Nun, Secretary, Librarian, Deputy Sheriff, Legal Secretary, Court Reporter, Lawyer, Private Detective

Those were all the career choices I considered, researched, sometimes took classes in as I navigated through life.

What brought the subject up was Mitchell’s comment that I should have been a private detective and Mistress Maddie’s comment about my comment to his drag nun post. It got me to thinking about my career choices.

I don’t recall, as a child, ever thinking about what I wanted to do when I grew up. However, the fact I’d ask for, and sometimes get, a toy typewriter for Christmas, should have been a clue for me that I was leaning towards the secretarial field.

The first time I recall actually making a plan for a future me was around 15 years old. I wanted to be a Nun.

I was raised Baptist, but it wasn't me. I was quiet, reflective and the Baptists were noisy, loud.

A neighbor girl one day invited me to services at her Catholic Church.

I so enjoyed the Catholic church’s peaceful quiet atmosphere that I began sneaking off to attend the Catholic church on the regular.

Then, when I went to the movie theater, saw Audrey Hepburn’s movie The Nun’s Story twice in a row, I decided that was the life I wanted.

My controlling mom got wind of my leaning towards the Catholic religion, forbid my hanging out with my Catholic friend, attending the Catholic church again. Told me I was to be a schoolteacher.

I think it was in my last year of Jr. High School when us students were counseled to choose a career path for our high school years.

Though Mom told me to say teacher, Secretary came out of my mouth, and I was gently told that was not an achievable goal for a person with my skin color, that I should go into nursing.

I’m way too squeamish for that, so I went aimlessly into high school with nothing in mind. It was just the regular classes — Math (that I sucked at), English (I excelled), Homemaker stuff like sewing/cooking classes.

It was during my last year of high school, with mom expecting me to graduate, find a way into a Teacher Education Program, poor as we were, that something inside gave me the strength to defy her. I was tired of being poor, wanted to earn money when I graduated, enrolled in a typing class, passed with an A+.

This is when it looked like the advice I'd been given — not an achievable goal for a person with my skin color, might be legit because, the A students in the class that were not of my skin color ... no effort on their part, were approached by recruiters to work in government offices.

However, the color of my skin was not always a negative. It helped me get my foot in the door and sometimes, during my career, brought recruiters and headhunters to me.

The first foot in the door was when I found my way into a position where a girl of color was needed by a white business operating in a predominately Black area.

It did not pay well but, from there, I tested and got a Clerk Typist position in public services.

The world evolved, my skills strengthened through technical college, continuing education classes, work experiences sharpening my skills.

My girls remember it as "Mom, you were always in school, working to give us a better life".

At any rate, I moved up from clerk typist to secretary, was many times the right person in the right place at the right time and accepted offers presented, one offer that got me into the legal field.

Along the way, when I'd end up working in positions where I endured racism, abuse of authority, or the bosses were bat shit crazy — like those years I worked with the witches (Henrietta, Joyce, Jane), I looked into other careers, like Library Sciences, but learned I was already making more money than Librarians.

I looked into taking a Private Detective course, but the school was too far away.

I even looked at going to Law School.

I took a test to get into law enforcement, passed the test, but the interview was a joke. Interviewers were obvious about not taking me seriously, flunked me out.

Funny thing though was that, not long after I was flunked out in the oral, there was a push to bring women into that field, but by then I’d already discovered Court Reporters were making tons of money, had poured myself into Court Reporting School.

I don’t remember how fast my skills on the stenotype machine tested out at, but I do remember I was fast, took the test to get certified, passed, got ready to apply for a position.

It was all so long ago that I also don’t recall if the position I was to apply for was with the Courts, the County or the State; but I do recall that, all of a sudden, something happened and hiring new Court Reporters was put on hold.

There’s now a shortage of Court Reporters.

It seems that every time I tried to move out of the secretarial field, a roadblock appeared and, when I was no longer interested in switching, the roadblock disappeared.

The Universe was leading me to stay in the secretarial lane.

It was a good lane. I sometimes had great bosses and because of all the classes I’d taken in other areas, my interest in and keeping up with technology, I had skills others did not have, had slowly been moving up to higher paying secretarial positions all along and, when reorganizations and layoffs occurred, I was considered valuable, remained employed, kept my salary when others suffered job loss and pay cuts.

Being a secretary wasn’t a grand ambition, but it's been an interesting path, worked out for me.

I sometimes wonder if my enjoyment of cosplay is an extension of my initial desire to move through life in fields other than those in which I was planted.

