Melrose Manor

Melrose Manor Journal

Having lost my job at age sixty-two in 2008, during a recession, I was unable to find another. When I could no longer afford both an apartment and a car, I began a nomadic adventure in a few different states and different vacant homes of friends, including my brother's home in Columbus, Ohio. While he and his wife lived in their winter home in Arizona, I had from October 2010 to April 2011 to find a job and a place to live before they returned. I was unsuccessful at either, until I saw an ad in a newspaper for an open house at an affordable apartment in north Columbus. At the time, I still had my untrustworthy Ford Thunderbird and drove there to see if I could lease an apartment. I had been turned down numerous times in my last six months, because my Social Security was not considered adequate. And clearly it wasn't. But it was all I had. Melrose Manor was a low-income apartment building in a low-income neighborhood, with a fairly high crime rate. When I introduced myself to the young Manager, I told him my income didn't qualify me to rent an apartment, but I would be a really good tenant. He took a chance on me and I will be forever grateful. And here's what happened.

April 7, 2011

One of my new neighbors, Abe from the apartment next to mine, stopped by while I was moving in this afternoon and offered to show me his bedbug bites. I declined. But I can see it's going to be interesting here.

April 17, 2011

My building is like a Moroccan bazaar - noisy and multi-cultural, loud and a little dangerous. The Somalian neighbor across the hall invited me in for a beer. He said, "What's nice womans like you in place like this?"

There's a young, alcoholic woman living on the floor above, who confronted me on the way to the grocery store. She demanded to know where I was going and when I told her, she said, "You're lying! You're going to the liquor store." I think she wanted me to pick up something for her, since she could barely walk.

April 19, 2011

Today, Abe got up and got himself a job returning the grocery carts that haphazardly line our street like drunken sentinels. He started at a dollar a cart and now has worked his way up the corporate ladder to $2 per returned cart. He assures me he will soon pay back the $3 he borrowed from me. Life is just so good.

April 22, 2011

Now I know the last name and age of my nextdoor neighbor at A5, because I received a postcard from the sheriff telling me that Abe Skeen, age 56, is a registered sex offender.

His mug shot. 

He pounded on the door to advise me to get plastic covers for my couch to prevent the bed bug infestation here.

Yesterday, he showed up at my door to announce the dog down the hall was annoying him with barking. I hear the sporadic barking from what sounds like a large dog. So I’m not planning to confront the dog’s owner. I thought about telling Abe, “The dog’s barking doesn’t disturb me as much as the fact that you’re standing there wearing nothing but gold chains and underpants!” 

April 27, 2011

When I had a car I worried about somebody dinging it. Now that I walk everywhere, I worry about somebody dinging me!

May 9, 2011

Met Nick, a security guard in C9 (third floor), who held my hand a little too long. He is a hoarder and the cause of the bedbug plague.

May 17, 2011

Bancruptcy court. Debt discharged. I hope to be able to live on my $689 Social Security benefits now.

May 25, 2011

Abe was sweeping the black rug in front of his apartment door, so that he can tell if anyone comes to his door by the footprints.

The young woman from down the hall came to my door to use my phone, because someone was trying to break in through her window. I called the police and when they came, they asked her if she knew the person breaking in. She said it was a woman who thinks my neighbor is "messing with her baby-daddy". 

My neighbor, Luke, dropped by to share some food from his church food pantry. I was very touched by that.

August 1, 2011

My neighbor, Abe, told me today that he is keeping notes on all the bad people in the world and when he has filled up his cardboard box with them, he will take it to the Attorney General. So, you better watch out.

July 25, 2011

In an interesting twist of fate (IMO), on the day I lost my job three years ago, I have started a new, part-time job in the very apartment where I live! Gotta love the commute to work. I will be the HER Real Estate Rep for the building. Job description: blow up balloons for promo, show apartments to prospective tenants, and the reason I asked for the job, clean! The previous "managers" read the paper and watched TV, so I cleaned my floor.

August 10, 2011I 

When you live in the "hood", you have a street name. I have been informed my street name is Miss C. It could have been much worse, since my reputation for removing trespassers has made me pretty unpopular.

August 24, 2011 

The man sitting next to me on the bus told me he has just been released from prison after 29 years and asked me to have dinner with him at his house. 

August 25, 2011

So far, the biggest issues at MM have been, what can politely be called domestic disputes. Or as one tenant recently jailed for assault told me, "You know how married couples are. We're gonna have our little spats now and then." I guess so.

