Rushing's Ramblings

                                                       (Norris reaching to pet my dog, Paddy)       Norris isn’t like many of us geezers at Fallingbrick (renamed by me after, you guessed it, falling bricks from the building’s facade).  It would be highly disrespectful to refer to this gentleman as a geezer.   Norris moved here from an assisted living facility about a year ago.  Several others have moved here from assisted or independent living facilities because of the high cost or the food quality.  Some current residents could benefit from 24-hour staff and three meals daily, but they won’t get it here. Fallingbrick is for “active adults,” meaning no frills, just falling bricks. It’s an ordinary apartment community for those over 62 with a healthy monthly income to qualify for the pricey rent. The building’s exterior and interior are beautiful, but what lurks beneath the surface is substandard construction.   I recently asked the manager how they handle residents who need assistance.

It was a Grandmama Karen kind of day. After I parked in a lot near the sub shop, I was walking toward the building when a humongous pickup truck pulled alongside me and sounded an ear-piercing horn. The coveted space he wanted was occupied by a car that, in his world, was taking too long to back out. Heaven forbid if a 40-year-old man couldn't park a few feet away from the building like I did, a crippled old woman! Why are so many pickup drivers such a**hats (except for my friends who drive pickups)? They drive aggressively and almost rear-end your car if you don't go fast enough or don't move to another lane to get out of their way. This is especially true for unnamed small body-part men driving gigantic white pickups. Second place goes to Tesla drivers (again, except my good friends who own Teslas). Anyway, I walked to his window and yelled, "GOOD GRIEF! STOP HONKING YOUR HORN RIGHT NOW!! JUST STOP IT!!" And, just like that, he stopped. I know, it's t

  There are new opportunities for wailing and gnashing of teeth at the Geezer Apartments.  Bricks are now loose and about to fall off the building, so tape marked DANGER is wrapped around most of the building.  A few residents are furious (as if they haven’t been all along about everything they dislike).    My small yard has been the only area with tape for the past month until yesterday. Bricks were removed from above my patio because they were on the verge of falling.  It would be painful or even deadly if a brick had hit me or Paddy in the head, but I was out of town when the brick removal happened.  Yet, management has determined that my yard is off-limits for weeks.   I never complained because I ducked under the tape to get to the sidewalk, but the complainers didn’t take up my cause because it didn’t personally impact them.  That’s okay because I waited until I received a notice that my lease was due to be renewed to negotiate that I was paying extra for a yard I couldn’t use.  

  A large, bald, gregarious, 60+-year-old man on the train ride from Dallas to Austin seemed pleasant and friendly, but after an hour or so, the words he started spouting gave me pause.  Oh, I know.  I should let people be themselves.  I don’t have to react to every ignorant comment; however, I’m old and can say whatever I think, although I didn’t censure my remarks much, even when I was younger.  I can’t tell you how many times I got in trouble for what I thought were witty comments that popped out of my mouth in school, then again when I was working.  (They weren't witty. I was and still am a smart-ass.)   He seemed to enjoy the grandmother/grandson interaction, and my grandson’s joy was contagious.  The man was one row in front of us on the other side of the aisle and frequently turned his head to comment.   As he leaned over the seat, he shared that he grew up in a small town where everyone started having children in high school.  He was proud that he did not fall into that sam

Today was one of those perfect days when the stars align, and life is good. Eight-year-old Patrick and I rode Amtrak from Austin to Cleburne, where Marcy’s Godfather and our wonderful longtime friend, Jerry Debo, met our train and drove us to the Hyatt in Dallas. It gave us a chance to reminisce and solve this country’s problems. Unfortunately, his wife, Doris, was too ill to join us. I truly miss my friends in Dallas. Patrick and I spent a few hours at the fascinating Perot Museum, then took an elevator to the top of the Reunion Tower. Sweet Patrick immediately took my hand whenever we had stairs to climb because he instinctively knew his grandmother had difficulty navigating them. His loving kindness means more to me than he’ll ever know. It’s times like this that I know he’ll turn out alright. I've loved every minute of this memorable trip with my precious grandson. Patrick’s my hero!

I'd say brown if there was a color to describe the land on the round-trip train ride from Austin to Dallas on two scorching hot days in mid-August. Brown burnt grass and brown dirt peeking out from stubble are all caused by more days than I can count of 100+ degree weather without rain. A small fraction of the fields had been plowed, but I would guess the harvest this year had minimal yield. Creeks and streams reveal only brown dirt and no water, while rivers run at an all-time low. Despite our fun-filled grandmother/grandson bonding weekend, one can’t help but be negatively impacted by the distressed fields across Texas in various stages of death. Sparce cattle live in this no man’s land, and it’s a wonder they have anything to eat, much less drink from the dry and near-empty waterholes. Some find refuge under the too few trees, only to be saved for another day before being hauled to slaughter. Slaughterhouses are very busy these days, with ranchers trying to eke out a living