Labor Day? It’s Still Monday

It’s been dead as a doornail here on the complex, and I don’t think it merely seems so just because I’ve morphed into a recluse, and thus out of the loop, but is an actuality.

Nothing interesting even popping up on the window cam, except I did see Gandalf showing up earlier in the week, performing that "this far and no further" ritual of walking to the edge of the walkway by the stairs, looking to his left then returning to the unit. However, strangely, he showed up just that one time.

So, is he still living down there with his mom or not? Who knows for sure, but I surmise so.

His brother Compton is no longer parking on the property, so I guess Manager got what she wanted — him gone …… or thinks she got what she wanted because he’s still on camera heading to/from work, but it’s during hours when the office is closed, no management personnel around to know any different.

He must be parking/hiding his car nearby.

All in all, it appears Ms. Neighbor's two sons are on the downlow, keeping a low profile, staying away from prying eyes and out of the crosshairs of management.

With the resident known as Red Light having moved and no one willing to take over her self-motivated job of planning BBQs for us residents, it’s not going to look much like a holiday around here today, except for the absence of staff.

For me, it’s just another Monday anyway — a workout this morning and a grocery run after.

I did however manage to have a three-day weekend, because Trainer rescheduled me beastmode last week (back-to-back workouts Wednesday and Thursday), so he and his team could travel out-of-town Friday for a weekend Muay Thai fighting event.

Unmotivated, and the weather still too hot, I did not leave the unit, train for a 5K that might be coming up at the University. Instead, it was three days of needlepoint and prison break. In addition to which, a great deal of time was devoted to putting out fires, as I received notification sensitive data had made it to the Dark Web.

Back in May, when I returned from Pride Week in Long Beach, I received a fraud alert on my credit card, which alert necessitated cancelling the card. This latest breach seems to have stemmed from that incident, and I have a sense it was a bank employee, the one that assisted me in cancelled the card, who leaked/sold other even more sensitive data he collected during that conversation.

At any rate, all I could do this time was to put a lock on everything it was possible to lock, change passwords, and cross my fingers the scammers will find I'm not financially worth the effort.

It boggles my mind that there are people whose job it is to run phishing scams, find ways and means to defraud/take advantage of others.

If the scammers plan to use the information to file next year’s taxes in my name, reap the reward, they’re in for a surprise — find themselves liable for a bill to pay rather than a return, LOL.

Speaking of jobs, this Labor Day also marks the 14th year of my sliding the chute, or close enough as I officially retired on September 7.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again ……… Time flies when one is not having to deal, on a daily basis, with functionally insane employers, various forms of racism and abuse of authority.

Though the flashbacks and trauma lives on, I consider myself one of the lucky ones to have gotten out alive, as I once thought I’d be like the 60-year-old Wells Fargo employee who was recently found dead at her desk, four days after she’d last clocked in.

I fully expected to be a little old lady keeling over dying at my desk, but would have hoped my death would have been noticed before people were alerted by the smell, as was the case with this employee.

A worse fate would have been coworkers trying to get rid of me by taking me on a hike and leaving me behind, as was the case for the insurance underwriter on a work retreat, who also made the news this weekend — rescued after a night stuck on 14,230 foot Mt. Shavano during a freezing rainstorm after being left behind by his 14 coworkers.

If I understand the story correctly, those coworkers did not report him missing for 8 hours, which was after the guy miraculously survived the night, managed to get a cell signal and call for help his own darn self.

Just goes to show, though the struggle to retirement is real, and leaves one with lingering trauma, it's better than dying at one's desk or being downsized out by coworkers.

Isn’t that Special

Twice last week and once yesterday, I observed Complex Manager and Assistant Manager walking together down the walkway towards one of the buildings out of my line of vision.

A sure sign there's trouble afoot.

Having not interacted with many for weeks and weeks and weeks, I’m out of the loop, have no idea what the grapevine is saying.

I have noticed and posted that it’s been unusually quiet around here — "eerily quiet, ominously quiet".

I am aware there have been lots and lots of management meetings, and this seeing Manager and Assistant Manager out of their offices, heading down the walkway together, I'm getting a sense of why it's so eerily and ominously quiet but don't yet know the specifics.

I should get back to hanging out more so as to gather intel — take one for the blog by going back to attending Activity Director’s Tuesday events, maybe sit-in on Movie Night — which is actually 12 noon to 2 p.m.

After renewing the lease last week, while adding the updated paperwork to my files, I realized I was missing my copy of the signed Information Form. So, I caught up with Assistant Manager yesterday afternoon, asked for and received the requested copy.