October 4, 2011

Today I saw a man who has been asked to leave this building twice for causing a disturbance and he informed me that it is a well-known fact (and barbershop topic) that I am a man-hater. Perhaps you will not be surprised when I say that I am not disappointed that this may cause the neighborhood men to avoid me.

October 21, 2011

A man came to look at an apartment today and brought his father, who asked me what kind of people live here. Taken aback, I told him people just like me. "Old people?", he asked.

October 25

Oh, Melrose Manor, only nine more days until no one knocks on my door at 10:30 PM to say he urgently needs to borrow $5. 

November 1, 2011

And now the guilt begins. One of the tenants came by my apartment today and saw the packing boxes. She asked if I'm leaving and where I'm going and then said, "How can you leave me? I thought you were my friend. Who's going to help me?" That would have broken my heart if she had been sober when she said it. But she had locked herself out of her apartment and wanted me to let her in. 

November 2, 2011 

Minutes after this picture of my last night at Melrose Manor was taken, four police cruisers rolled up and started making arrests. Farewell.

My one room basement apartment. 

Shortly after moving in, my car was re-possessed and I began my bus chronicles.

The people on the bus.

The Last Chapter

It is said that people who are as old as I am, are in the last chapter of their lives, the end of the story.

But the last chapter is the denouement, where it's all explained- where the mystery is solved- where the guy gets the girl- or with resolve and determination, the heroine says, "Tomorrow is another day!"

It is the last chapter, but it is not the end of the story.

The Peace Corps Story

My story begins way back in the middle of the last century, when I was a teenager and John Kennedy was President. The Peace Corps had just been formed and it seemed to me like something both exciting and useful.  But my path took a different direction and after three years of college, I married and had children.

 

Fast forward to September 2009. I was unemployed, like several million other Americans and started to wonder how best to use my time. I started to think about the Peace Corps again and how Jimmy Carter’s mother had joined when she was elderly and had been very successful. 

 

So, I filled out the lengthy online application, got three great references and soon got an interview with a recruiter in Raleigh. He thought that I would be fantastic, despite the fact that I didn’t have a college degree. He felt that I had valuable life experiences, and plenty of them, after raising four children for twenty-five years. He said he would refer me and let me know the outcome. About a week later, I received a call from him to tell me I would be assigned to English-speaking sub-Saharan Africa in January. He knew that I had been to Africa and wanted to go back, so this was great news.

 

He advised me to begin taking my medical exams immediately. The Peace Corps will reimburse for some of the expense of medical exams, but not all. So, when I went to the eye doctor for my vision test, I said “I’m unemployed and don’t have insurance. But I’m applying for the Peace Corps. Could I have a discount?”  And I got one. Then I saw the dentist and repeated my request. And I got another discount. But when I went to my GP for my physical, blood tests, etc., and asked for a discount, he declined. However, when he wrote up my bill, he entered the wrong amount and “accidentally” gave me a 50% discount!

 

After I mailed each test to the Peace Corps reviewer, I would go online to see if I passed.

• Eye exam – check!
• Dental exam – check!
• Physical exam – check!

These teeth have been approved by the government to represent the United States of America in sub-Saharan Africa and possibly other countries, as well.

• Psychiatric test – check!

Finally, when all my tests had been approved and all the boxes checked, I started looking for my plane ticket to arrive in the mail. By now it was near the middle of January and I hadn’t heard anything. I started emailing my Peace Corps reviewer, then phoning and no one returned my calls or emails. I called the Director of the Peace Corps in Washington, DC, left a message and got no response.

 

Finally, I called my recruiter in Raleigh. When he answered, he said, “Why aren’t you in Africa?” I said, “You tell me!”  He said he would check and let me know. More days went by and finally he called and said I would not be going after all. When I asked why, he said it was because I didn’t have a college degree. I said we had discussed that when I applied and it was clearly stated on my application. Then he told me the application is the last thing check.

 

In 2015 I got my college degree, so I will never be rejected for that reason again!

Allergies

Eye drops for roses and whiskers on kittens,

Cortisone ointment for warm woolen mittens,

Ragweed and hayseed is what August brings.

These are my itchiest, sneeziest things.

 

When the bug bites, when the bee stings

I take Benedryl.

 

I’m simply allergic to so many things

I swallow a couple of pills!

