A Puzzle And A Puzzle

Skipped over to Von's after breakfast, then Nancy called and I chatted with her. She hasn't even set foot outside the door for weeks, but she seems okay with that, so that's good. I then called "Julie Residence," in Maryland, a retirement home for the Sisters of Notre Dame, where my cousin, Mary, lives. The person who answered the main number called her extension, but she didn't answer, so I left a message.
When I read my emails, I saw that Ventura Museum, of which I'm a member, sent out some do-at-home activities, including a jigsaw puzzles. I surprised myself for doing one and enjoying it. I have no interest in the solid kind--my husband, Pat, liked them, but they bore me--but I enjoyed this and will do more of them. This is the one I did yesterday:

I thought the slogan "Every garden a munition plant" was eyebrow-raising--so aggressive--but I guess the idea was to starve the Kaiser or something. You could do a whole thesis on war propaganda and lots of people have.
Wonder of wonders, I got a email communication from the Housing Rights Center. They sent me Civil Code 1940.9, which addresses utilities charges and so on. They also said I could call their place in L.A. and I intend to do that as soon as I assemble my information.
After lunch, I took the footpath and did about four miles. Picked up another book from "the little library," which, incidentally, has a number of religious tracts in it, too. Those, I left for others.
Lunch, then violated my principles and sat on the patio with pretzels, my book, and a Blue Moon. Boy, did that taste good. My cousin, Mary, called back about 3:15 and it was fun--sort of--to chat with her.  She sounds so much like her mother, my Aunt Mary, whom I always thought had a very distinctive voice, that it was eerie. However, when I asked her how old she was, she couldn't remember. She recalled that she was a year older than her youngest brother, Tommy, and I know he was about my brother, Frank's age, so I figure she's 86 or so. I asked how long she had lived at the Sisters retirement home and she said, "Well, I just can't remember, but I think forever." She likes it there very much and says she's in excellent health. I told her I'd send her the picture of her brother, Jimmy, and she was pleased about that. After we hung up, though, I'm not absolutely sure she remembered my family or me.
I just had some cheese and crackers for dinner, then went for a walk around the neighborhood, no more than a mile or so. I ran into my homeless friend, Steve, and we chatted for a bit. I also saw again the girl who refused money from me. I just can't understand her situation, but I'm afraid it has to be either drugs or mental illness. I greeted her and we exchanged a few pleasant words.
I can't understand why I get to be so comfortable and content and these people must live the way they live. That's a real puzzle and how can it possibly be solved?