As I was leaving the office, paperwork in hand, I said "Thank you". Whereupon, she said "Thank YOU! You are one of the nicest tenants we have on the property".

"Wow, really?" was my surprised reaction.

"Yes".

Well now, isn’t that special.

But if they think that I'm one of the nicest, then there must be some bad ass bitter in-your-face beoches around here.

One of my greatest accomplishments in life is having outwit and escaping from my abusive ex-husband, with our six month old twins in my arms when, after keeping me trapped in the apartment for an extended period, terrorizing and threatening to unalive me because I wanted to leave him, I convinced him to leave me unattended to for the ten minutes it would have taken him to drive to the cleaners, pick up his cop uniform because I wasn't going to leave him. "Let's give it another try" I said, which made him feel like he'd won, so it was okay for him to go back to work.

I grabbed the babies, fled with the clothes we had on our backs, the second I heard his car leave the driveway.

My second greatest accomplishment is how I sucked it up, kept my head down, knew when to hold 'em, when to fold 'em, when to walk away, when to run and thus survived the racism, abuse of authority, the three witches and other atrocities of Corporate America.

This complex is just another Corporate world one has to navigate one's way through, and if management thinks I'm one of the nicest then, like I said, there must be some bad ass in-your-face upset-with-management beoches around here.

I'd like to know who they are, what they're up to, so I'll be hanging out more for a bit, spending a little less time inside on my own.

Friday is the residents’ costume party, hosted by Red Light and the Baker.

I don’t imagine I’ll gather much intel at that event, but you never know.

Other People’s Mistakes

Monday came and went with no signs of the Inspectors. So, guessing the Great Inspection is done and over with, I'm taking my own sweet time getting myself together this morning.

Having just seen Head Maintenance Guy appearing to have taken a day off — he and his family all dressed in black as though heading to a funeral, walking down the walkway, heading to their car, for sure the Inspectors are gone and were gone after a mere three days.

These agencies are all the same ... easily fooled by the aesthetics, in and out in a flash, casework closed.

I'll have to check the Community Room later to see if the signs to not touch the refrigerator management confiscated from us are back up, LOL.

Speaking of agencies letting us down, alarming news I'm seeing is how others are being inconvenienced, lives are being destroyed because Social Security made a mistake, overpaid some for decades, and is now demanding repayment within 30 days.

Knock on wood, I've not received such a letter, but what would I do if I do receive one of those repayment letters.

Though it’s being suggested to contact the SSA, ask to have the repayment waived and/or negotiate, I have little faith in their being willing to accept responsibility for their mistake, give folks a break.

I’m reminded of the time, when employed at the law firm, and Office Manager Joe summoned me to his office to tell me the Payroll Department had made a mistake, overpaid me by $400, wanted repayment.

Not a huge sum, not a problem, so I told Joe I’d send them a check for the full amount and did.

A few days later, Joe summoned me to his office again.

The check was being returned to me.

Payroll said they "Didn’t want to do it that way". Did not want repayment in full.

What they wanted was for me to authorize them to deduct sums of money from future paychecks. Essentially, wanting me to accept a smaller paycheck over time …… however long it took for them to recoup the $400.

That sounded shady. So, though I didn’t understand the mechanics of the shadiness, I knew it would somehow help the Payroll Department fix their error, hurt me; plus, I didn’t like the idea of the Payroll Department taking money out of my paycheck that I couldn't track or trust they'd cease the deductions once the $400 treshhold had been reached, so I said NO.

There were calls back and forth between various Payroll pencil pushers to Joe, informing him I owed the money, had not paid it back.

I guess they were expecting Joe to put some kind of pressure on me, write me up, but Joe would just alert me to Payroll bugging out and that was that.

Nice guy Joe was. Always tried to be fair as he walked a fine line between satisfying the attorneys and doing right by with us secretaries.

Getting nowhere with Joe, some pencil pusher from Payroll called me directly, threatened to "go over my head".

Good luck with that, thought I. Joe was as far over my head as Payroll could go, and they'd already tried that.

This dance actually went on a couple months until one day Joe yet again summoned me to his office.

Payroll informed him my next paycheck would be $400 short as they were taking the full amount out of that check.

Guess Payroll figured they’d show me.

Joe and I laughed and laughed and laughed that Payroll had essentially done what I'd initially tried to do to balance their books in the first place.

This memory sent me to google Joe’s name, see if he was still alive.

