Girls and Boys Come Out To Play

Ah, the wonders of chemistry between young men and women! I had to laugh as I witnessed it on display at our visit to the Puerto Rican Baseball Academy High School, about a half hour outside of San Juan. This time we had more contact with the male students and they had more contact with the long-legged, hair-flowing, shorts and baseball-hat wearing college girls from Southern California (henceforth known as LLHFS&BHW). It was like in the movies when a teenage boy suddenly spots a beautiful girl, gulps and swallows his gum. They were adorable in their deer-in-the-headlight responses. They clearly had no idea the girls were coming. What was even funnier was how quickly they lost interest when the mature (meaning grandparent-age) members of our group - there are 6 of us - entered the room!

This school is older than the one we visited the day before (15 years to its 3) and the school reflects it. The facilities are older but, I think, better suited for classroom use. I wish my good friend, Jeff Wright (Coach Wright as our students knew him), had been with me to assess of the quality of the rehab and training facilities at both academies. That is somewhat lost on me.  

This school's greater age means it has more alumni and the results were prominently displayed. One stairway showed team photos of alums who made it to the minor league (I'm guessing 60 or more photos on the wall, out of about 50 graduates per year). Their most impressive poster showed 4 alums who made it to the Majors. Okay - problem here. I took a photo of the poster (if you have read this blog for long you know I am a horrible photographer) and can't read the names on my photo! I think they are: Reynaldo Navarro, Hiram Burgess, C Velasquez - can't read his first name - and Carlos Correa. Apparently Carlos is big right now. I know, give me a break - I AM really late to appreciation of all things baseball.

Two seniors spoke to our group and answered questions. They were charming. As a former high school teacher I was most interested in college placement issues. Their director spoke of the challenge of SAT scores (and difficulties their students face with English as their second language) and how the role community college vs 4-year college can play in opportunities for being spotted by minor league scouts. Both boys have already received college acceptances but, like students everywhere in the US, are waiting to see what the final packages (re tuition etc.) look like.

Word quickly spread around campus that the LLHFS&BHW were here. Boys came out of the woodwork as we wandered down hallways. As we waved goodbye, many were near the doorway for a final look.  

We next drove to the ballpark to see our first ball game where the tables were turned. Now the LLHFS&BHW were the ones flirting with the ball players. You gotta love it!

Slip Sliding Away

I am back in a dorm room after almost 50 years. Bonnie and I lucked out. Because her husband is one of the professors teaching the course we got the RA's room - she's not here right now. It's a small living room/kitchen, bath and bedroom with 2 twin beds. Joe is bunked in the boys' dorm across the way (this is a private, Catholic school). It is old and a bit worn but more than adequate and we are grateful - although I wasn't very full of gratitude at 4 in the morning of my first overnight.

The problem? The bed's mattress and box springs are encased in plastic sheeting; not the kind you can unzip but the kind that is permanently sealed. I didn't realize the problem until I tried to turn over. My turning made one corner of the thin sheet pop off and start working its way toward the middle. Then, when I moved the pillow under my leg (I had my second knee replacement surgery 6 weeks ago and still need to support the new knee on a pillow), it popped the opposite corner of the sheet off the bed. Soon I was sliding around on sheet and plastic casing and moving toward the edge of the bed and sure disaster with the new knee. So up I got and remade the bed. And then it happened again. And again. And again. Each time I fell asleep and tried to turn I was almost on the floor. At four in the morning I was desperate. What could I do?

I checked the next morning with other members of the group. About two thirds had plastic cases on their mattresses and bed springs, one third did not. That gave me hope. I approached the woman at the residence hall desk and explained my problem. She spoke little English and looked a bit confused. When I ased, "May I cut the casing off?", she looked very confused but nodded her head. It was tentative, definitely tenative. I, however, took it at face value and had that cover off in less than 5 minutes.

I am happy to report that I am no longer slip sliding away!

