(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 gave all of you the run-down of my days surrounding Thanksgiving. Of my good friend Mr. Roy’s death, I looked forward to picking pumpkins and adding fresh cut trees before Christmas, now that will never happen; life is too short. Who will tease me now; make me laugh at the Manor tenants and at myself?
He was right about one thing, the old biddies were waiting for me, and their questions met with resistance. I never shared my activities with family to anyone in Hell Town accept Mr. Roy. I headed for Clinton, dog in cage, I needed to work out until I dropped; I took a back road to avoid passing the pumpkin patch and tree farm!
Returning to the Manor I drove down Main Street, Christmas’ was in full bloom with ancient faded wreaths, garland and lights. A Santa and his reindeers hovered high above one of the bridges swinging in the cold wind. I don’t think the town has purchased new decorations since electricity came to town.
The Princess Theater marquee garlanded in red and blue read “Happy Holidays”, Edna’s Beauty Shop had a tree in the window with flashing lights, Wilson’s Drug and Hardware had a tree lot at the side of the building. I could hear Mr. Roy saying, “Coward must have been afraid of competition, had to wait ‘til I died to have a tree lot”. He would have been right.
Twilight had set in, a sliver of gold sparkled on the western skyline as I took my dog out for a walk. Deciding to go out the front door next to the gathering room was only to tease the “big mouth ladies and closed mouth men”, by now the news had spread…Ira Mae has shut down. Let them talk about someone else today.
In the front of the Manor blue lights and green garland swayed back and forth, several of the apartments had decorated trees in their windows and there spread across the front lawn was several wreaths with big red bows. I thought I would pee my pants…they were the type you buy to go on graves at a cemetery, wreaths on stands! I took a picture, as no one would believe that a senior housing manager would be so dense to purchase cemetery wreaths that you put in the ground instead of wreaths to hang on the building.
When I returned to the apartment building, I called my son…
“Hello” he said.
“Hey son, do you have plywood to cut me out several grave markers, put them on stakes so I can paint “RIP” on them, the yard looks like a cemetery”, we could not stop laughing as I had sent him the picture right before I called. This is no joke…is the manager sending a message to the tenants of “God’s Waiting Room”?
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
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