Not only is he still alive but, holy moley, he's still working with the organization!

I put in something like 30 years before, fully vested, I moved on after a merger and relocation prompted me to accept another opportunity. Joe was there when I first arrived, so counting the years since I left, that means Joe has put in, at a minimum, 50 years.

Jesus! Fifty plus years in one agency.

Looking at Joe's photos, he has a healthy glow, has maintained a youngish appearance and now has the sweet position and title of Public Affairs Director at one the parent companies.

So, he didn't stay in one place— the Law Department, after the merger. Looks like he moved around and then ultimately up.

Too bad he didn't move over and up to the Finance/Payroll Department because, back in the day, it appeared that rather than a group of pencil pushers, they needed someone with common sense.

I imagine that, if I were to receive a repayment letter from SSA requesting a few hundred dollars, that would not be a problem. Hundreds of thousands, like some of those I see mentioned in the news article, would be an unsolvable problem. My only recourse would be to cry foul, because it's their mistake, ignore the letter, suffer the consequences.

I don’t own a home, so they can’t take that in repayment, I’ll survive if they take the only asset I have — the Jeep. So, other than put my arse in jail, there’s not a whole lot they can do to punish me for THEIR mistake.

What would you do?

Indictment Day, Round Three

Set alarm to get up early, watch the news, not miss a moment of No. 45’s third perp walk, only to learn his Arraignment wasn't until later this afternoon.

I do appreciate how 45 has scheduled his arraignments to occur on my non workout days, so I don’t have to call Trainer and cancel so I can glue myself to the tube.

Today’s late arraignment gave me time to get the popcorn ready as I listened to the various pundits explain the charges and express their amazement at how so many of his supporters remain convinced his lies are truth and he’s being persecuted for political reasons rather than for his criminal behavior.

"There are none so blind than those that will not see" came to mind.

It’s depressing, demoralizing, discouraging.

I’m scared.

Rents are out of control, the economy is out of control, homelessness is running rampant, racism and crime is escalating, the cops are most definitely out of control, health care is broken, politicians are self-serving, there is just so much already broken that, if he gets reelected, it might be the last straw.

I may have go for a walk ... in traffic ... on the freeway and hope for the worst.

Show time arrived shortly after noon, my time, and found me all set with popcorn and coffee in my indictment cup.

As I watched his plane arriving in D.C., I found myself regressing — from being completely spiritual minded, trusting the Universe, to knowing the Universe has a plan for all that we see as discord/disharmony, from believing that even though the appearances are bleak, after all is said and done, things will work out in the end to the benefit of all to regressing back to Wishcraft and Visualizing.

In the 90’s, when I was in that toxic work situation with the three witches I’ve blogged about, I was so desperate as to Wish and Visualize something so awful that I should be ashamed but am not.

Desperate times call for desperate measures and Henrietta was the worst of the three so, when she had me set up weekend business airline travel for her, I knew when she'd be in the air.

At that time, I was shopping in the Del Amo Mall, but took a seat, closed my eyes and began visualizing her in the plane, mechanical issues, the plane going down.

And yes, I felt bad about the other passengers, but had to write them off as collateral damage.

Color me beyond pissed, snappish even rude when, arriving back in the office on Monday, Henrietta called to check in.

So, even though it didn’t work then, and even though it’s against what I’ve been taught as a spiritualist, a Contemplative, I found myself regressing this morning to Wishcraft and Visualization when I saw his plane arriving in D.C.

It landed just fine, but not yet ready to give up, I remembered the sad circumstances of my old boyfriend Jim’s life ending as the result of a fall down his basement stairs.

Looking at those steep steps 45 had to navigate from the plane, I began thinking and visualizing fall fall fall.

As you all saw, that didn’t happen either.

I gave it my worst y'all.

The thought of this man ruling and ruining the country even more than he's already ruined it is making me lose my religion.

Other than that, it’s been a pretty good week thus far. With no errands I must run, no place I must go — other than to my workouts, and no medical emergencies to deal with, I’ve had time to listen to myself think, catch up on the baby’s latest scrapbook, even got to work on sewing that quilt for the new baby expected in December.

Not much reading of The In-Between happening because, though like I said, it’s not a sad book, it is an emotional read. I get through a few pages, tears fill my eyes to where I have to put the book down. Pick up where I left off a few days later, read a few more pages and again I have to put the book down because of tears in my eyes, so on and so forth.

It's a really good read, but going to take a while for me to get through it.

At least my normally dry eyes are getting a good watering.