Baseball - Easing In

Today I stood on a pitcher's mound. The first pitcher's mound of my life. Yep, there was that rectangle of rubber the pitcher touches with his foot when he winds up to pitch. I didn't know that thing existed until I read my rule book a few weeks ago. It was smaller than I thought it would be.

Where was I? Not on a professional field. No, it was on the infield practice field at the Carlos Beltran Baseball Academy in Florida, Puerto Rico (about an hour outside of San Juan). Talk about the perfect start for my baseball introduction - at a high school. Something I know a bit about. Well, except I have never been to one like this. It is only 3 years old and has only grades 10, 11 and 12  (it will add 9th next year). The building is one vast space broken down into classrooms, lunchroom and all things baseball - lockers, showers, weight room, sports medicine rehab and offices. The nicest office belongs to Carlos Beltran.  Outside we toured batting practice areas, the practice infield and the pool. We also saw the overgrown meadow they hope to turn into a complete baseball field someday. "Hmmmmm," I thought, "Build it and they will come." 

I most enjoyed watching the boys at batting practice. We watched the fastball practice - machines spit out the balls at an incredible speed and they hit most of them. Some practiced bunting. What most intrigued me (and made my shoulder tremble in solidarity with the boys) was watching them swing bats at huge tires hanging from the ceiling. The sound of each hit reverberated through the room. The coach said it was an old fashioned technique but one that has made their players stronger. After watching a Puerto Rican boy demonstrate the technique the coach asked if either of the young men in our group wanted to try. Nathan, a senior, stepped forward. He missed hitting the sweet spot on the tire on his first tries and then their coach stepped in. It was the look on the coach's face that stays in my memory. The intentness of his teaching, passing on how to best swing the bat, no matter who the player was - Puerto Rican or Californian. It was love of baseball, pure and simple. Nathan improved.

The Puerto Rican boys were pleased to show off in front of our 12 California girls.  The girls, baseball lovers all, were equally pleased to run the bases on the practice infield, take photos on the pitcher's mound and enjoy the stares of the boys.

Tomorrow?  My first game. Can't wait.

I'm Off

 I have mentioned before that I am not known for my athleticism. Yes, I am the best in pool volleyball at the OFH but only because I am the youngest on the team by a decade.  However, I am completely ignorant of the rules of the games of soccer, baseball, rugby, boxing, basketball,  anything nuanced about football and so on. No, wait, there has been a change. A MAJOR change.  A seismic change in my knowledge of one sport - and it is all because of my next trip.  Get ready. This one is hard to believe.  In 3 hours I am getting on a plane to join a college course (Whittier College 16 students, 6 adults) on Baseball: A Caribbean Religion.  And guess where it is taught?  In San Juan, Puerto Rico!  I am off to San Juan.

Since signing up for the class I have been reading everything baseball.  I started with the professor's book - Rounding The Bases.  Now, there is a connection here. The professor (and author), Joe Price, is my cousin Bonnie's husband. I travelled with them to Kentucky last May. The book is all about baseball and religion and I really enjoyed it.  That led me to 2 novels discussed in the book (Shoeless Joe Jackson - on which the movie Field of Dreams is based - and The Brothers K )  Loved both. Then I read Watching Baseball Smarter (I think that was the title) and I was hooked. I had no idea of the strategy of baseball.  I just saw it as the slowest game on the planet.  Now I get it. And I wanted MORE.

So then I took on The Field Guide to Baseball - yep, a discussion and analysis of the rules of the game. And I loved it. I only allowed myself one short chapter a day as I read with a mixture of awe, amusement, and incredulity at the width and depth and breadth of the rules. I love the examples - "a runner going from second to third purposely shoves the shortstop" - what?  Why would he shove a shortstop?  Or the pickiness - if a fielder, when catching a ball, falls into the dugout . . . And then it goes onto describe where his feet have to be to have it count (they better not be in the dugout).  It is
all quite amazing.