Name in a Hat

Way back in the middle of the 20th century, before sonograms were commonly used during pregnancy, couples could not determine the sex of their baby. They could only hope. They certainly hoped for a healthy, normal baby. But they often hoped for a specific sex, most often a boy. Like many others, my parents hoped their first, and probably only child, would be a boy. They had married and started their family later than most at that time. So, wanting and hoping for a boy, they had chosen to name their baby after my father.

On the outside chance that the baby turned out to be a girl, they also needed a name for a girl. My mother was an intelligent and clever woman, having graduated from high school at age sixteen and then begun a successful career in business, with lots of social and community activities. She decided to turn to one of her social networks for help with the crucial decision of a baby name.

At a meeting of her business sorority one evening, after perhaps a few cocktails, each member wrote down her favorite name for a girl and dropped it into a hat. In those days, every woman wore a hat everywhere. From some fashionably stylish hat, my mother drew the winning name, which was Carole. 

People often choose to name their children after famous people and at the time of my mother's first pregnancy, Carole Lombard was a famous person. She had died in a plane crash while touring to promote war bonds for the Second World War. Apparently, one of my mother's sorority sisters wanted to honor her in this way.

As it happened a girl child was born and the famous name was applied to the birth certificate. Just Carole. No middle name. And herein lies even more cleverness. On each birth announcement that my mother mailed, she included the recipient's name for the baby's middle name; for example, Carole Lilian, Carole Jane, Carole Whoever, thus ensuring that the honoree would send a suitable baby gift.

Here's the thing: for many years, I resented that name and the implications of it. But now, late in my own life, I can enjoy the thought of that long ago party and how my wacky beginnings influenced my own life choices.

Four Days in the Canyon

Thursday, October 1, 2009 at 3:56pm

Simply stated, I walked down 9.6 miles from the top of Bright Angel Trail to Phantom Ranch at the bottom of the Grand Canyon and then walked 9.6 miles back up the Bright Angel Trail to the top. But the truth is not simple.

On Saturday, September 19th, at 6:30 a.m., I arrived bright-eyed and excited at the reservation desk at Bright Angel Lodge, where I was first on the waiting list for a bed at Phantom Ranch for that night. When my reservation was confirmed, I picked up my back pack and started off to the head of Bright Angel Trail. I had spent a couple of days talking to rangers, hikers, mule guides and anyone who might know something about hiking the canyon. I had been receiving daily emails about the Grand Canyon and took note of what I needed: two liters of water and salty snacks. Check. A ranger had said take only what you need and wear comfortable shoes. Based on my "research", I packed a change of socks and underwear, two liter bottles of water and two bags of trail mix and wore my tennis shoes. The shoes turned out to be the best thing I did.

I decided to wait for the mule train to start out about 7:00 a.m. and I started after them, so they wouldn't have to pass me on the trail, which can be very narrow in some places. They were out of sight in just a few minutes. The two liters of water were very heavy and everyone was passing me. After I'd been walking for a while, hugging the stone wall, asking it not to let me fall, a family passed me. It was a husband, wife and the wife's mother. The mother had to be at least ten years older than I am. She was tiny and frail-looking and walking slowly and a little stiffly. I thought if she can do this, I can do this. So I started following Eric, Joanne and Mary. At one point Eric turned and asked if I wanted to pass them and I replied that I was comfortable right where I was. They had purchased all new hiking gear, with colorful Grand Canyon souvenir kerchiefs. They were carrying lightweight backpacks with water bladders inside, so they always had their hands free. Eventually, Eric started carrying both his pack and Mary's. He offered to help carry mine, but I wasn't going to make someone carry my pack. No siree.

At about 11:00 we reached the Indian Gardens, approximately midway. My cell phone was still working and receiving a signal at that point. We rested for a few minutes, I ate a couple handfuls of trail mix and refilled one water bottle. On the way out of Indian Gardens (the last of the three water/rest areas on the trail), was a sign reading "Do not attempt to pass this point between 10:00 a.m. and 4:00 p.m." Well, how do you get the rest of the way down without going this way during those times? We continued on.

It wasn't long before we were walking in full sun, with the temperature about 93 degrees. When the ranger had said the temperature was going to be in the 90s, I reasoned that it was a lot hotter than that in Raleigh. What I failed to take into consideration, is that I had never tried to walk ten miles in Raleigh (or anywhere else) in 90 degree weather. I had never tried to walk ten miles, period. I just thought I could do it.

