before winter because of the visa thing, but she's groovin' on Florida anyway.

I was out front chasing and spraying wasps today while 'I' was taking a stroll (I hates waspss's). She was smiling and pushing her little four-wheel walker thingy, sunglasses tilted skyward. She likes wasps about as much as I do, and she complained about a place in her home town, the Swiss equivalent of Deadwood, where wasps even get inside the building because of the lack of screening (she used another word here, like gauze).

She once gave me a magazine for expats put out by the Swiss Foreign Ministry or Embassy or something that would have been total crap except for an editorial and article that had a decidedly political slant to it. I know nothing of the department or ministry or appointment that it talked about, but whoever the editor was, he/she certainly didn't like the direction it (they) were headed. It made me wonder if official US government rags printed overseas did the same thing.

Besides being very friendly, 'I' is quite intelligent and in possession of all her faculties. The first evening I met her we had a lovely chat, and I was quaffing a root beer. She asked me what it was and she laughed. Earlier that week she had been to the supermarket looking for a beer, when she by mistake picked up a root beer and got the shock of her life. I told her what to ask for and a few days later came by to thank me.

Today at lunch I pulled her aside and told her I had a treat for her; Miller High Life, the Champaign of Bottled Beer. Granny has had one so far out of the six-pack, and it put her right to sleep. I'm thinking I've got five left over.

Posted by petefredbob at 10:38 PM | Permalink

L calls me junior, I call her Granny. My own Granny doesn't seem to mind. L busted up her arm in a fall a few years back and can no longer paint. She has oils all over her room from a time gone by, and photographs of many more. She told me about her fall and how they put pins in her arm, and about how when the staff at Deadwood had an art class they gave her both oils and watercolors at the same time. Knuckleheads.

I'm trying to clean up the old personal business as we pack up to head north. One of the things I promised myself I'd do was to get L some charcoal and newsprint. I think of it as crayons for seniors who used to be artists. I brought it to her today, and she was so flabbergasted that she repeated one of her old stories three times. She also showed me pictures of her and her husband posing by the old station wagon loaded down with camping gear. They were going fishing.

She's ninety-four, and I've never seen her frown. Her room is on the corner where two hallways meet and her door is always open. She greets people when they go by and she's not shy at all. At night when I'm wheeling Granny back to her room, we look in to see L dozing in her bed, head cocked in the direction of the TV. 'Night Granny. 'Night Junior.

Posted by petefredbob at 12:12 AM | Permalink

Happy Fifth of July everyone! This means that those of you able to see this made it through without blowing yourself up, or worse. I celebrated my holiday by getting home early and digging into the latest Harry Potter book. As explosions popped in the air, I settled in to my dweebness to explore Hogwarts.

Today begins moving week where I get to go find boxes and start packing. "How are we going to get that on the airplane?" is what I've been hearing for well nigh a week now, and I have to start removing items from sight and into boxes before I go nuts.

Now, to restore my swashbuckling pirate image and reputation as a facilitator of corrupt practices, I confess that on the third of July I cut a back alley deal. H below approached me surreptitiously, with a wink and a nod saying she heard that I could get my hands on 'stuff.'

H is dear to me. She is from Tennessee and real 'Old South.' Ever the Lady and never out of her room before 4PM, she is the epitome of 'Southern Belle' charm. "I sure would enjoy a nice glass of vodka to celebrate the Fourth of July," she mentioned offhandedly.

H has amused me with stories from her past, her husband, her childhood. She married well, never mentioned deprivation (as if a lady would speak of such a thing anyway), and says things like. "Well, I never." She speaks in a lovely drawl, and when interrupted by a fast speaking northerner, never shows offence, and softly chuckles, slightly amused at the perpetrator. As I struggle with my own manners, it is instructive to see a lifetime of them at work.

As Granny wanted a beer ("I like Miller") for the fourth, I was heading in that direction anyway. I wondered to myself what the clerk in the liquor store thinks when someone comes in to buy the tiny little bottles that you used to only find on airplanes. There isn't much sense in having them, at two bucks a pop, when you can get a larger, more economical one; unless they are for clandestine purposes.

I had the ridiculous urge to explain that "these weren't for me," that I wasn't the closet drinker, that this was a mission of mercy for someone that was looking for a little bit of Freedom on the Fourth. That she couldn't even make it out the front door to see the fireworks. I decided to keep mum, and not embarrass myself like some damned Yankee.

Posted by petefredbob at 09:06 AM | Permalink

Watch out for this card sharp! H plays his own brand of crazy eights. One day I was walking through the Garden Room and the regular game was going on. There were only three players and they asked me to sit in. The game was crazy eights, and I vaguely remembered playing from childhood. They quickly recapped the object and I started playing. H made a wrong move, and I commented. "Oh, that's just the way he plays."