The problem is that I am reading all these books with a very limited knowledge of the actual game. I attended a Giants game in Candlestick Park when I was in high school but, must admit,  I was bored throughout - I couldn't figure out what was going on. I have been in the room when baseball was on TV but pretty much ignored it. Now I can't wait to get to San Juan and get out to the ballpark. We will be attending 4 games - the winter season in Puerto Rico ends in January.

I have packed the Field Guide and intend to study it on the plane. I am ready. Bonnie, Joe and I are flying in 2 days early. We will meet the students on Friday and then off to the dorms.  Two weeks of college life, 4 baseball games, and tours around the island. I have one baseball cap packed (kindness of Joe) but will buy my own when there.

By the time I get home in late January, direct any questions you have about the sport (and how it relates to religion) to me. I will be an expert. A baseball cap-wearing expert.

Ah the things you learn in retirement!!!

Merry Christmas!

It is that best time of the year and I hope all of you are with family and rejoicing.  Given that I have 2 grandsons who are 6 and 2, I am very much aware of the wonder of it all. What fun it is to experience it through their eyes.  Wesley is beginning to read so I realize this is the last year that I can leave lists or packing slips sitting around.

I am most grateful that schools are closed for 2 weeks because it means I get more time with them. Everyone here at the OFH knows Wesley well (he has been coming ever since I moved in) and are getting to know Finn.  Wesley struts around the place, delighted that he can show me the way to wherever it is we are off to visit.  He loves working with me in the Cage (the big storage area where I sort donations for the resident resale shop that I lovingly call "The Dead People's Store") and writes prices on tags for me.  Today was pool volleyball and he was our "ball boy" - playing in the pool but ready to get any errant balls that flew out of the pool beyond our reach.  His favorite places? #1 is the art studio where his neighbor Kristen is one of our art therapists.  Ssshhh, he made a night light for his parents. It will be ready tomorrow for me to pick up.  He has also made an ornament and helped other residents make their own Christmas decorations.  #2 -The Waterfalls Cafe where he heads right for the ice cream bars.

Finn's favorite activity here?  Well, at almost 3, he loves to stomp in the elevator in his bright green frog boots.  His stomps make wonderful, resounding, slapping sounds.  He pulls himself up along the bar at waist height in the elevator and launches himself down onto the floor, a proud smile as he lands loudly.  I have learned which residents find it charming and which looked pained. We avoid the latter.

So from my heart to yours - I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas and that we all have a peaceful New Year.

Volleyball at the OFH

I love swimming.  I love it with a passion. Over the years I have swum enough miles to cross the US. One reason I chose this retirement community is its indoor pool. Actually I prefer outdoor pools but the winter can be dicey and I want to swim year round, so indoor pool it is.

Perfect, yes?  No. There is a problem in paradise. The pool isn’t open as many hours a week as I would like. The reason continually expressed by our administration is that not enough residents use the pool to justify the cost of more lifeguard-hours.

So the battle is on.  Donna vs the Administration.  

I am careful. Stealthy.  Quiet. Clever. Planning for a long siege. 

Goal:  Increase resident use of the pool

Step 1  Stand up for what I believe: Point out repeatedly that pool exercise is best because it reduces strain on the joints. 

Step 2  Volunteer to write a column (The Pool Corner) in our monthly in-house news magazine in which I extol the wonders of our pool.

Step 3  Form a Swim Committee to get like-minded residents on board with improving swim conditions here at the OFH.

Step 4  Start a Balance Class in the pool with the tag line – A class where you can’t hurt yourself if you fall!

Step 5  Organize an open house at the pool with cupcakes (to get them there) and a silly contest (to keep them there) - Which team can build the most unusual floating sculpture out of pool tools – fins, board, weights, etc?

Step 6 – Organize a pool volleyball team - my latest venture. 

