One of our grandchildren — Kaiya — loves horror movies. The scarier, the better. She wanted to watch Coraline when she was 5, when the other grands were begging her to turn the channel because they were scared and wanted to watch Adventures in Babysitting instead. “No,” she would say. “Adventures in Babysitting isn’t scary.”

That, of course, was the point the other grands were trying to make.

Kaiya is now 14 years old, and still loves horror movies. And they’d better be really scary. She tells me that the only kind of horror movies she doesn’t like are those with dolls as the perpetrators. Her father — my son — is right along beside her when it comes to scary movies. Together they have watched It, all of the Halloween movies, The Shining, and the entire franchises featuring Freddie and Jason. “They’re not even scary,” she told me.

Neither my son nor my granddaughter get their love of scary movies from me. I will admit that my mother would let me watch the Saturday night scary movie that ran on our local CBS station, beginning at 10:30 following the news. The only caveat was that I had to go to bed with my younger sister (with whom I shared a double bed) and stay awake until she fell asleep. Then I would have to carefully roll out of bed onto the floor, keeping my fingers crossed that she didn’t wake up. If I was successful, I could watch a scary movie that — truth be known — I didn’t really want to watch at all.

That, however is when I saw House on Haunted Hill the first time. This 1959 film features Vincent Price as a millionaire who offers five people $10,000 each to anyone of them who spends the entire night in the incredibly haunted mansion. House on Haunted Hill became the definition of horror movie to me. It scared the devil out of me as a 10-year-old, but now I’m old enough to know that the skeleton is made out of plastic and the floating ghost is simply on wheels. That’s why it’s a must-see for me every Halloween. So campy and so reminiscent of my childhood.

Having said that, I will tell you that the movie that scared me the most was The Sixth Sense, starring Bruce Willis back when he had hair. He plays a psychiatrist who is treating a little boy who sees dead people. So do the viewers throughout the movie. There is one scene in particular that totally unnerved me. A dead woman walks from one room to another right in front of the little boy. Her head is partially missing. Ugh.

For years after that, when I would go upstairs after my husband had long since gone to bed, I would stop at the top of the stairs, take a deep breath, and run down the hall before that woman would walk out of our bathroom into one of the bedrooms.

Of course, when I admitted my fear to Kaiya about my fear of that movie, her response was, “Nana! That movie isn’t even a little bit scary.”

Scary enough for this grandma.

I haven’t lived in an apartment since 1974. That is, of course not including the condo where Court’s dad and I lived in the early years of our marriage. Our condo was a glorified apartment which we owned from the paint on in, as the realtor Grumpy the Elf informed us.

But here we are, in the sunset years of our life, back in an apartment. I’m at peace with that, I assure you. At Wind Crest, the location of your apartment matters. I was informed early on (and we’ve only been here a week or so) that Summit Square was the building to beat. Not only was Summit Square the best building, but the second floor was nervana. We even have a slogan: Second Floor is second to none. Keeping with the spirit of Summit Square, I mentioned this to someone who lived on the third floor. They assured me they, too, had a slogan. I just can’t remember what it is. Three Dog Night? Once, Twice, Three Times a Lady? Three Coins in a Fountain? I can’t remember. That’s okay, because all I have to remember is that second floor is Second To None. So there.

As I’m finally emerging from the fog of my pinched nerve (at least I hope so), I am starting to take measure of just where we are living. We are in the western suburbs, so our views of the mountains are Second to None. (See how I did that?) Even our own little apartment has a smallish view of the mountains where we can watch the sun set or the weather come in.

We have eaten a number of times out at the nice restaurants. One night we ate with an astronomer and his wife, a librarian. Another night we ate with a retired Episopalian priest. Most recently, we ate with a couple who had traveled the world, making Bill and my travels seem miniscule in comparison. I thought I would hate having to eat with others. On the contrary, though we are given the choice, I will almost always eat with another couple. They are ever so much more interesting than Bill and me. And the best news is that they haven’t heard Bill’s stories before. A new audience. Yay.