Speaking of medical emergencies, in response to the complaint I filed against my doctor’s care team for dicking me around to the point where I had to go to a clinic down the street for a simple prescription refill, I received a letter from a Senior Consultant of the medical center indicating my grievance has been shared with the Family Practice Department Chief and Department Administrator "for review and action, as appropriate. We strive to consistently provide high-quality health care and service to our members and appreciate this opportunity to learn how we can do better".

I don’t know if this is just more bull crap, but it sounds good.

At the very least, that intake nurse that got on her high horse, talked down to me, acted like she knew more than I did about my own body, has been put on notice to not play doctor or God, to stay in her lane and just do her freaking job next time she deals with a member.

T.G.I.F.

I live for Friday, what some would say is "Wishing my life away".

Not that the week was bad. It’s just that my favorite thing to do is to stay inside, not leave the unit unless I want to and Friday signifies my having two whole days in a row — rather than a day here, a day there to indulge myself in doing my favorite thing.

Yesterday was one of those rare days when I was able to stay indoors and, while sitting in my perch on the couch, it occurred to me that, but for the fact I must leave the unit on Monday, Wednesday, Friday to work out, I could easily turn into a complete recluse. Be perfectly content opening the windows to the sun, spotting neighbors out and about during the day while I myself meditated, watched television, worked on that needlepoint project (now in its third year with it looking like another three to completion) and, when the sun goes down, leaving insufficient lighting to continue needlepointing, switching to work on the scrapbook of the most photographed child in America, my great grandbaby.

Having been too sleepy Monday to watch this season’s Summer Baking Championship, on Food Network, I’d recorded it and while catching up yesterday, seeing the new crop of bakers, how they’d fared, I couldn’t help but wonder how embarrassing it must have been for a baker who introduced herself as "Executive Pastry Chef ……… previously nominated for a James Beard award as Best Pastry Chef", to be the first to go home — before a home baker even, and before a guy who didn’t finish decorating or get the mandatory twist on his cake.

First round, the James Beard baker produced a cake donut, which Duff pronounced as "really chewy, tasting like a pretzel that’s not done".

Elimination round, she produced a cake Damaris evaluated as "Leany"; Carla said her water feature gelatin was "Rubbery, looked like a piece of salami". So, the James Beard baker was eliminated, the first to go home from the competition.

Calling 'em as I see 'em, when she first introduced herself, there was something about her that caused me to think I’d not choose her to bake a cake for me. She seemed stern, dry, humorless.

Further judging her book by its cover, I guessed she, as Executive Chef, might be difficult to work alongside of, that she was probably a pill, pompous, arrogant, lording over those she was in charge of, throwing her James Beard nomination in their face.

Going home first had to be the absolute worst humbling experience ever for her.

Thinking about her returning to work, after having failed so miserably, opened the vault and made me think of a guy I worked for at the law firm.

Some kind of personal friend of the General Counsel, who was head attorney over all attorneys in the firm, this guy had just finished law school, not yet taken the bar exam but, because of whatever relationship he had with the GC, was hired on with the expectation he would pass the bar.

This guy came in like gangbusters. He wasn’t mean or cruel to me, it was just that he was pompous, arrogant, pushy, creepy, always had a blank look in his eyes as though the lights were on but no one was home.

My skin crawled when he’d call me into his office to give instructions, because he never looked in my face, never talked to ME. He talked to my pelvic area. With a creepy smirk on his lips and a faraway look in his blank eyes, it was like he had x-ray vision and was undressing me as he gave instructions to my pelvis.

I didn’t like him — no one really did, but being assigned as his secretary, working so closely with him, I saw what others did not see, was witness to the weird things he did.

Like the time, we received a very big bill for the rental car I’d ordered for a business trip he'd taken.

I couldn’t figure out how it was he’d returned from that business trip weeks and weeks and weeks already, but the rental place was still charging us.

Getting to the bottom of it, he said he didn’t understand it either because, upon his return, he’d parked the car on the back lot of the airport rental place, left the keys in it.

He didn’t seem to know or understand that just parking the car somewhere on the lot, without notifying one of the agents, did not serve as having checked the car back in.

Also, any part of his job that he could push off on me, he did. Up to and including, when it was time for him to take the bar exam, he gave me his paperwork, told me to fill it out and submit.

It was an odd request but, of course, I did as I was told ..... except, there was a check yes or no question on the paperwork that I couldn’t just assume, so I asked. He didn’t answer my inquiry. Instead, he just smiled his creepy smirky smile at my pelvic until standing in his office became so uncomfortable for me, as I waited for his reply, that I just exited the office and left the yes/no question blank.