What I didn’t expect is that I am having so much fun. Okay, all of you who know me know that athletics is NOT my strong point.  Yes, I once ran a 5 K race but my jogging pace was slower than a lot of the walkers who passed me by. Yes, I swim but not fast. And volleyball? I haven’t played since 8^th grade. But guess what?  It all comes back once the ball is in your hand. And here is my big advantage. I’m the youngest on the team by 10 years at least!  All the others are in their late 70’s – 90’s.  I kid you not - I am like the whiz kid.  I leap up and slam the ball (well, let’s be honest here, hit the ball firmly) and sometimes it even goes over the net.

We are simply awful but spend so much time laughing as we flounder in the water that we don’t care.  We happily come back for more each Wednesday afternoon from 1-2 pm.  Note this is during nap time here at the OFH so my teammates are committed.

Now we are thinking about taking on other teams from nearby retirement communities.  There are a few things we need to get done, however, before this can happen:

1. Play by the actual rules of the game.
2. Learn how to serve effectively.
3. Get more people on the team so we each have less pool territory to cover
4. Have toweling robes with our team nicknames embroidered on the back  – I’m thinking, “Slugger”, “Spike” etc.

We have one advantage – our coach.  Frank has 25 years of experience in pool volleyball and loves the game. Yes, he can no longer lift his arms above his shoulders so he can’t play himself but he is happy to sit at the side of the pool and coach us. And he is good at it as well as gentlemanly, funny and observant. What I love most about Frank? He is 92 and going strong. Okay, I drive him to the pool each Wednesday (it’s 2 buildings away) because he walks slowly with a cane but all our effort will be worth it when we become famous as the toughest old folks in Portland.  Wish us well, please. 

I will let you know when we get more pool hours.  I AM determined.

River Envy

Yes, indeed, it has been many months since I have written and lots of things have happened.  Too much for one blog so I plan to write lots of short ones all in a row.  Finally, I feel the urge to write.  So get ready.

A year ago I moved to a different apartment here at my retirement community (or the "Old Folks Home" or OFH).  I will admit that in my almost 3 years here I had developed a strong case of River Envy - wanting a better view of the Willamette River - than my first apartment offered. It came about as I visited apartments of friends around our campus and realized that there was a LOT more of the river to be seen from different floors and wings. So, when an apartment with a great view became available, I grabbed it. It is still teeny - the same 421 square feet of my original apartment - and on the same floor but my new wing has a spectacular view.

Now remember, I am a horrid photographer so here goes:

I now have an end apartment so have windows looking out at two angles.  Our building is on a ridge about 50 feet above the bank of the river.  This was in early Fall.

The view is very different today.

We have had a week of rain - torrential at times.  There was flooding in several parts of Portland, many trees came down, electricity out, etc.  We even had a small tornado touch down in a town across the river.  Look at the water in the photo above - so brown from carrying all the upstream silt down to the mighty Columbia. Just a few months ago we were concerned about how low the river was - not any more. It is rushing downstream, bringing all kinds of detritus with it.  I watched as a long dock, now broken into 3 parts, flew past my windows.

This intrigues me.  The owners of a home right across the river from us (it's a very high rent area) have a sea plane with its own dock.  It was always a bit away from their sailboat dock but now, given the swollen river, it is at mid-river level. I am amazed that it has not come loose through all the commotion.

I find myself looking out at the river at all times of day and night in this first year in my new unit. I can see it from my bed (the moon says hello each evening) and have my writing desk placed in front of my living room windows (where I took these photos). I face west so also get spectacular sunsets behind the hills across the river. It is mesmerizing, especially now. I am very glad that I am safe and warm and am sorry for those plagued by the flooding - but oh it has been incredible to watch. 

