Welcome to Crawfish Creek Manor, God’s Waiting Room…Entry #5

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Disclaimer: This blog is in no way meant to offend anyone, it is just reality as I, Ira Mae Busybody perceives life, and my personal opinion.  Places, names and faces have been changed to protect the cantankerous, mean spirited, nosey, bitchy and innocent.

Welcome to Crawfish Creek Manor, God’s Waiting Room…

 

 

Hello Bloggers and Followers,

Yesterday I left all of you with the “Church People” telling me that I was going to hell!

Trying to bike in Hell Town is taking your life into your own hands.  It is difficult to believe since there is only one street, Main, and two bridges to cross over.  Of course, there are no bike lanes, this is northern “redneck country” and as you may have guessed I am from the “south”…I am certain that it did not take long for that to get through town.  Riding down main with a target on my back was more foolish than brave. 

A redheaded woman I would get to know as Ms Laura pulled out of the Crawfish Café in a 1966 baby blue Studebaker, mint condition, the last year they built that funny little car.  I wondered if she might have been a member of the Studebaker Club.  She pulled out without looking, I put on brakes right before impact!  BITCH…

Ms Laura would turn out to be the preacher’s wife, a church located between Crawfish and Clinton the only church within miles, and I would find out that she led the choir, read during service, wrote a local news column for the Clinton Gazette and held a writing class at the Crawfish Café every Monday morning.  It was my short-term membership in the “Crawfish/Clinton” writing group where I became acquainted with many in the area, including Ms Laura.

Next on the street came an old red Ford truck, I believe my daddy had one of those back in the ‘40’s, unlike the Studebaker it appeared to be held together with rust and baling wire.  This pipe-smoking farmer would become my only friend and ally in Crawfish.  He grew pumpkins for Halloween and trees for Christmas, both; he carried to Clinton to sell on an old A&P lot.  When he pulled out of his parking place in front of Wilson’s Drug and Hardware store he gave me a toothless smile saying…

“Wanna race”

Off he went like a snail, at the bottom of a hill about a mile out of town I looked back to see the old truck turning onto a side road.  I had to go back; the winding road through the pumpkin patch took me in front of a country home out of a Norman Rockwell painting.  There he sat, rocking back and forth next to a table with two cups of steaming coffee. 

“It’s strong and it’s hot, like I like my women…if I was young enough to still like women”.  He winked and continued, “I’m Roy, and you’re that young thing that moved into what I like to call, God’s waiting room, because the next exit is the Pearly Gates”. 

He laughed so hard it was infectious.  I said to him, “Mr. Roy, I’m no spring chicken, but frankly I don’t think God is ready for me and the devil would not know what to do with me”! 

I sat down had the worst cup of coffee in my life and found the best friend that I would probably have in my life.

 

Well, dear bloggers and followers, I must close the shutters on today’s. Writing… until tomorrow, remember a shot of “Jack” a day will keep the doctor away, and if you are a senior citizen just keep telling yourself… breathe damn’it.

 

Ira Mae Busybody

Crawfish Creek Manor

 

 

©2012.crawfishcreekmanor.(All Rights Reserved).

 

 

 

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Welcome to Crawfish Creek Manor, God’s Waiting Room… Entry #4

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Disclaimer: This blog in no way meant to offend anyone, it is just reality as I, Ira Mae Busybody perceives life, and my personal opinion. 

Welcome to Crawfish Creek Manor, God’s Waiting Room…

Hello Bloggers and Followers,

Yesterday I left all of you with my return to the new apartment and confronted by the “Warden” and her sidekick “Mouth”.  They were concerned as to my stability and announced (as if I could not hear them), “We ain’t gonna like her”.

I have found that the elderly (most of them) do not have enough to do on a day-to-day basis.  Hard of hearing, do not be fooled by that, they can hear a fly fart one-hundred yards after it has buzzed by them.  Every time I opened my door to take out boxes I had unpacked, no less than ten heads all sporting blue hair popped out to observe me as I walk down the hallway.