The yes/no question was "Have you ever been in a mental institution" or something to that effect.

I remember thinking it very telling that he would not give me an answer.

At any rate, the paperwork was accepted, he took the exam and failed it miserably.

I can still see the look on his face, and his frantic body language, when he returned to the office the morning after being notified of failing to pass the bar.

He was frantic, running back/forth to the GC's office, here/there like a chicken with its head cut off, and I didn't know why.

Word quickly spread, and it was a secretary in another section that called me to say, "God does not like ugly".

"What do you mean?", asked I.

"He didn’t pass the bar", said she.

The guy never said a word to me about failing, and the General Counsel removed him immediately from being assigned to my Environmental section, into an obscure office closer to his own (the GC’s) office, which was great that I didn’t have to deal with him any longer.

The secretary that got stuck with him called me one day but, for the life of me, I can't remember what it was he'd done that she needed to talk out with me; but she didn't have to suffer long because, from what I recall, the fiasco was such an embarrassment for the GC that the guy just disappeared one day, without a word as to whether he was let go or quit.

I doubt he ever retook the bar exam or, if he did, passed because had he done so, the GC would have wanted to save face, found a way to bring him back.

I know another who failed the bar. It was early in my career, and I didn't work for this second guy per se.

I was working for a small municipality, where he was a member of the City Counsel.

Very nice man, he became a legend for having failed the bar exam 47 times before passing, but his job wasn’t incumbent upon his passing. Passing was a personal goal he was determined to accomplish and, after 25 years, he passed on his 48th try.

Sometimes bad things happen to sketchy people, even when they have a GC carving a path for them, and good happens for good people who persist on their own.

So, anyway, if my assumptions of the James Beard baker are correct and she's not a sweetheart who is highly favored by those she's in charge of, I would have loved to be a fly on the wall when she returned to the workplace.

Catching the Rain

Today was a good day to stay indoors, as it is once again raining cats and dogs.

Unfortunately, today being a workout day, I had to suit up, do the pain cave thing.

One good thing about having to move the car from the carport and park in the pain cave’s parking lot is that I don’t have to wash the car. The rain washed it for me.

Another good thing about the rain is the dead spots in the complex lawn, caused by the drought, are turning green. The landscapers no longer have to paint the lawn.

Activity Director followed through in providing pots for our starter plants, but the pots she provided are not what I was expecting.

Dull and too big for windowsill

I was expecting something small, cute, feminine so I headed to the garden center of Home Depot yesterday to find pots more to my liking.

Didn’t find anything to suit my fancy — even tried Lowe’s, but I did find seeds to start my little windowsill garden.

I also picked up a little plant that looked interesting.

I know what I’ve purchased, but I’m wondering how many of you know what it is.

Need a hint?

I’ve named her Audrey.

So anyway, care instructions say Audrey likes rainwater, which got me to thinking that if Audrey likes rainwater, the others may as well. Thus, catching the rain.

Now that I’ve got the seeds to grow edibles, like Activity Director had initially planned, the question is what to do with the two starter pots of what will grow into flowers.

They’re already sprouting, which to me means they are a living thing and though I don’t really want them now that I’ve got what I want, I don’t want to trash them, unalive them.

I once did purposely unalive a plant and the guilt plagues me.

It was back in ‘79 when I was working in the Business Office of a company for a decent guy by the name of Pete.

Married and not having an affair, Pete nevertheless had a groupie by the name of Kathy who, though not the office manager, was a bit overbearing and acted as though she were.

No one stood up to Kathy, no one dared cross her, including me because of my being Black and having to play the submissive game in order to stay employed.

Because Kathy was crushing on my boss, she was always hovering around, bossing me, getting on my nerves and me with no way to fight back.

EXCEPT Kathy, whose office was clear on the other side of the floor, put her favorite plant right next to my boss’s door, which was right next to my desk — sort of like a dog pissing on its territory.

Inasmuch as I had to bite my tongue and keep my face straight when Kathy pushed my buttons, I revenged myself on her plant.

At the end of the day, if I had coffee left over in my cup, I’d toss it into the soil of her plant. Same with soda.

Kathy’s plant began to fade and fade and fade until one day, when she was hovering around my area, she looked at her plant, noticed it was dying or dead, let out a distressed, "What’s happening to my plant!", then grabbed it up as one would a child and rushed it out of the area. Probably took it back to her area where it should have been all along.