West Virginia - Sort Of

Last November, when I stayed with my cousin Bonnie and her husband, Joe (part of my 2-month trip around the country), I told Bonnie that, as a result of that trip, I now had only 5 states left to visit. She rolled her eyes a bit (wasn’t I being a little anal? Was it really necessary to visit all 50?) but was curious enough to ask which they were? I said, “West Virginia, Georgia (I don’t count numerous stops at their airport), Arkansas, Oklahoma and Michigan.” She thought about it for a minute and said, “If we fly into Nashville, I could show you Kentucky on our way to West Virginia.” She knows Kentucky. She moved there after college, it's where she met Joe, they lived in the Louisville area for a few years and his family came from the western part of the state.

I thought about it for a nanosecond. “Let’s go,” I said, mentally crossing one state off my list. Then a problem arose. You can experience it yourself by goggling WEST VIRGINIA and ATTRACTIONS. Go ahead, try it. The results are pretty discouraging. Try other key word combinations. Nope, apparently there is nothing of interest in the entire state short of a no-longer-functioning gothic penitentiary and a black velvet-painting museum. That’s about it.

Okay, I KNOW there must be more but oh does West Virginia need better marketing. I have since heard, from people who have visited, that it is indeed a beautiful state – but then they pause and mention something about being careful as to which holler you wander into, oh, and when they stayed there, their car was broken into, and yes, the people were warm and friendly – well, most of them. Then they gaze off into space with funny looks on their faces.

How to do this? Could I drive through Kentucky, cross into West Virginia, have lunch somewhere and drive back? Would that count? Well, yes, but it meant a 250-mile round trip, crossing the Appalachians, from the easternmost part of Kentucky that we planned to visit. Really? A day spent driving that many miles to cross a state off my list?

I am now home from my trip and, let’s cut to the chase, I never made it to West Virginia but I certainly had a wonderful time in Kentucky. We put it off til mid-May so Joe could join us (he is a professor at Whittier College) and I am so glad we waited. Quite frankly, I adore the man. He is kind, patient, knowledgeable, funny and full of what one thinks of as “Southern charm and hospitality.”  I could not have had a better guide around a state he loves.

It was all simply wonderful.  So what more did I learn about the South from this trip?

1. Politics:  Is Kentucky part of the South? Some said yes; some said no. Yes, it was a border state in That Recent Unpleasantness (my favorite Southern euphemism) but many fought for the Confederacy. There are Confederate monuments and remembrances. On the other hand, many parts are economically tied to the Midwest (Illinois, Indiana, Ohio). I found discussions of Kentucky identity fascinating.

2. Geography:  It is a beautiful state.  We spent the first 4 days in western Kentucky in the area called the Land Between the Lakes and in Paducah, right on the Ohio River. Its historic area is charming - full of galleries and the fabulous National Quilt Museum. We spent the next 5 days in the eastern part, in the Berea area, a college town and center for Appalachian crafts. To get to it, we drove through the horse area around Lexington – green and luscious. 

3. Southern food…Yum.  I simply love fried catfish, hush puppies, fried green tomatoes and everything else I ate – barbecue, biscuits and gravy, grits, greens – wonderful.

This is southern extreme - the meringue was at least 8 inches high.  I must admit the pie wasn't much to write home about but the physics and chemistry of the meringue was awe-inspiring.

4. Southern drink: Let’s talk about Mint Juleps - I had my first at Jerie Milici’s house in Connecticut back in the late 1970’s. Jerie, a true daughter of the South (Alabama, in her case), knew how to make them. I remember reaching for the glass, anticipating something sweet – after all, this is the drink of all Southern novels, the drink that little white-haired Southern ladies sip while rocking on their porches. And then I took a taste - and almost spit it out. I never dreamt it was straight bourbon (okay, yes, they add simple syrup and muddled mint but it is mainly bourbon). Given the strength of the drink I now realize those Southern ladies were soused! I hadn’t had one since but made up for it in Kentucky. I love them.

Ale 8 - non-alcoholic drink sold only in the South.  Good.

