Monthly Archives: January 2016

An Authentic Buddy

19 Tuesday Jan 2016

Posted by in Thanks, Friends, Reunion, Uncategorized

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Some of us were lucky enough to grow up with a buddy. A few of us still have some of those friends left over from our youth. I’ve had the unexpected pleasure of reconnecting with schoolmates through FB. Old friends have made encouraging comments to blog posts; it’s been humbling to be received so warmly.

One friend private messaged me and offered to lend a hand. I admit to not being handy. He offered to stop by the duplex and see if his abilities could solve some of the more pressing problems.

He and his wife drove up at the scheduled time. We’d not seen one another since graduation. Four decades changes your looks. I doubt we would have recognized each other if not for updated FB photos. Time had changed parts of us, but there is a smile and a hug that the hands of time don’t touch.

They were both genuinely interested in what I was attempting to do. We slowly walked through every empty room. Finally we went to the area that truly needs the most help, the blighted  bathroom. There is literally  a 12 inch space that you have to squeeze through to get to the bathtub. The question I had for them was how to install a shower curtain rod. Nothing about this is simple. He had an idea and has offered a quick fix.

It was lunch time so we went out together and enjoyed a meal. We shared shortened versions of our last 40 years. And then they drove me over to their home. They bought an older island home too. Seeing the magic they worked on their space was inspiring.

The TLC and energy they put into their remodel was obvious. The love and devotion they have for each other was heartwarming. To have an authentic Buddy is a gift I am thankful for, his awesome wife is a bonus. Thanks you two. (You know who you are!)

 

 

Weekend Warrior

18 Monday Jan 2016

Posted by in Neighbors, Property Lines, Battle Lines, Warned, Uncategorized

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Spent the weekend moving from the old to the new; one car-load at a time. I moved my kitchen first. More than anything; I own cooking equipment. I still have the harvest gold, Le Crueset cookware I got in 1977. I cradled random objects and discarded others. Moving is an opportunity to refresh and refine.

I’ve been over to the duplex at least a few times a month during the past year, but rarely on the weekend. I tried to respect my tenant’s rights to privacy. The neighbors weren’t normally around. This weekend, the January weather was brisk but clear and plainly, people were outside and about.

Delivering a car-load on Saturday, from the alley entrance, the neighbor to the West rode up on his bicycle. He asked if I was the owner. I introduced myself. He half smiled. Casually, we shook hands. Quickly, he informed me that the previous owner had built the fence too close to his property line and that they would need to take part of it down to move furniture upstairs into the garage apartment.

If you’ve driven down this alley and seen the dead, dried, sand- trout carcasses nailed to the power pole; you’ve arrived! This garage apartment was badly Iked and has yet to be repaired. Windows are missing parts; mangled, vinyl siding waves in the wind. No human has legally lived there in the seven years since the Hurricane Ike. Pre- storm, it was surely neglected; routine maintenance has been deferred for decades.

I told him he could take the fence down as long as he puts it back up correctly. We shall see what develops.

Sunday, the neighbor to the East called me over. Same question; was I the owner. She was pleased to meet me and glad to see the downstairs tenants go. She reported the law had been over there during the holidays. She said there was something fishy about them. I listened; hoping there wasn’t another issue. From across the street, a curious couple waved weakly; openly armored in honest reluctance.

Warriors were out in force; defining property lines and defending their imaginary boundaries.  This new owner has been property-welcomed; properly.  Perhaps some day we can have a good old fashioned neighborhood fish-fry.

SafeGraySpace

14 Thursday Jan 2016

Posted by in Aging in Place. Seniors, Alzheimers, Boomers, Economic Insecurity, Elders, Livable Community, Uncategorized

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I phoned my step-dad yesterday. I wanted to take him over to the duplex to show it to him. The trash was cleaned out. The walls had been white-washed with cheap paint to hide the remains of their dark history. With this initial step completed, I wanted to introduce my step-dad to where I’d be moving to.