It’s been something like 43 years and, though I got a perverse pleasure out of getting back at Kathy, I do feel a measure of guilt because I appreciate plants and consider them a form of life.

That being said, I have to think of a guilt free way to dispose of the two starter plants.

Maybe I’ll sneak outside in the dark some night, and plant them in the dirt at the end of the stairs.

If they take root and grow into flowers, the landscapers will of course, dig them up, but that will be their guilt, not mine.

Memory Lane

A comment left by DrumMajor/Linda in Kansas that "You should apply for a job on Perry Mason with all of your observation skills", sent me on a path down memory lane in a quest to determine if I am a natural curious and highly observant entity or just plain nosy.

After thinking about it, I've determined the former, and offer up as evidence the fact that being naturally curious/highly observant has always been in my DNA as far back as I can recall.

In my preteens, I played Nancy Drew — walked around the neighborhood with a pad and pen, took down license numbers of cars parked in the area so, if there was an incident, I could tell the cops which cars were in the area at that time.

Later in life, as a young mother looking for a way to supplement my income, so I could do better for my girls, I looked into becoming a Private Detective — figuring I’d be good at it because I didn’t stand out, blended in. Or so I thought.

I now know I’d have stuck out like a sore thumb wherever I went because, for some odd reason, people did and do notice me.

Twin 2 recently told me how proud she and her twin were that I was known as "The hot mom, all the dads had crushes" on me.

Say what!? It would have been nice to know that back when I felt I was invisible, didn’t count for nothing.

At any rate, that private detective certification never got off the ground because the school I was looking into was too far away to get to.

The desire never left me though, because it was just two years ago when I looked into Private Detective training online, but decided I now do not have the time or inclination to work the course or do anything with the training had I completed it.

Several times since then — more recently just a few weeks ago, I looked into online courses in cold case crime solving genealogy.

But again, it’s a pipe dream because I don’t have the time or inclination to do the course work.

I did get to play Private Dick for real one time back in ’72, when I worked for the elected City Attorney of a small city who was up for reelection.

His opponent was running a campaign that included having enlisted a bunch of college students to pick up and work with a campaign strategy dossier at a location that turned out to be someone’s home.

The attorney I worked for wanted to see that dossier and asked if I thought I could pose as a student, get him a copy of it.

Challenge accepted.

I dressed down for the assignment and a little sexy as a distraction, went to the location where I found a lot of people milling around, going in and out, someone issuing the dossier, crossing off names of those picking up their copy.

Thinking fast, I said I was picking up for my boyfriend, gave a fictitious name for the boyfriend and, though there was a roster with a list of names, no one checked to verify — probably because of the hustle bustle of the place being so busy at the time or maybe because my short skirt tight blouse distraction worked, LOL.

Of course, I was prepared to play it off as a mistake if they checked but didn't find my fictitious boyfriend's name, play dumb that he'd sent me on a wild goose chase, even run if things went really bad but, with no further questions, no problem, I walked out with the paperwork.

My attorney and his Assistant Attorney laughed their butts off when I returned to the office, paperwork in hand, and regaled them with my outfit and undercover adventure.

I also later received a dozen long stemmed red roses from my attorney with his thanks.

He won reelection.

Thinking about that attorney as I typed out this post, I looked him up and found he passed away of Covid this last December.

Taking advantage of an offer to move up to a higher paying job, I moved on from small city attorney, ended up working for a big city attorney who was having trouble getting proof of service on a complaint. The respondent refused to accept mail coming from the law office, and the attorney could not move forward without proof of service.

That attorney didn’t so much as ask me to help as he made his problem my problem by ordering me to "Get him served".

Didn’t appreciate his tone, but no problem I.

In those days, one did not have to have a return address to get mail through the post office, so using my own personal violet colored envelope, sprayed with my perfume, I mailed the complaint off to the respondent’s address.

I figured no way he, or a wife if he had one, could pass up finding out what was in that perfumed envelope and from whom, as there was no return address or name.

Sure enough, the respondent accepted service. We got the necessary proof.

I never so much as got an atta girl or how did you manage it from the ungrateful attorney.

No matter because it was fun outwitting the respondent and, after only working three months for Mr. Ingrate, I applied for and was promoted to Administrative Legal Secretary to Mr. Ingrate’s boss.

I recall more times than a few when, out and about, I observed activities of a criminal nature that no one else appeared to have observed — multiple instances of shoplifting, some long ago, some more recent.

I've seen pickpockets in action, with no one else seeming to notice.