This is something you get used to with older people, even with Grandma. Time has gone haywire and the rules have changed. H, like many people here, goes through obvious mood swings, but at heart he's a big sweetie. Being a diabetic, he gets Jello for dessert, while most others get chocolate cream pie or ice cream. But H loves his Jello, and we've made a big thing out of the 'yello-jello.' You see, red is the most common, green comes in a close second, and at the holidays you can get a mix of red and green. Orange is for the kids, but yello-jello is the best. You just have to make sure they clean the bowl real good from the last batch or you can see little bits of red.

It's OK if you don't understand.

Posted by petefredbob at 09:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I've deleted the old blog and the links to it. I'll be doing a little more clean up in the posts previous to this one, with the intention of not giving away any more specifics about the people in the pictures here. My intention here is to give a bird's eye view, at least from my perspective, of life at the end of the road. I don't intend to harm anyone at Deadwood (my fictional name for the facility), and I don't mean for them to be found. What I mean to do is tell a little bit of their stories as best I can.

We all have lives to live, and jobs to do. I don't make any judgments about families leaving their elder ones in places like this. This is just what is. Some of the residents need to be here, some have no family, some have come of their own volition, some have been "placed." Some of them have no idea where they are and are waiting for somebody to come and get them. They all mix together with failing faculties and wandering minds.

I attended the monthly birthday party today with Grandma. There was a special luncheon for all the people with birthdays in July. The youngest birthday girl, (most residents are women for obvious reasons) is going to be 80. Of the seven or eight at the party, only two (including Grandma) could have what we would call a normal adult conversation. It was one of the best birthday parties that I've ever been to.

Our lovely lady of the day did not have a birthday this month, but she said that she has stopped counting anyway.

S, fancies herself the Matron of Deadwood, and she certainly is. She has been here a few years and originally came here with her husband. She tends the rose bushes and the hibiscus and brings little statues and things for the garden when she goes shopping with her daughter. She mentions to anyone who will listen that she has stock in the place, and she maintains a two-room suite that could be anyone's cozy apartment.

While most of the residents will complain in a New York Minute about the food, S can't wait to get to the dining room. "I'll eat anything but the spinach," is her motto. S is one of my favorites, not least of which is that her strong personality clashes occasionally with some of the others. We pull each other's leg all the time.

She's only in the last week expressed reservations about being here. A couple of residents have recently left, as well as some of the favorite staff, and she knows that Grandma and me are leaving in short order. She's anticipating being lonely.

Posted by petefredbob at 11:19 PM | Permalink

I remembered while looking at this picture some of the first impressions I had upon first arriving at Deadwood. A good percentage of the residents made no bones about dressing for public consumption. The women have their 'face' on, and the men have their hair combed.

'I,' was one of the first 'Ladies' I noticed that had 'it' going on. Perfectly coifed, matching scarf, make-up, and purse, she is ready to jump in the old Roadmaster and head down the shore for a sea cruise, or out to the Island for a house party.

Of course, reality is different now. 'I' has probably not seen past the front door of Deadwood for some time. The smoke in her hand is probably out of a carton that I placed at the front desk for those 'left behind' ones; those whose relatives 'forget' to resupply Grandma's cigs at regular intervals.

The walker in the foreground belies her easy confidence. She shuffles back and forth accross the courtyard, eyeing the other residents, looking for a soft touch in the 'spare smoke' department. You can hear someone moan, "Here she comes".

She'll sidle up real sweet with a big smile and wait about thirty seconds before popping the question. The others call her "the bummer." When she's fixed, she doesn't talk to anyone.

Posted by petefredbob at 11:31 PM | Permalink

I've made a few mistakes, if you will, taking pictures with the new camera. Mostly, I can see them in the little viewer on the back and re-shoot, but some of the blurry ones slip through. Some of them are good mistakes though. Mostly it's when I'm shooting directly into a light source of some kind and I get shadows or halos. This picture is an example of what I consider to be a good mistake.

A, is another of the smoking crew here at Deadwood. She is classic bohemian, studied Edgar Cayce and astrology (though not a big fan of Crowley and/or the Golden Dawn) and was probably quite the chippie in her heyday. You can smell Beat Poet. She is so soft spoken, (as are many others here) that you have to lean in to hear what she's saying. She's a bit of a loner, and a little sad. She's on dialysis three times a week and is waiting for a new kidney. The trouble is that she smokes.

The deal with organ tranpslants is that if you are seen as practicing a risky lifestyle, you drop down the list. When she first got to Deadwood she was desperately trying to quit smoking by lighting one, taking two drags and stuffing it out. She would go through half a dozen cigs in about five minutes and get up and leave. The other residents were baffled at first by this un-seeming behavior, and collected the slightly puffed stogies in a plastic bag, until a smoke deprived and not-so-picky resident started taking them and firing them up.

A seems to have resigned herself to the fact that here, smoking is about the only adult diversion available; and she gets to socialize with some of the more interesting folks about. She's smoking like a human now, she stays to chat, and she's exchanged the skittish, wide-eyed withdrawal look with her more natural easy-going bongo-tapping personae. But you can see it in her face that she knows that she's dropping further down the list with every drag.

