A Cook's Tour of Life

If you are the cook it is what you do, in joy, in sorrow, on state occasions or to ready ranch hands for a cattle roundup. I've kneaded bread and rolls in the predawn hours of the morning for a wake, stayed up all night to make fondant roses for a classmate's wedding cake,  made many a midnight box lunch for early morning fishing trips. I learned to cook Summers in Garfield County, Colorado, on a cattle ranch. My bestie in high school was a Basque-American rancher's daughter. Her mother fell ill with M.S., her father and older brothers had their hands full keeping the ranch going. Cooking for the family and the ranch hands was a full time job, and it fell to Marlena and me, until the school year started. To this day I love Hereford cattle, especially calves, horses, truck-driving, apple harvesting and cooking for a crowd. 

It is a privileged position, cooking ... kitchen messes, clogged sinks, begging dogs (or cats) and all. The whole untidy process is tremendously fulfilling. A cook is there, behind the scenes, to serve and sustain life. We celebrate the great and small events of life by nourishing the energy for what comes next. I think it is an honorable, hopeful, profession. Food is here for pleasure, to inspire. It is health-giving, it is fuel. Food is community; it is how we celebrate the past, present and future. What could be more loving than preparing, even, the smallest repast?

Yorkshire Puddings (My mother's recipe)

Today I am making a ceremonial rib roast of beef, to enjoy with my neighbor, who is packing up his life, to return to his home in Alaska. We'll have yams, baking potatoes, roasted onions, Yorkshire puddings, and some sort of green (asparagus sounds good.) If it doesn't stem the tears, it should leave everyone full enough to relax and take some deep breaths. I do not often eat this way, but it is an occasion, and we'll treat it accordingly.

“If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien

This is crisis management, my friend must leave his apartment by May 31. It looks as though no extension of time will be forthcoming, but he is hopeful. Colorado is an at will employment state; that is bad enough. It is also landlord-friendly (or, tenant-unfriendly.) In other words a landlord can evict a tenant for good cause, or, for no cause. Thus, after much agonizing, my kind, lovely, friend and neighbor, has decided not to pitch a fight, but, to go.

It will be well, but this is a Gonzo move, quick and dirty. My life has been spent,  it seems, in transit. It is actually difficult for me to stay attached to things or people. I grew up an only child, one parent at home, no siblings, no relatives. We moved constantly from one Navy venue to another. I am sure domestic refugee status added no growth to my stunted roots, either; however, there is nothing quite like losing everything multiple times, to equip one to move in the eye of a storm. So I assigned jobs to my neighbor, analyzed the situation, and returned home to cook dinner. We needn't make it a sad occasion with tears and goodbyes. This meal will fuel the beginning of his next life adventure. 

It is a good idea to think ahead what you can and cannot live without, before a literal or figurative hurricane hits. It's okay. I'm ruthless, and, generally not attached to material things. I can put a sticker on it, pack, give away or trash something without rending my heart in pieces. I tend not to be particularly sentimental, so the Gonzo move is my specialty. If only my friend were rooted like a bromeliad, as am I. He is not, and he is hurting. He's former Navy, so he knows how and when to clear a deck, so we will get through this! On the other end the Copper River Valley, his mother waits anxiously to see him home and safe.

Memorial Day 2015

Ironically part of my 2015 Memorial Weekend was spent with and without a close friend and neighbor, who is also a Navy veteran. No, not that war, silly, the Gulf War … he is 28 years younger than I. Soooooo what could we possibly have in common? RR, as I’ll call him, is a technical whiz, very bright and articulate. An attractive, gay man, he is tall, a bit on the rugged side, and imposing. One of the things we have in common is an interest in technology. My adventures in Linux sparked our first conversation.

RR has an apartment down the hall from me. We live in the same LIHTC (tax credit set-aside, for anyone unfamiliar with the terminology.) He has family in Alaska’s Copper River Valley, who trace their heritage to the state’s Norwegian settlers, Lutheran, of course. He is one of the most kind, most generous and most genuine men I have ever met. He is also troubled.

There is a great deal of commentary and news surrounding veterans’ issues, I don’t know that I can add anything meaningful to the dialog. I have been on hand, however, for RR’s struggles. I do have some background for my perspective. My father was a Navy veteran of World Wars I and II, who enlisted in his late teens, and earned his commission by working his way up through the ranks. I knew little of what he had suffered, when my father retired from the Military. Nor did I entirely grasp how my parents, both orphans, had fared in military life, both managing to have what appeared outwardly, very successful lives as survivors of constant displacement, resettlement, horrors beyond my comprehension (they lived in prewar China for a decade, before my dad was ordered to duty in the Philippine Islands.)