5. Religion: While we were in the Berea area we stayed in two very different and fascinating places, both associated with religion. The first was the residence of a former student of Joe’s. Kent is the pastor of Union Church in Berea. He bought an old 14-bedroom two-story retreat center (next to a Quaker assembly house) in the countryside outside of Berea that he is slowly renovating. We stayed upstairs. It was easy to get lost as one winding corridor led into another. He, by the way, made the best mint julep and provided the best view while rocking and drinking - watching lightning bugs dance in the evening light in the hay field in front of his property.

We attended Sunday service at Kent’s church and, quite fortuitously, four young people were confirmed and baptized that day. Two chose to be baptized in the church but the other two opted for an immersion baptism in the creek nearby. I couldn’t believe it. How lucky was I to get to witness this? I happily joined in singing “Down to the River to Pray” while the two young women walked into the creek for the ceremony. Loved it.

The second Southern religious experience was at the last place we stayed –3 nights at the Shaker village in Pleasant Hill. It was built in the early 1800s, abandoned in the early 1900s and then gently restored, beginning in the 1960s. Today there are 30 of the original 200 buildings. Our room was in a building that the women of one of the five “families” (each family was about 50 people at the height of the movement) used for weaving and spinning. Our room was classic Shaker – with their simple furniture, peg rails around the walls, undecorated windows, and the absence of trim.

I love the simplicity of the Shaker style.

Bonnie, sitting on my bed.

We left the village each day to tour surrounding areas but returned to eat dinner and enjoy the grounds at night. It was gorgeous serenity. I had visited the Hancock Shaker Village in western Massachusetts but never thought I would be able to stay in a Shaker building.

Similar and yet different from the meandering stone walls in New England

A favorite memory? The afternoon we arrived, I asked the dining staff if they served mint juleps? No, they said, they were out of mint but then they found some and, voila, our drinks arrived. Joe carried them up two flights to the top story of the old Shaker building where Bonnie and I found two rocking chairs under the eaves on the attic floor. I toasted the Shakers as we rocked and sipped. I suspect mint juleps were NOT part of Shaker life but they certainly enriched my experience of it!

Attic storage - have to love it - so simple and functional.  The Shaker way.

6. Shopping - My apartment where I now live is so small that I have everything I need and have no room for anything new so shopping was restricted to a lot of looking and buying things for others.  But I love Appalachian crafts so this was such a treat. My sister Mary’s traditional broom that she bought in Arkansas 30 years ago had finally worn out so I had the fun of buying a new one made in the Appalachian style. I watched Berea College students make brooms and bought two for Mary – one, a traditional broom, the other for sweeping cobwebs away. 

Branches waiting to be turned into broom handles. 

The Berea College student making the broom.

The tricky part - weaving the top.

Ah, the finished product - on its way to Portland.

And then, right at the end, West Virginia came back into the mix. I spotted a pile of rag rugs in a store in Berea and asked about them. The clerk said that a man showed up the day before with the pile of rugs in the back of his truck. He said his mother had made them in West Virginia - and did the store want them? I took it as a sign and happily bought a small one for my bathroom. A bit of West Virginia made it home with me. Now can I count this as a trip to West Virginia? Can I cross that state off my list? I suspect not.

After 9 wonderful days, we drove back to Nashville and caught planes back to LA and Portland.  Bonnie has already discussed plans with me for a trip to Oklahoma, one of my other missing states. She knows someone in Texas, near the Oklahoma border. I look forward to this and other trips with her as we knock off my five states. In reality, I expect that each may end up like this one – I will get within a hundred miles of the destined state and then find something more interesting in a neighboring one. In reality, who cares? It is the adventure of it all that makes it so interesting and, quite frankly, Bonnie plans a terrific trip. I will follow her anywhere.

The Dead People's Store

Yep, it has been quite a while since my last entry - 4 months to be exact. Hmmmm, what excuses can I offer? Busy? Enjoying life? Sick? Well, actually, bits of all three, but knowing that I love to write, how have I allowed this to happen?