Yesterday I rode the WC shuttle to the original community, the Town Center Neighborhood. It is a 20 minute walk or a three minute shuttle ride. I attended a Wind Crest Writers meeting. I always approach meetings like that with great trepidation . The meeting consisted of 14 or so people, all who like to write.

The group had been given a topic last week, and they were to write about that topic. They went around the table and read their story out loud. Though it didn’t seem as though any of the participants were professional writers, they were darn good. I think my blog will be competitive, but who knows. As a Summit Square resident, I must admit that I was a little bit snobish about Community One, the original community. After all, we’re second to none. Still, I enjoyed my class and plan to return next Monday.

Step by step, we’re starting to get familiar with our surroundings.

Columbus sailed the ocean blue
In fourteen hundred and ninety-two.

-Teachers

That, of course, is the ditty that Baby Boomers learned to assist us in remembering that Christopher Columbus discovered America in 1492. Yay Christopher!

Except subsequently we learned that it wasn’t actually America where he landed his fleet —the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria. Instead, it was somewhere near the Bahamas. He is also credited with discovering the pina colada and the swim-up bar.

Historians overlooked that tiny geographical error. They also overlooked the fact that his employees celebrated the fact that they hadn’t sailed off the end of a flat world by pillaging the indigenous people, all without spilling their umbrella drinks.

For reasons I can’t exactly understand, Italian Americans, in particular, gave their love hugs to the explorer, which resulted in President Roosevelt naming the second Tuesday in October Columbus Day. I’m pretty sure he was so tied up with worrying about an impending world war that he told his staff, “Give the Italian Catholics their holiday to get the Knights of Columbus off my back.”

And then he instructed his chief of staff to make him a piña colada. “But instead of rum and pineapple juice, make it with gin and vermouth,” he reportedly said.

Generations later, so-called woke people began pointing out that we shouldn’t be celebrating a man who sanctioned the pillaging of natives. Point well taken. Still, protests broke out, and Italian Americans clung to their holiday, all the while flinging meatballs at the protesters.

President Biden calmed everyone down by proclaiming the second Tuesday in October Indigenous Peoples Day in 2021. The result? Nowadays, the only people who get the day off for Indigenous Peoples Day are federal employees.

But back to the “Columbus sailed the ocean blue” ditty. I wish there had been a ditty to help me memorize algebra rules.

Happy Columbus/Indigenous Peoples Day.

One of the first things I noticed when we were looking at Wind Crest was the creative ways residents decorated outside the shelf right out the door. Some have beautiful bouquets of artificial flowers; some have pretty bowls and pieces of art.

Since we’ve gotten here, however, it became clear that most decorated for the season. Mostly the shelves are decorated for fall, and many of the decorations are for Halloween.

For quite a while, our shelf remained empty. There was simply too much to do, and of course there was the matter of my pinched nerve. Bill put out one his bronze horses, beautiful and made by a famous artist whose name I can’t remember and don’t feel the need to do so. But the artistry of the couple across the hall’s shelve made me uncomfortable. Certainly I was going to be mentioned on the Wind Crest’s Next Door.

The other day I got burst of energy (and some pain relief from my medication cocktail) and went to Hobby Lobby. I took a very long time browsing for just the right decorations when I realized that, while they had all sorts of fall decorations, there was not a single Halloween decoration. No scary ghosts; no haunted houses, no signs saying Too cute to spook or Witching you love.

I found a Hobby Lobby employee and asked her where the Halloween decorations were. She looked at me like I was Beelzebub himself. Bottom line: Hobby Lobby doesn’t sell Halloween decorations. But that’s probably for another blog, and by then my meds were wearing thin.

I finally pulled together a fall theme that makes me smile every time I look at it…..

I don’t know why that blue truck makes me happy, but it does.

Have a wonderful weekend.