Don’t get me wrong, I have white hair…I just don’t think having it spiked went over too well, and I am certain that bare foot and braless did not get me any points, and yes, at my age…and no, “the girls” were not bouncing off my knees.  When God called out who wants “Big Breast”, I thought he said, “Big Test” and I ran the other way!

With the unpacking done, I decided to go for a bike ride.  There I was on the elevator with bike, a man and woman got on with me before the door could close.  The man looked at me and said, “Do you go to church”?  I smiled and said “No”; he got louder, “Don’t you believe in God”?  I smiled and said “Yes”, I knew what was coming next…”People who believe in God go to church”!  His wife said, “You’re going to hell”!  I smiled and said, “Yes mam, I may be going there, and you and your husband don’t forget to say hi when you see me, ya hear”!  I still don’t know their name; I call them the “Church People”!

Well, dear bloggers and followers, I must close the shutters on today’s. Writing… until tomorrow, remember a shot of “Jack” a day will keep the doctor away, and if you are a senior citizen just keep telling yourself… breathe damn’it.

 

Ira Mae Busybody

Crawfish Creek Manor

 

 

#4©2012.crawfishcreekmanor.(All Rights Reserved).

Welcome to Crawfish Creek Manor, God’s Waiting Room…Entry #3

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Disclaimer: This blog in no way meant to offend anyone, it is just reality as I, Ira Mae Busybody perceives life, and my personal opinion. 

Welcome to Crawfish Creek Manor, God’s Waiting Room…

Hello Bloggers and Followers,

Yesterday I left all of you with the “do’s and don’ts” of moving into senior housing, a small taste of the Manor; Hell-Town, USA and its inhabitants, the people from “hell”.  Let me say, that I do not believe all senior housing is as the Manor; not all people in the Manor or town are like those that I have encountered.  However, here those, whom appear to be friendly, turn within time.   

Moving into the Manor was not the ordinary situation for me; I had the best apartment in the building.  I am an artist and writer and one of my rooms has all windows and wonderful light.

The bathroom was shower only, which I could contend with accept that pull-down thing you could sit on if you cannot stand; it became the place I bathed my dog, Poop Boy. 

My introduction to the “tenants” was during move-in; they walked, shuffled, or wheeled up and down the hall trying to get a glimpse of the new person.  My children moved me in, lifelong slapstick comedians.  Their first open comments were about the heat inside being 80 degrees, and it continued from there; they were polite when having to ease around the “bodies” but could not help saying, “Mom, you sure this is not a nursing home”?

I left immediately after moving in, two-weeks of dog sitting while one of my sons and his wife were in Ireland.  Upon walking out, the gathering room was full of blue haired old battle-axes; they migrated to the hallway of my floor where there is a lounge area by the elevator.  Any one that tells you old people cannot see, do not believe them.  They were like vultures waiting for the death of a road kill, peering with their tiny beady eyes.  I smiled and kept moving.

Two-weeks later I returned, I kept thinking there had to be a buzzer somewhere on me, to this day, every time I am outside my apartment someone is waiting with questions.

The “Warden” as I have named her, and sidekick “Mouth”, met me outside the elevator.  Not a hello, kiss my ass, go to hell, nothing…”Ain’t you the woman who moved in two weeks ago and left”, hollered the Warden.  The Mouth replied, “Most people think you are a crazy woman, move in and leaving like that”!  I looked at them respectfully and smiled as I walked away. 

The Warden bellowed out, “Where you been, normal people don’t move in and leave”.  I looked at her and replied, “I guess I am not normal”.  As the door closed, Mouth said, “We ain’t gonna like her”.

Well, dear bloggers and followers, I must close the shutters on today’s. Writing… until tomorrow, remember a shot of “Jack” a day will keep the doctor away, and if you are a senior citizen just keep telling yourself… breathe damn’it.

 

Ira Mae Busybody

Crawfish Creek Manor

 

©2012.crawfishcreek.allrightsreserved.