Posted by petefredbob at 11:49 PM | Permalink

I went to the WalMart today with the flash disc to check out the new
photo machine. This is a great idea; you just bring a CD, floppy, flash,
whatever and stick it into the machine, pick your prints and wait an
hour. It was a great idea until nine pictures failed. I'll be going back
tomorrow. I'll be uploading one picture a day with a little detail on
each. These people have amazing stories to tell, and you can read a lot
in their faces. The rest I'll just make up.

Today's artistic presentation is, of course, Granny. She's a cute little
bugger, isn't she? Eighty-nine on July second. Last week we had a coffee
and doughnut going away shindig for E. E was the only lucid guy in the
joint and a young pup at seventy-two. He talked sports and stuff and the
ladies loved him. The party was so successful (they talked about it for
days) that we're having another one just like it for Granny's B-Day.

Posted by petefredbob at 11:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

In Grandma news today: I'm on my way to Dunkin' Donuts to fetch some goodies for a 'going home party' today. One of Deadwood Lane's favorite residents has purchased a home in Cape Coral to live in with his daughter and son-in-law. He is one of the Smoking Crew, former teacher and athlete (from when athletes were allowed to smoke) and all around good guy. He will be missed.

I've been giving the Elph a workout at Deadwood and have some great shots. I've sent back to L.A. for my Photoshop disc to load up on the laptop so's I can "adjust" the shots to fit on this page.

Posted by petefredbob at 08:22 AM | Permalink

Day two of trip three to Florida. After nine out of ten days of rain in New Jersey I finally got soaked here at the car rental place. I broke down and bought an umbrella. The flight was as pleasant as could be for sitting in the middle seat. I had the rare pleasure of conversing with both of my seatmates and the attendants were impeccably professional. I was not pulled out of line for inspection, most likely because I didn't have my usual one-way ticket. Other than this trip, I've been pulled out of line every time, even when flying with Granny. Be warned.

The guy at the rental place was almost good at his job. They must have had a few extra cars yesterday, because he gave me the upgrade pitch. When all was said and done, I accepted the 'Town Car', for an additional hundred bucks for the two weeks. The last full-size car I had was a Dodge Intrepid, which bit the bone, and didn't impress Grandma in the least, so I caved pretty easily.

Trouble was that the 'Town Car' was a 'Town and Country' mini-van, which I found out by trudging in the up-tempo downpour to slot D3. I wound up with a Caddy, nach.

Bro and I last week went on a reconnoitering mission to New Jersey's finest assisted living facilities. We took pictures with the Elph, and signed the docs to get Granny in at any time during the month of July, which puts a recognizable ending in sight to my disjointed trip east. We also took one step closer to building Granny's final smoking den. The architect has sent the revised layout, and once we approve, we'll talk numbers. I'm still a day or two out from spending the time to figure out how to post pictures here, but, soon my pretties.

Jackass Dept: Some Jackass over this past weekend stole the big glass tabletop from the wicker set out in the screen room. Geesh! I rule out kids in this case, mainly because this is a fifty-five and over park, but also because of the scavenger-like nature of many of the adults here. The mobile units here are mainly winter homes for people that can't handle the winter any more, and sell more easily if they are ready to move in to, i.e., furnished. That, combined with the senior heavy population, make for many estate and garage sales.

The furnishings here in Granny's place are such a mish-mash of styles and age that it almost pains the eye. Stains on seat cushions, wobbly legs, rickety table tops, and four different piles, colors and designs in the carpet alone complete the effect. The lighting fixtures and decorations are even more dissonant. Remember those hanging lamps from the seventies? The ones with chains that the electrical wires snaked up through and the colored glass? Add a Home Depot Labor Day Sale ceiling fan (with lights), a crappy brass chandelier (again, on a chain, probably original equipment), and wall fixtures you might find on either side of the entrance to a NYC police precinct and you've got the kitchen-dining room set-up. Oh, and an exposed twenty-four inch fluorescent tube over the sink. This is a selling point.

Now we've got a wicker table and chair set without a tabletop. Criminy. My only consolation is that whoever took the damn thing probably has the taste of an aspiring third world dictator with the budget of one of his subjects. Maybe it's time for a nice shiny NRA sticker prominently displayed on the mailbox.

Posted by petefredbob at 09:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

It looks like the changes finally stuck. I can read the small type on the sidebar better. I'm not at all sure about the blog title color. I'm thinking more of a 'rust.' It really sucks not having Photoshop loaded on the laptop. I'll have to find a color wheel somewhere with the pantone numbers.

So far today I've been avoiding paperwork, including correspondence. I have to get all my receipts together from Florida, crickey!, I spent a bundle. (how's that for creative punctuation?)

Tomorrow is big decision day for my little bro. We go to my cousin's house to discuss construction on digs for Grandma. It's a pile of money to be removed from the "estate", but hey, it's not about the money, right? Speaking of Grandma, when I called last night at 9PM, she was still outside puffing away. The little rascal, two days I'm gone and already she's staying up past her bedtime.

Posted by petefredbob at 11:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)