Out and About
I felt good enough to venture out yesterday. The weather was absolutely spectacular. For the first time in a long while it felt like Spring. We both wanted to get out and enjoy the blue skies. I had run out of my favorite whiskey. It’s insane to think about putting up with the pain from my pinched nerve without the help of alcohol. Don’t worry. No narcotic pain medicine for this gal. I grew up in the Age of Karen Ann Quinlan. It’s true, however that I take Ibuprofen as often as my stomach will allow. Anyhoo, we drove to Total Wine and Liquor and bought some adult beverages. We then had Mexican food at one of our favorite restaurants that was on our way as we drove home. It felt good to be out and about. I paid the price yesterday evening, unfortunately.

Is it Aaron Rogers?
Last night Bill and I weren’t all that hungry because we had eaten a big Mexican food lunch. But as my grandmother always said, “You’ve got to eat a little something.” So I walked over to the Colorado Cafe, where you order your food and they bring it to your table. I ordered take-out, and they brought it to me in a nice paper bag with handles. As I waited for our food to be prepared, I couldn’t help but see that I was looking at my first senior citizen male with a man bun. I hate man buns, and I will admit to particularly hating a gray man bun. I wonder what his grandkids think about Gampy trying to look hip. I know what MY grandkids would say. Or at least think.

For Sale
We met with our real estate agent, and came up with a price for the sale of our house. She told us all about the realities of the housing market right now. According to her, the sale prices are about what they were in 2020. She asked me if I want to know what the people looking through the house are saying, and I said HELL TO THE NO! I loved that house, and I know that whoever buys the house will change it dramatically. Good on them, but I don’t want to know. Now we wait. It will go on the market within a few days.

You Live in Colorado, Stupid
We are settling into our home. However, despite the fact that we are surrounded by our familiar things, we both feel like we are on vacation. I turned on the news the other day, and to my surprise, the newspeople were the ones I watched when I lived at 3962 S. Olive St. And then I recalled that despite the new surroundings, we still live in the Denver metro area. It’s going to take a while.

Ciao.

Bill and I spent our first night at our new home a week ago yesterday. We were newbies for sure. A week ago, we didn’t know how to get from Point A to Point B. We didn’t know how to manage the dining tricks — how to order food to be delivered, how to make reservations, did you always need reservations, which restaurants have the best food, and so forth. We were completely clueless about the rules, both written and unwritten.

Now, a week later, things are a bit different. We are still completely clueless, but now we are embarrassed that even after a full week of living at this beautiful facility, the only thing we’ve learned is that the residents are awesome. They are friendly, outgoing, and very active. Unfortunately, we know very little else.

Honestly, I thought by this time, I would be posting stories about quirky seniors doing quirky things. Unfortunately, since we moved in a week ago, I have done little else than sit in my chair, moaning in pain every time I move the smallest bit, thanks to a pinched nerve in my neck/shoulder area. While my fellow Wind Crestians are out there merrily doing quirky things, I am popping every manner of pills, ranging from muscle relaxers to nerve end deadeners in a frenetic attempt to once again become mobile.

I know that there are things worse than having a pinched nerve. That knowledge, however, doesn’t make me any less frustrated at not being able to put our apartment in order. God bless the three women who unpacked my house, but they’re not me, and they don’t know just how I wanted my kitchen to work. I don’t want my kitchen utensils stuffed back into the corner where I can barely reach it. My dishes are spread out in three different places — the dinner plates in one, the luncheon plates in another, the dessert plates in yet another. Likewise, my drinking glasses are mysteriously spread out in all manner of locations. Where is my cinnamon? Is my yeast still in the refrierator? Why is dill weed not even in the same neighborhood as dill seed?

I’m ready to use at least one of my several Kitchenaids to make some bread. Homemade chicken noodle soup would taste so good. Why are some of my ziploc bags in the pantry and some under the sink. Bless those three women, but I want to make this apartment our own. And call me crazy, but I want the antiseptic smell to be replaced by the smell of brownies baking or beef stew perking on the stove.