He lives right up the street from me in a Retirement Community. I visit with him often.  When I called, he didn’t recognize who I was. Sometimes, it’s just that he literally can’t hear who is calling. He’s sporadically used a hearing aid for decades; when he could remember where he put it or simply to use it. But, he has Alzheimer’s, so more often than not, he really doesn’t know who is who or what goes where.

After the required re-establishment of who I was, where he was and why I was calling, he explained that he was too busy. He could not go anywhere because he was helping someone get a cane; that someone is his constant companion at the Retirement Community. He couldn’t recall her name but I gently inserted it into my next sentence when I kindly asked him to please be sure to tell her I said hello.

She has memory issues as well. I watched her mobility deteriorate steadily during 2015, but her hearing is intact. She can tell him when his cell phone is ringing. He remains physically fit and can help her hobble around. They make a good team; they keep each other occupied.

That’s what Almost Eighty looks like; he is 79, she’s 78. They majority of the residents where they live, have nearly identical issues. Those fortunate residents have the financial security to ensure this kind of safe, secure, comfortable elder- life-style. It is the institutional version of  my wish for a SafeGraySpace.

In two quick decades, millions of us will be 80. Unfortunately, many don’t have such robust, financial resources.

Fear not. May I Introduce Section 504; the Home Repair program that provides loans and grants to improve homes for the elderly. At 62 you can qualify for a loan/ grant combo of $27,500 at 1%. You have to be low-income. A USDA home loan specialist can help if this is a program that can help someone in need.

I’m not going to wait till I’m 62. I hope I’m not officially low-income at that time; better keep my day job.

Back to the Future…Again

13 Wednesday Jan 2016

Posted by in Accessible Home, Aging in Place. Seniors, SilverTsunami, Uncategorized

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Yesterday, I told my landlord that I would be moving out soon. I dreaded telling him. With all the drama that my tenants put me through in the last year; twelve troubled months felt like a decade. The last thing I wanted was to be a problem tenant.

My landlord told me that he already had a new tenant lined up; a 90 year old lady. She’s been renting someplace else but wanted to move to a ground-floor apartment, one that was easier to access. I was able to maneuver up these three steps when I was on crutches. You can tell a lot about accessibility if you can get where you need to while on crutches. You couldn’t get up here easily in a wheel chair.

Today, my domain name SafeGraySpace automatically renewed. I got an email this morning. So here I am; back to the future.

I looked at the site again. It’s valid. A 90 year old needs to move; at her age? Who was making plans for her safety and comfort? It is society’s disgrace.That’s not where any one should be at 90.

Soon, I will moving out of this space into the downstairs unit of the duplex. It is not the SafeGraySpace I intend to remake it into. But I have a plan. I am certain most of my existing plan will be modified. In the initial step of cleaning up after the renter’s,   I discovered things that the building inspection should have revealed but didn’t.

Trying to clean up around the bathroom window, a huge chunk of termite-ridden debris fell from the area that should have been the window frame. I stopped. It looked more like dirty lace than wood. I suspected that I could be doing more harm than good.

My plan is to move in and stay in it the way it is for awhile. It is livable. I once lived in an off-grid, no running water, log-cabin at 9,000′ elevation for 6 years. I can do this. I need to know that this place is where I want to create my SafeGraySpace. It’s a start.

Accidental Landlord

07 Thursday Jan 2016

Posted by in Addiction, Accident, Landlord, Uncategorized

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I had no intention of being a Landlord. It was an accident. Admittedly, I’m terrible at certain roles in rigid relationships. This role may be the one I am the least suited for.

Currently, my landlord – tenant relationship is complicated. There’s the simple part, the one that should be symbiotic; I pay the mortgage they pay rent and get to live there.

But, if they don’t pay me, I still have to pay the mortgage. Getting them out, formally called eviction, after failing to pay rent for two months in a row, was tough and rough. Things can get unpleasant. Unhappy people can do a lot of damage on their way out.

The slightly dilapidated duplex I bought after my boating accident, to convert into my SafeGraySpace quarters came with renters and a lease for 11 months after ‘closing.’