One reason is my great involvement with what I initially called the "Dead People's Store." This is our community's resale shop stocked with resident donations. When I moved in, a bit more than 2 years ago, I assumed donations were leftovers from residents who had recently died (after family members removed what they wanted) - hence my name, "Dead People's Store." Through the windows of the shop I could see vases and cards, partially used bottles of detergent, old irons and toasters, mismatched dishes and glasses and lots of what I labelled "old lady clothes." Because I was so busy babysitting my grandchildren during the day I was rarely here when the shop was open. The few times I did go in,  I was struck by how very little I was interested in purchasing. What especially disturbed me was the pile of used (but clean) underwear for sale. ICK. Double ICK. Was this even legal?

When 2014 rolled around, when I had been here almost one year, I was approached by a resident who asked if I (together with two other friends, Cindy and Elise) would share management of the store? I almost fell out of my wheel chair (this happened right after the staph infection invaded my knee and started my year of difficulties) Really? Are you kidding? Manage those piles of used underwear? Of course not. But then, as often happens, my good ol' Catholic guilt reared its head as I reviewed how very much residents had helped me cope with my new, unexpected disabilities. It was time to give back. Somewhat reluctantly, I and my two friends, agreed.

The first thing we did was toss out the underwear. When the previous manager explained that the people who bought them were residents who live in Assisted Living or in the Health Center - and couldn't get out to shop in town - I declared I would personally set up Amazon accounts for anyone who wanted underwear and order correct sizes for them. It was great to watch the underwear disappear.

What I didn't expect is how very much I would come to enjoy this new volunteer job. We divided management into three parts, each of us tackling one. Elise runs the actual store - training new volunteer clerks, keeping everything looking nice, handling advertising, dealing with the unexpected. Cindy handles clearing the apartments of residents who have died - taking what can be used in the store. I handle the third part - sorting all the donations that arrive in my work space - a large area in the basement called the Cage.

I have learned many things during this first year of store management:

#1 Only about 40-45% of our donations come from residents who died; most come from current residents who are downsizing. Some are new residents who brought too much with them when they moved in. They over-calculated what would actually fit in their units. Others are from existing residents who are tired of tripping over too many belongings. We all wonder why we keep accumulating stuff when we have finite space?

#2 Only about 20% of the total donations end up in the store. Most are more than gently used and go directly to charity. We support the homeless, low income housing residents, local service organizations and charities. For example, in 2014 we donated more than two tons of clothing to the homeless in Portland. Our goal is to keep things out of the landfill - we try to find a home for anything we can't use in the store.

#3 It isn't best practices to sell used underwear (duh!) or partly used bottles of detergent. One of our administrators met with us soon after we took over to review our practices. He agreed - nope to underwear and nope to partially used items (can we be certain that Tide is actually in the partially used Tide bottle? Or has the resident used the bottle for something else? As he said this, I must admit, I mentally reviewed how very often I did exactly that without changing the label - hey,  I knew it had the rat poison in it!).

#4 It is really fun to put into practice many of the concepts we discussed in the Econ classes I taught at Carmel High. It does indeed matter where you place things on shelves, the colors and designs of displays, cleverness of ads, etc. And pricing - oh my goodness. Former students of mine out there - I have actually found myself muttering, "hmm, this has elastic demand, we should lower the price."

#5 Because I control supply (it's all stored in the Cage), I usually determine the next sales event - whatever is piling up in my storage area. It is fun to use sales to entice residents into the store. For example, our latest event was on April Fool's Day. I put on display all the items from my mystery box - the donations whose function I could not figure out. There were odd pieces of carved wood, large convoluted metal pieces that defied description, weird looking tools and molded plastic forms that seemed inexplicable. At the end I displayed 22 items with paper beneath each for suggestions as to their uses. We awarded the pieces of junk to those who came up with the best ideas. It was lots of fun and, incredibly, most winners wanted the stuff! Go figure.

