I got outside of my comfort zone yesterday. The apartment manager, Carol, had been asking me for years to come to one of their planned events at the pavilion, which is outside my door and about 25 feet.
But I never went. Until yesterday. She had urged me again last week to join them.
They had a chili cookout with three kinds of chili.
I don’t go around groups much. I’m a loner. But I was already outside because my daughter and family were leaving.
Then I began talking to the neighbor woman, Irvina, who is moving in a bit at a time, and I saw them gathering at the pavilion.
I didn’t have anything to offer. So I grabbed up three rolls of paper towels and headed over there before I could think about it too much.
It was actually quite nice. There were only about 10 or so people there.
It was a group of older folks, an age group I’ve always felt most comfortable with. I guess because I grew up around my great-grandmother and her older friends.
I saw people I’d never seen or met before. I might even do it again.
Someone asked if they could sit next to me in one of the outdoor chairs. We were talking and things were going great. But of course there had to be one big faux pas.
The small group was talking about how long each of them had lived here. I gestured to the person sitting next to me and said: “He’s lived here for 16 years.”
The he spoke up and said: “I’m not a he, I’m a she.”
I was so embarrassed, but everyone assured me it was fine. They all realize that I’ve lived here for four and a half years and never joined them, so they made light of it. And “she” and I kept talking.
I even ate some chili, though my daughter and her family had just been over with Chinese food and I ate lunch with them.
The she I thought was a he told me her name is Barbara. She used to be a mechanical engineer until she had a mass in her brain. She said once they removed it she was never the same. She has little memory and has to have someone help her with day to day living.
She also showed me a photo of her grandmother who came to the US from India and lived to be 116 years old. I asked her what she thought the reason for her longevity was.
Spices, she said. Lots and lots of spices for most everything.
When I walked across the way and opened my door the pet babies were on the couch waiting for me. Charlie was perched on the end of the couch closest to the window, so I bet he could hear my voice. Ivy was next to him.
A friend from Tyler, Texas, where I moved from 7 years ago, called last night to tell me about something called CBD oil. Have you heard of it? She said it has helped her neck a lot. And she suggested that maybe I should try it.
I will be be checking out this CBD oil online and see what I can find out. She said that it isn’t inexpensive though. But she said the results were well worth it. And to get the gold formula.
She’s the woman who used to help me with my Meals On Wheels route.
This morning Ivy was sitting on the floor, calmly licking her long tail. Suddenly she jumped into the air, landed facing the other direction, and took off running.
Sometimes I wonder if Ivy hears voices. Why does she abruptly stop what she’s doing, cock her head like someone is talking to her, and then do the craziest things?
Is there an invisible kitten whisperer?
She’s been dragging this tie-back to my red and white checked buffalo curtains around all morning. I have no idea where she found it. I am not currently using any of them on my windows.
Another odd thing. Charlie normally hates to have his photo taken. He will move, avert his eyes, look uncomfortable.
When I was calling “Ivy, Ivy” this morning trying to get some photos for you, he got up and got on the floor right in front of my camera. He was still and looking straight at me.
He did that a few more times this morning. How odd. Now he suddenly wants to have his photo taken after 12 years of avoiding it?
Well, that’s fine. Has Ivy changed him somehow in the just over two weeks she’s been here?
Charlie, as you know, is not one to snuggle. But Ivy will plop herself right beside him. He doesn’t always get up and move anymore.
I guess an old dog (he’s really my baby, you know) can learn new tricks.