When I first arrived at the Grand Canyon, I noticed that it was difficult to catch my breath. Someone explained it was caused by the altitude and I didn't think about it again. I thought it would get better as I got farther down into the canyon. It didn't. I was hot, couldn't catch my breath, but drinking lots of water. All along the trail are boulders on both the outside and inside. I would find a flat boulder on the inside of the trail and stop until I caught my breath and start again.

We stopped at a stream that crossed the trail in a few places and Joanne gave me her kerchief to wet and tie around my neck. And Mary just kept going, apparently unfazed by the altitude, heat, or distance! I finally said, "Mary, you're embarrassing me!" But Mary had prepared for this hike by hiking the seven mile Iron Mountain trail with Joanne in San Diego.

By this time, I was having to stop to rest and catch my breath pretty often. When we reached a long, straight stretch of trail in full sun, I had to sit before starting across. I couldn't ask my new friends to lose any more time on my account and though they offered to wait with me, I told them to go on ahead. We were at the beginning of The Devil's Corkscrew. It is a series of switchbacks, like a zigzag. By this time, I was sitting more than I was walking. Other hikers came along and offered me Gator Aid, electrolyte tablets, food and even walked a little way into the Corkscrew with me. It was a fantastic social experience. I would have loved it if I hadn't thought I was dying.

Sit. Walk a few feet. Sit. I finally reached the Colorado River at the bottom and thought how great it would be to throw myself in! I was within sight of the bridge across the Colorado River leading to the Phantom Ranch. The sun was starting to set. I realized that I had been sitting and standing so much that I would probably not be able to stand the next time I sat. The bridge to my destination appearing just out of reach, I sat on my last flat boulder, with no idea how to get out of my predicament. I was certain no more people would come along the path and that I would spend the night there. About that time, a young couple strolled by and we exchanged smiles and hellos. They continued on about the length of a football field and the young woman turned and looked back. Then she spoke to her partner and they both turned around and came back to me. She asked if I was okay and I told her I wasn't. She said I couldn't stay there and I told her I couldn't go any farther. The debate ended when she said, "Get up and come with us!" So I did. Their names were Angie and Jake. Jake took my backpack and Angie started giving me handfuls of trail mix.

The brochure said take some salty snacks. I must have missed the part that said you have to eat them constantly without stopping. I had decided to have a big breakfast that morning, so I stopped at McDonald's and bought an Egg McMuffin. I ate two bites and threw it away. I just couldn't eat more. That's normal. And not eating all my trail mix is also normal. However, my exercise that day was not normal. When Angie found me, I couldn't swallow anymore. But she insisted and I ate and drank.

When we reached Phantom Ranch (I don't know how) Angie sent for a ranger to come assist me. I don't have any idea how I looked, but everyone was making serious faces at me. I didn't see Angie and Jake after that and hope I remembered to thank them. I just think it's interesting that their names are Jacob and Angel. I'm not reading anything into this, I just think it's interesting.

Mandi was the first ranger to meet me and took me to get something to eat. She looked at my half-eaten bag of trail mix and started the lecture I should have heard two days before! But not wasted on me, because I still had to get back out. And there is no other option. The sign at the start of the trail reads, "Going down is optional. Going back up is mandatory". No excuses. If you can stand and talk, you walk. Even though I swore that I couldn't possibly walk, Mandi assured me that I would!

I had only planned on one night, but when I got up on Sunday morning I didn't think I could walk to breakfast, much less 9.6 miles up. I saw Eric, Joanne and Mary, looking bright and chipper at breakfast and returned Joanne's scarf. They were ready to get back on the trail! I couldn't eat much, but choked down a few scrambled eggs and tried to start walking. I didn't get as far as the entrance to the Ranch and had to go back. I was able to get a bed for that night, which is unusual because reservations are made far in advance. I slept most of Sunday.

Later in the afternoon, I saw Mandi giving a history talk to a group of campers and joined them. I thought I would plead my case again and see if I could get a mule ride out. After the talk, a young man monopolized Ranger Mandi with endless questions. As long as I was sitting and not walking, I was happy. My legs didn't hurt. I was just so tired. Finally, Mandi sat with me and told me my option. Option. Not options. She asked what I had eaten that day and I said I had some eggs at breakfast. She then invited me to the Ranger Station for scrambled eggs that evening! When I arrived, Senior Ranger Ed spent some time with me and said he would let me hike to Indian Gardens, spend the night, eat a meal there and start back again on Tuesday! It sounded like a fantastic deal. He told me to watch for him on the trail on Monday and if I got into trouble he would be along on his way to Indian Gardens, too.