By the way, I no longer call it the Dead People's Store. Its real name is the Carousel. Although it was probably selected as a cute name,  I think it also reflects the revolving ownership of its merchandise. I must admit, I laugh when I get a donation that still has a Carousel tag on it. Then I check the price. Does it still work or do I need to change it?

I have lots more to say about the store but will save it for later entries. Look forward to reading about the problems with the naked mannequin, surprising items that people drop off, how working in the Cage saved my sanity during the worst moments of my knee difficulties last year, and the challenges of meeting the needs of retired male residents.

Last leg - San Francisco Bay Area

I spent the last two weeks of my almost 9-week trip right where I started life - with my family in the Bay Area. It was, of course, wonderful, culminating in Thanksgiving at my cousin Loretta's house. While staying overnight with Loretta's sister, Pattie, I almost killed Pattie's dog, Mojito. Mojito is an inquisitive 15-pound Havanese dog, getting on in years. I helped move him toward death by leaving my bag of pills within his reach - and reach he did. He downed most of my remaining 8-days of pills. Thankfully they were supplements but many were NOT good for a dog, and even if one of the supplements may not have been harmful eating 8 multivitamins, 8 vit C, 16 calcium, 16 fish oil, 8 iron and 8 vit D is NOT desirable in any way. Pattie and I took him to the 24 hour ER for animals and, many dollars later, Mojito will see more years of life. And, incredibly, I THINK I can still come stay with Pattie in the future. She is good-hearted and forgiving.

I was able to fit in visits with friends but most time was spent with family. I saw cousins-by-the-dozens, my three siblings (and spouses) and all 4 of my precious nephews. There was not enough time with Lee and Michelle (or Leanne and Marlena) but hopefully in the future.

Stephanie and Dan and the two boys flew down for Thanksgiving. The best sight was Wesley running toward me from the car, shouting, "Gramma, Gramma." It had been so long since I had seen him and held him in my arms and we had so much to catch up on. And then, almost 2-year old Finn, came tumbling toward me. When I left in October, he couldn't say "Gramma" but now he can - and did.  I was thrilled.

Then it was time to head back to Portland.  I flew this time - made this trip by train many years ago. When I arrived I went to the curb to meet the Blue Star shuttle to be told they no longer take fares to where I live. They did that route 2 months ago but apparently not any longer. I stood there, flummoxed, pondering how to get home. Here I had traveled through 21 states, in 4 planes, 7 trains and many car rides - and suddenly I wasn't sure how to get home! I ended up catching a private shuttle and, 30 minutes later, I was home in my sweet unit.

It was a GREAT trip, a celebration that I am, once again, mobile after a tricky year. The first thing I did was donate my cane for someone else to use. I no longer need it. I am home, walking, with a heart and mind full of the most delightful memories of my journey around the country.

I was right to do much of it by train - it IS a fascinating and beautiful country that we live in. And I didn't have to drive; I just let the engineers take me over hill and dale. As I look out the window of my unit down to the Willamette River below, it is definitely winter. The leaves are gone from the trees, the river is still but my head remains full of Autumn - not only in breathtaking New England but in the south as well. The Carolinas were stunning in Autumn as were the woods behind Gina and Jay's house in northern Alabama. And then, surprise, although it is more subtle, autumn in California has its own beauty. October and November are good months to travel.

The folks here at the OFH (Old Folks Home) welcomed me home. A few whispered to me that I had stayed away too long; they missed me. They also suggested that I may be the "slut of the century" for mentioning that I slept in 16 different beds over the past 9 weeks! My thanks to all the hosts and hostesses who allowed me to sleep in those 16 guest beds. You were all so gracious and thoughtful.

And I recognize that I have become an Oregonian - I welcome the gray skies and misty rain of Oregon. Who knew? And so now I am happily ensconced back with the grandchildren and my activities here in Oregon looking ahead to the most wonderful of holiday seasons.