There’s an upstairs and a downstairs unit. Upstairs is Section 8; that’s both a thesis and an opera of it’s own. That payment is automatically deposited. Like clockwork.

The downstairs renters were difficult from the get-go. Their reasons for being late with the rent were endless. Their complaints were constant. My concerns were temporarily appeased with the fact that their lease would end in November. Things got ugly fast.

It wasn’t the broken windows, the filth, the holes in the walls that bothered me. It was something pink and sticky and everywhere; splattered on the baseboards, walls and doors and coating the inside of the fridge. Every room had evidence of this substance.

What was it? I suspect it was something illicit and probably addictive. These people were broken; probably by an addiction. This sad problem is what broke my soft heart.

Things can be repaired, cleaned and replaced. It’s much harder to fix people; to repair human beings. As I said in the beginning, it was by accident that I am in this role.

I’ve mostly recovered from my accident. I hope these poor people can recover from whatever it is that drives them to exist, covered in their sticky, pink mess. Good luck.

Kick-Off

06 Wednesday Jan 2016

Posted by in New Year Resolution, Forgiveness, Past, Uncategorized

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I am sorry. I read something last night posted by a “FB friend.” It was about something that had happened twenty years ago. The fact that it took him twenty years to write about it suggests a degree of significance in the story of his life.

Good parts of my story, the memorable moments, are my history. The others are the past; the parts that were so bad, they should be left alone; in the past. I have a past.

I hold on to certain things for decades too. My living room looks like a shrine to people and places I have loved, little alters of prized scraps everywhere. My mind is like that; cluttered with my remixed memories. I verge on the brink of being a memory hoarder.

There was something about reading this post that twisted my dreams into a nightmare. I was sitting on the beach on a island in the middle of the ocean. Suddenly, there is a volcanic eruption. Instead of ash, mutilated corpses are falling from the sky. Wake up!

I want to offer an apology to this friend. He would never have had the experience he wrote about, if not for me. Other exceptionally good things came out of us knowing one another. For those things, I am eternally grateful. For the pain I caused, I am sorry.

To kick-off my New Year, I’m trying to declutter my past. I’ll kick-off with apologies. For any and all grief I have ever caused, I would like to officially ask for forgiveness. May this New Year gently bring us all more peace and less pain. It’s kick-off time.

Starter Lie

05 Tuesday Jan 2016

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It started with a lie. Actually, it never really started. My battery wasn’t the problem; it was simply my starter. I tried to explain to the repair shop foreman that my battery wasn’t very old. He didn’t listen. When I tried to tell him again that I was pretty sure it wasn’t my battery, he said I didn’t know what I was talking about. I was stuck. I’d arrived by tow truck.

He said they would look at it and let me know. Go have a seat. Off I ambled to the designated waiting area. There was one couple already waiting. There was the smell of a neglected coffee pot and standard waiting-room, flat-screen blaring sports. It was the first Saturday of the year, the day after New Year’s Day Friday. Most people were on a mid-winter break. People seemed stunned, extra holiday dazed.

The couple left after about twenty minutes. I can do my job remotely so I just started looking at work emails and drafting answers. Time slipped off into work mode. Another customer wandered in and then another.

Someone from the dealer’s staff checked on the coffee and began to half-way start a fresh pot. I looked at the time. I walked back over to ask the foreman how it was going. Apparently, the mere sight of me walking back towards his desk annoyed him. He just shook his head like I needed more than words and turned his back. I ignored him ignoring me.

 I told the foreman that I really wanted to be able to communicate more effectively with him. I asked him if there was another way for me to explain myself. He looked at me like I’d asked him if he wanted a scoop of poop ice cream. Asking him for an update was apparently almost an Original Sin.

And that is how the first Saturday of this New Year started, or like I said when I started writing this, it never really started.

The car did get fixed. It turns out that the battery wasn’t dead. I found that out today when I took it off the floorboard of my back seat into the auto repair shop where I’d bought it a year and a half ago.They tested it and it wasn’t dead. I’d been lied to.

I want to start my New Year over, so for me it hasn’t started. That is my starter lie. I am starting over.