I saw a man surreptitiously taking photos of a little girl at a farmer's market, wanted to alert the parents but had a feeling they'd not believe me, which is why I rarely get involved, mostly just observe.

People believe what they see AND if they don't see, then I'm the one whose crazy, making things up. So it's best most times to keep my observances to myself unless it's something egregious, like if he'd touched the child.

Then there was the time, before I realized people either did not believe or did not care, when I spotted a pervert standing between two houses, watching the preschool across the street as he played with himself.

I called the cops.

They didn't care, didn't see the danger I saw, told me to call the next day if he was still there.

I've seen drug buys right out in the open, one just last week as I was leaving the Pain Cave.

Then there was last year when I observed a suspicious looking person targeting a shopper's purse, unattended in the market's shopping cart with her back turned, and thwarted the theft by warning the shopper.

Though she thanked me, I got the impression she wasn't concerned. She'd not noticed the individual, didn't see a problem, was too busy shopping to realize or care she'd been in danger even after being warned.

At any rate, I'm sure there have been other Perry Mason instances, but those are the ones I easily recalled.

Bottom line, it's in my DNA to be an avid people watcher, naturally curious and highly observant — a combination of Sherlock Holmes, Perry Mason, Dick Tracy, Nancy Drew and Miss Scarlet.

Last Call for Halloween

Yesterday being last call for Halloween, I wore my skeleton leggings to that morning’s workout.

Patio lights were turned on for the last time and today is put everything back in storage day.

It was a fun display while it lasted, only one of a handful of others. That is if you don’t count Painted Rock Lady’s display, which only went up last Wednesday.

"Why now, why so late with Halloween just days away", asked I when I saw her setting up.

She didn’t have a good answer, other than there not being a contest this year.

Whatever.

Her next-door neighbor then made an effort to get in the spirit by putting up a display — if you can even call it a display.

Red Light put her display up in a timely manner, but it was just a wink and a nod to Halloween compared to her last year’s display, which won her first prize in the decorating contest.

Two others got in the spirit without there being a contest.

Then there was the cute little Dalmatian I spotted yesterday afternoon, as he stopped by to show grandma his costume.

My pumpkin held up very well — no rotting, attracted no pests.

Pity to toss it in the dumpster.

I thought about sneaking it onto the college campus for the squirrels to have at, even offered the pumpkin to the Baker to make pies.

She says she’s buying her pies these days, rather than bake from scratch, and campus security would probably catch me in the process and lock my arse up, so to the dumpster it is with the pumpkin.

The skeleton cowboys are staying put as an all-year-round display and, while at the market, I saw another skeleton I could not resist.

This skeleton very much resembles Jane, the Lead Attorney I'd blogged about as being one of three female attorneys who made my working life miserable.

The skeleton carries that same haughty stance as Jane AND even the boney leg peeking out from a slit in the skirt reminds me of the day she wore a skirt to the office that had a slit up the side. Erroneously thinking she looked sexy, she walked around sticking her boney leg out to show the slit off.

She only wore that skirt once, so I imagine she got the message how ridiculous we all thought she looked.

A subsequent visit to the market brought home a sister to sit beside that skeleton.

In the throes of an obsession with skeletons, I would have taken this guy home as well, except he was a display, not for sale.

Yesterday was Day 22 of Mildred’s 30 Songs in 30 Days Competition — "A song that moves you forward".

My long deceased ex-husband tried to trap me in the marriage by attacking my sense of self. Telling me that no other man would want me and I couldn’t make it on my own without him.

Thinking to myself that if no other man wants me, I don't want you!, I managed to escape him and, not only did I attract more than my fair share of male suitors thereafter, but I supported myself and my babies with no help from him.

Now a senior, fortunate enough to still attract male attention — albeit unwanted attention, living on my own, paying my own bills, making my own entertainment, there are too many songs celebrating the independent forward moving woman; but the one that's like a slap in the face to insecure men who try to hold women back by telling them they can't make it without them is one by Runaway Jane that makes me LOL and think of my ex rotting in his grave while I'm still out here doing my thing.

It also makes me think of when my neighbor Handsome Man made his pitch for our hooking up by saying it would make things easier for the both of us.

I was thinking easier how? inasmuch as I'm not lonely or having a problem supporting myself.

Today’s challenge is "A song you think everybody should listen to".

Edwin Starr told us what we needed to hear back in 1970, but inasmuch as there’s one going on now and a possibility we’ll be drawn into it if things go nuclear, Starr’s warning bears repeating.