Flap in the Old Fplks Home

3:30 AM.  Seems I have been in bed forever.  Oh, dear, it is not even a little bit light outside yet.  Who can sleep in these exciting times?

First, it was so hot that mudpuddle art making was difficult.  There were few puddles to muddle, and when I made tracks in them, they dried up before I could take their picture. 

Second, meals were interminally slow.  Anita, who used to own a restaurant, and has a propritary interest in every kitchen, became frustrated with cook Jason, who last year at this time was second assistant to the maintenance man, (not even first-assistant), went into the kitchen, against specific rules, to see what the matter was. She stuck an inquiring finger into the salad and infuriated Jason, who now claims the title of Kitchen Supervisor, pulled rank on her, and refused to serve the "contaminated" salad.  This meant that supper, meager enough to begin with, was served as a cup of black eyed pea soup, a single cube of corn bread about one-and-a half inches on a side, and a cup of fruit pieces with a dollop of whipped cream on them for dessert.

Third, a meeting between the new administrator and a couple of residents scheduled for tomorrow morning, has swollen to a full scale spontaneous protest rally.  (I will not try to explain how a scheduled meeting can be termed "spontaneous".)

Fourth, the light-hearted banter at the evening card game caused hurt feelings and tears.  Oh, my, who should apologise to whom first? Or will this long night soothd ruffled feathers?

Who can sleep on these hot nights?  It's going to be one hundred degrees tomorrow, in more ways than one.  Bette Davis said it best in a movie:  Fasten your seat belts, it's going to be a bumpy ride.