I want people to take the initiative to find veterans who need help, veterans that are suffering and in need of assistance reintegrating from combat back into society, into normal family lives and jobs. We need to take a real 'boots on the ground' approach to helping veterans in need. ~Max Martini

I have not been surprised, but have observed closely, while the Veterans Administration did the minimum for RR. Like my parents, he’d returned home from duty in the Gulf, had begun anew, founded a cloud computing business, formed relationships. As does everyone he suffered the slings and arrows, but, somewhere along the line, it all ended in heartbreak and loss. No, I mean a shipload of loss.

When RR landed here, it was with the help of a veterans’ housing counselor and program. RR still struggled with an array of symptoms, and Denver, Colorado, has a V.A. hospital, not far from our apartment complex. It seems to me, has always seemed to me, the facility is a grand pill dispensary. My friend can access care … his physical impairment, if any, is nothing obvious. Psychiatric care, sure, if there is an emergent situation; otherwise there is a lot of jumping through hoops to access a “continuum of care,” if there could be said to be a continuum of care.

So RR has pills thrown at him. Some work, some don’t, others seem to make him worse. Ups and downs sometimes look more like episodes, exacerbated by stressful situations. Look, all I can say about us and our housing is this. It should not add to our difficulties or stress. Occasionally this is very stressful housing. This is too brief to discuss all the reasons why. Recently our investors/landlords have decided to declare us smoke-free, right down to the insides of our apartments. This called for, at least, a shallow effort to get the consensus of the tenants here. A questionnaire came to my door a couple of months ago (more or less,) asking me to opine and vote. A lifelong non-smoker, I declined to vote, and sent their document back with a note, saying I knew this had nothing to do with consensus. I said I knew this landlord, knew it would do whatever it saw fit. Over approximately 6 years we have been bombed, off and on, with directives and other nonsense directed toward marijuana use. Needless to say it is strictly forbidden, and includes medical marijuana. We occasionally get a bombardment concerning cigarette smoking on the premises. I’d have to say everyone ignores these.

Bingo! Of some 200 residents, something around 10% responded to the questionnaire. A few weeks later, we received a memo, “inviting” us to a sort of non-smoking, new-lease-signing meeting. Woo Hoo. The featured guests were people from Denver Health, who attended to give a non-smoking and stop-smoking lecture. Keep in mine, friends, attendance was mandatory. Following the presentation and lukewarm pizza, the celebration ended in a signing of the rules, regulations and new policy in the form of a lease addendum. I refused to stay for the non-smoking presentation. (We had one in high school.) When I returned to sign the lease addendum, I had my doubts. I felt coerced, particularly, since the Site Manager sidled up to me and said, “Anyone who does not sign within the next couple of days, we will assume, has no further interest in living here – they will be evicted.” I thought, “Why is she saying this to me? I am here to sign. I signed, but above my name, I wrote, “Signed under protest.” I felt coerced.

Meanwhile RR had “lost it.” He’d posted a letter in the elevator foyer on our floor. Essentially it said he felt he’d earned the right, bottom line, to live his life as he wishes. What a novel concept. I guess they didn’t get it, so he also telephoned them and said the fatal words, “I will not comply,” or something to that effect. With neck-snapping rapidity, the Manager served RR with a notice to vacate. In spite of his V.A. housing advocate’s intervention, this was closely followed by an eviction posting. The management here is currently not answering the advocate’s phone calls.

We soon became embroiled, RR and I, in one of his stress-induced outbursts, followed by me telling him we could not discuss the matter further. Before the outburst I had forwarded him a number of links and a good deal of legal information, to defend himself against eviction. I am not an attorney, so I can only direct someone to a place where they can get advice. That said I know the laws in Colorado, especially real estate and corporate statutes.

All good, but RR would not (or could not) simply stop. I received, maybe, fifty or so texts, numerous phone calls and a flood of e-mails. I have boundaries, very strong boundaries, and there was an emergent family situation worrying me. So I blocked the man. I issued a warning, saying there would be consequences, if he did not, simply, stand down. I was not angry, but, not going to accept further intrusion.

This ended between us with peace and tranquility, followed closely by apologies. All is well, except that, on this Memorial Day Weekend, rather than being honored, the man is frantically trying to pack and move to God knows where! He has not violated his lease. He simply disagreed in a dramatic, overstated manner. Believe me, this is Archdiocese-run housing. You don’t want to go there, even if there is a trail of tranquilizers to follow. I hope somebody besides me thanks RR for his service, and cuts him some slack for Memorial Day.