Monday morning, I started out with several bags of pretzels, nuts and fruit and a cream cheese bagel. I was walking and trying to choke down some bagel, when the young man from Sunday afternoon, Andrew, caught up with me. He asked how I was doing and I told him not so good. So he said, "Well, here. Let me take your backpack!" Andrew had plans to walk as far as Indian Gardens and camp the night there. Unbelievable! In short, that is what happened. We walked and talked and before I knew it, we arrived at Indian Gardens and it was only 11:00 a.m.! We had navigated the hottest part of the trail before it got hot! But there was no sign of Ranger Ed. There was no sign of any ranger at all.

Andrew went to find a camp site and set up. I hung around the information station and lay down on a bench, with my head on my backpack. I heard male voices and asked one of the men if he were a ranger. He replied, "Not unless I have to be." So I lay back down to wait for Ed. I heard some commotion on the trail nearby and saw a woman lying on her back with a cloth over her face, while her three friends seemed to be wondering what to do in a language I couldn't understand. I walked over (never too tired to mind somebody else's business) and asked in French what language they were speaking. Ha. As t turned out, it was French. So I told them I would call le ranger. The dispatcher said she would send someone. Who showed up? Mr. I-am-only-a-ranger-if-I-have-to-be! The woman had started to rally when he arrived. They were on their way out of the canyon when she became ill, so Ranger Bill says he'll give her a flashlight so she can get started walking out. The sun was setting and they had only reached the half-way point. Even so, they took the flashlight and started walking.

I followed Ranger Bill back to the Ranger Station and told him I was supposed to meet Ranger Ed there.

“Ed's not coming.”

“But he told me to meet him here.”

“His schedule was changed.”

“Did he say anything about me?”

“He said you were coming.”

“What should I do?”

“Start walking.”

“I can't do that.”

“Sure you can. You're no sicker than the woman who just left.”

“How can you possibly know how sick I am?”

“I've been a Ranger a long time.”

When he realized he couldn't convince me to leave, he gave me a child's sleepover sleeping bag. The kind you take to a slumber party. Not the kind you sleep in outdoors on a cold night. He also gave me a hard foam pad to put under the sleeping bag and pointed to a picnic table, far from Andrew and the other campers. He told me to sleep on the table to avoid the scorpions. But he gave me no food and no flashlight. The other campers had metal boxes to keep their food in to keep the rodents out. I just had my heavy duty backpack, for which I had not been grateful until this moment.

During the night a wind came roaring down the canyon and the temperature dropped considerably. The sleeping bag was no match for that. Even though the little information cabin was nearby, I didn't want to make Ranger Bill angry by taking my things inside. Rangers can actually fine people who go into the canyon without being able to get back out. And he had made several comments about people you are foolish and ill-prepared. I will get in line for that group, but I had really tried to prepare and was really doing as well as possible under the circumstances despite being foolish and ill-prepared.

As soon as there was any light, I grabbed my stuff and started out, still trying to finish that bagel! And there was Andrew, offering to take my backpack again. I felt like he had already saved my life by getting me this far and didn't want to impose any more. We had met a group from Intel, who were trying to set some time records and I saw how exciting that was to Andrew. I knew he wanted to try that too and I was holding him back. He had his own backpack full of his camping gear. But Andrew just laughed and grabbed my pack.

Every time I wanted to stop to catch my breath, Andrew would say we could rest just around the next turn, or that there would be a better place to rest in a little while. He talked about everything: his family, school, jobs, girlfriends, hopes and dreams and the miles passed. He wanted to be out of the canyon by noon and we rounded the last corner at 12:10 p.m.! Ranger Bill passed us on the trail, huffing and puffing (almost everyone does, except possibly the guy from Intel who came down from the North Rim and up Bright Angel Trail to the top in 5 hours!) and made a sarcastic comment on Andrew carrying my bag for me. Ranger Bill is not typical.

My mother said that one of my very first sentences was “I do it myself!” And I've pretty much lived my life by that statement. But I sometimes find that I just can't. This was one of those times. So thanks Rangers Mandi and Ed, Andrew Bishop, Angie and Jake and the hikers along the trail who shared, like Eric, Joanne and Mary and three blond chicks from Little Rock, who gave me one of their neck scarves to replace the one I returned to Eric.

If I hadn't promised not to die in the canyon, I might have given up.

Here's the thing: " The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men,
Gang aft agley." Robert Burns

Andrew Bishop and I at the end of the hike, Tuesday, September 22nd.