It’ll happen. A pinched nerve can’t last forever. Can it?

Remember that time that I packed up a house in which I had accumulated 30 years of stuff to move to an entirely unfamiliar community and ended up temporarily unable to get out of my chair?

For the past few months, I’ve been promising that as soon as we reached the next phase (whatever that phase would be), things would be easier. It would be easier when we had a real estate agent. I would be easier when we had green dots on everything that we were taking with us. It would be easier when the packing crew arrived to pack up the house. It would be easier when the movers came, and we would be sleeping in our own bed in our new house. It would be easier when everything was unpacked and in place in our new home.

Despite my good intentions, it never really became easier. But we’re almost there, I promise.

The foreboding problem started on Wednesday, the day that the crew came to unpack our house. As promised, we had spent the night in our own bed. Unfortunately, though all of our things were there with us, they were all in boxes, awaiting the arrival of the unpackers. Our toothbrushes were so close we could practically hear them bubbling with toothpaste, but we didn’t know in which of the 578 boxes they were located. I had managed to remember to pack our bags with our medications and our pajamas, but little else.

The crew came early and began unpacking our things and putting them away the best that they could. My sister Jen was there, and she provided an enormous amount of help, but at some point she could no longer advise the women as to where I wanted my cookie jar to reside. She was too busy nursing her poorly sister.

Nursing? What was wrong, you might ask. Sometime around midday, my shoulder began to ache. Within hours, the ache became excruciating pain that radiated from my left should blade down my arm and into my hand, leaving everything numb and tingly. The pain made childbirth and bowel obstructions seem like walks in the park in a gentle breeze.

Despite my constant rotation of heating pad and ice pack on my shoulder and arm, things continued to get worse. I was certain that I had a pinched nerve. I was confined to my chair eating ibuprofen like they were M&Ms. I even pulled out my carefully rationed pain pills that I have for when I get a bowel obstruction. Nothing helped. I called Doctors on Demand. She gave me a prescription for a muscle relaxer. They did nothing. My PPC doctor (with whom I spoke via TeleMed since, see above: I was unable to get out of my chair). She added a steroid med to the mix, and gave me permission to continue using pain meds. I looked lovingly at my bottle of whiskey, wishing I could drown my sorrows with alcohol. No matter how tempting; I had no desire to be the 21st Century Karen Quinlan.

Yesterday afternoon, I think I turned a corner. At least I was able to get out of my chair. More important, I was able to brush my teeth.

By the way, while all of this was happening, the generous and likable people from Wind Crest — both staff and neighbors — stopped by to say hello and welcome us to our new home. I’m sure their first impression of me was terrific. Perhaps they thought it was an early Halloween costume — namely, the Walking Dead.

Keep your fingers crossed that today I not only turn another corner, but walk around the entire block.

Today Bill and I cleaned out his closet. I cleaned out the cabinets in both bathrooms. I went through my pantry with a fine tooth comb, tossing everything that I could bear to toss. I even went so far as throwing away my cookie tins, or at least the large ones. I kept the smaller ones. By 1 o’clock this afternoon, I was limping around the house like Chester from Gunsmoke.

My instructions were to put green dots on the things that we want to take with us. At this point, I’m focusing all of my attention on figuring out what earns a green dot. Remember the Seinfeld episode in which Elaine has to figure out which of the men she dates is “spongeworthy?” I’m in a similar situation, figuring out what is “green dot worthy.” I keep reminding Bill that anything that doesn’t have a green dot will not come with us and he will never see it again.

We sign our paperwork on Wednesday and get our keys and possession of our apartment on Friday. I have to put a lot of green dots out there between now and Monday. Therefore, I am warning you that you likely won’t hear from this blogger until next week. I will try to drop in a time or two, but if you don’t see my blog, never fear: like the Terminator, I’LL BE BACK.

This is what made me smile this week…..

Have a great weekend.