Welcome to Crawfish Creek Manor, God’s Waiting Room – Entry #2

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Disclaimer: This blog is not intended to offend anyone, it is just reality as I, Ira Mae Busybody perceives life, and my personal opinion. 

Welcome to Crawfish Creek Manor, God’s Waiting Room…

Hello Bloggers and Followers,

If you are looking for senior housing here are some “do’s and don’ts”, and this may be the most important information you will ever read. 

Do not – be fooled if the housing is new with only a few tenants. Remember, those that can walk are in a gathering area checking you out; they were there first… this is an important thing never to forget, if you move in; you will be the subject of conversation for many months as you are the only “life” they have seen since they arrived at the Manor. 

Do not – believe everything a manager of the property tells you, they are trying to fill the place up!

Do not – check out a town when it is Christmas and snowing, everything looks magnificent shrouded in its holiday finest and covered with snow. 

Do – visit several times before signing a lease.  Had I done so, I would have found out that the old woman who guards the door and questions everyone who enters was truly at one point “a warden”!

Do – read the lease carefully, the administrator/manager makes the rules as she goes about her day, different rules, different rents, her favorite saying is “This is all a secret now, don’t tell the others, because I am treating you special”.  Then they all gather and discuss how special they are among themselves.

Those are the main do’s and don’ts, life is complicated here at Crawfish Creek Manor…

Hometown, small town, USA, beware it is Hell-Town, USA; Over 55 housing, (you think), friendly (until you move in), then you find that you are living in God’s Waiting Room…it is a nursing home without nursing staff and you have Crawfish Creek on one side and the Pearly Gates on the other!

Well, dear bloggers and followers, I must close the shutters on today’s. Writing until tomorrow, remember a shot of “Jack” a day will keep the doctor away, and if you are a senior citizen just keep telling yourself…breathe damn’it.

 

Ira Mae Busybody

Crawfish Creek Manor

 

©2012.crawfishcreek.allrightsreserved.

Welcome to Crawfish Creek Manor, God’s waiting room…Entry #1

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Disclaimer: This blog is not intended to offend anyone, it is just reality as I, Ira Mae Busybody perceives life, and my personal opinions. 

Welcome to Crawfish Creek Manor, God’s waiting room…

The idea of this blog has been two-years in the making, not because I am old, but to gather the material, make a commitment to the blogs daily entry and try to perfect my imperfections.    

Crawfish Creek Manor is located is a small town, one street with a creek running though it, Crawfish Creek…there are no crawfish in the creek!  The town begins with the Manor, a home for senior citizens, the creek winds through town.  On either side of Main Street and two wood bridges are the Princess Theater (owned by Mayor Wilson), open every Saturday; Andy’s barbershop (the mayor’s son), the Crawfish Café (the mayors granddaughter Emma), Edna’s Beauty shop (Andy’s wife), Wilson’s Drug and Hardware store (guess who), Morry’s Service Station (the mayor’s grandson), and a sign “YOU ARE NOW LEAVING CRAWFISH CREEK”.

By now you are wondering, shouldn’t the town be Wilson Creek?  Well, no, because Mr. Wilson’s great-great-granddaddy settled the town and he thought it was a fine name for a creek and town.  It is farm country there are no citizens accept the Wilson’s their homes are on the edge of Crawfish Creek.

Crawfish Creek Manor’s tenants come from a four county area; a palatial four-column porch that would lead you to believe it had been picked up out of the Deep South and placed there beside the creek.  There are twenty tenants male and female, a gathering room and a small office where Mr. Wilson’s daughter Rosemary pretended to be the administrator/manager.

Me, well I moved from the city…an active elderly female of seventy-years-young.  It looked peaceful, away from the hustle-bustle of metro living, a place where seniors lived and enjoyed their waning years, or so it advertised.

However, living in Crawfish Creek Manor is one of the reasons for this blog…     

Come join me daily and be a part of my life at Crawfish Creek Manor.

Ira Mae Busybody

Crawfish Creek Manor

 

©2012.crawfishcreek.allrightsreserved.