K.

How Was Your Week?

This is the question posed in rational recovery groups at weekend meetings, "How was your week?" I am not in recovery, nor consistently rational. I live in the not-so rational world of retirees, ethnic minorities, emigres and disabled people. Generally I choose not to dwell on this, and write about it seldom. Not so many people in the mainstream, including elders, have an interest. Just for the sake of whatever interest there may be, I'll share my week in this post.

Actually I'll begin with developments earlier in April, when we received our LIHTC Site Manager's monthly newsletter. An article stated the "Home Owners Association" had decided to change the locks on our apartments, replacing lower door knobs with unlocking door handles. I had never before heard we had an HOA! In any event their decision would leave tenants one lock on each apartment door, a deadbolt. Concerned for my safety in this slip-slide environment, I contacted the Site Manager and Regional Director of Housing. I asked who sits on the Board of Directors of the HOA.

The next big question was whether HOA Board meetings were open, and when they occurred. Within a day or two I received an answer from a woman, an employee of the landlord. She stated in an e-mail message that the organization is not an HOA in the true sense and, no, the board meetings are not open. I am still flattened by the notion of referring to an organization as an HOA, a legal designation, when it neither meets the federal, nor State of Colorado, definition/designation, and does not follow the rules.

This brings me to yesterday. An elderly neighbor, Grace, received a notice in the mail from the Denver Housing Authority, stating her Section VIII housing benefit has been denied. Nothing has changed for Grace; her income and disability status remain the same. It seems she transgressed, allegedly permitting a young relative to forward his mail to her address, while he was in the process of moving to Colorado. He did not stay with Grace. She gave him no express permission to forward mail to her care. She knew nothing of a rule against receiving the mail while he was in transit. Distressed, Grace telephoned her Housing Technician immediately. The technician stated the matter was "out of her hands." The technician now thinks this was an administrative error. Nobody, however, expressed any concern whatsoever for Grace, who is a decent, honest woman. I suggested Grace go Disability Law Colorado, formerly The Legal Center for People with Disabilities and Older People, as well as HUD Fair Housing's Regional Office in downtown Denver! I suggested she personally visit both offices, because she is dealing with none other than the Denver Housing Authority.

Our Very Own Fat Cat Developer

This week also brought me to the point of writing to admonish management concerning a threatened search of apartments in the building, in the wake of a theft. The theft occurred, when our shoddily constructed roof leaked, during recent rain storms. (A shout out to our fat cat Dallas developer seems apropos.)  Certain areas of the building interior flooded, and many tenants had buckets scattered throughout their units.

It seems a commercial carpet blower was left unattended in a very wet common area. The blower vanished overnight. As we have no video surveillance, an open exit stairway, and no meaningful building security, anyone could have removed the blower. The search of individual apartments, would have to be reasonable and proper notice provided. Look, I can understand anyone's frustration at the removal of the property. I also understand it was costly. What I cannot understand is including every tenant on one floor, or every tenant in the building in accusations or threats.

One of my close friends suggested none of this is my business. Ah, but we differ. There is a huge sign in the Leasing Office, together with an enormous bronze Christian Cross. The sign proclaims respect and dignity in the treatment of tenants, and vows to uphold community. It is the height of hypocrisy on the part of Archdiocesan Housing, Inc. management, not to mention a violation of the separation of Church and State on a federally subsidized property. (At its convenience Archdiocesan Housing, Inc. plays the federal property card to disallow the use of medical marijuana on the part of any tenant. Unfortunately the management has never grasped the extent of illegal drug use and trafficking onsite.)

Lonely Chick

Now I must find out why my SNAP benefits have suddenly increased. (The government decimated my monthly benefit in mid- to late 2014, from $129 to $60, then, to $21. Now they appear to have increased, for no apparent reason, to around $60.) Great news, unless I am forced to repay benefits given me in error. I've recently helped a neighbor, who is being forced to repay $670 in unemployment benefits, because her employer erred by designating her full time. The employer a multi-national corporation, received not so much as a warning. 

Every confection needs a cherry atop. My neighbors and I keep sighting a former tenant of Broadway Junction on the premises. Before the management evicted this individual he repeatedly threatened the life of an elderly female tenant. He visits here, undeterred, and one woman is very frightened here. No word from the landlord concerning a No Trespass Notice.

So, in case you wondered, this is a slice o' life in an American LIHTC. I do not believe I need to elaborate on anything more, not this week.