Here we are at the official photo station. I remember when Ray won those suspenders at Bingo!
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Ray McDade, bless his sweet little anticipatory heart, invited me to this year’s Valentines Dinner months and months ago—so you’d think I might have figured out what to wear sometime before 4 pm today. But it’s hard: You want to look nice, because it’s such a special Soldiers Home occasion, but you don’t want to look overdressed, or flashy, or trashy—or, as I’ve picked up over the years, like an Amazon in heels towering over someone in a wheelchair.
As I was ruling out shoes, my phone rang. Ray had emailed earlier in the week (“All systems go,” he wrote. “As they say in space.”), and now he was calling to check on my progress—and our meeting spot. I told him I thought I’d come to his room first, but I was still half an hour away. “Oh, that’s splendid,” Ray said. And suddenly getting there was much more important than my outfit.
I stopped to pick up Ray’s boutonniere and a heart-shaped box of cookies, and when I got to his room, he was ready and waiting. And very, very debonair. “Wow,” I said. “Do you ever look nice.” Ray is always very put-together, but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him without his blue Navy hat. Today, though, his shiny hair was beautifully combed, his raw-silk jacket crisply pressed, his bolo tie perfectly coordinated. He gave me a lovely pink-carnation corsage and a sweet Baggie of candies; I pinned on his red rose and took a picture, and we were off.
Ray is happily married to a beautiful woman, but she can’t drive herself all the way to the Soldiers Home, so Ray had never been to a Valentines Dinner. This was my fourth, so when we got into the transformed Chilson Hall, I directed him toward the photo area, and our waiter, Richard, introduced himself and shook our hands.
We sat at table No. 1. Most tables were full. Soldiers Home staffers and volunteers were busily coordinating and photographing. At first, we were serenaded by a woman playing the guitar; she later was replaced by a pianist, who somehow played every single song in my piano repertoire.
When Richard brought our appetizers (shrimp cocktail, which meant Ray got mine, too), Ray took my hands and said a sweet prayer. Then he said, “I’d like to talk about Mike, if you don’t mind.” I was surprised, but I didn’t mind at all. We covered a lot of topics, from Ray’s dapper wardrobe (his wife had worked in the men’s department at Frederick & Nelson, he said, and insisted he be “the best-dressed manager in the United States”) to our Bingo histories; Ray’s remarkable, supportive family and friends; and our favorite foods (“I could live on pie,” Ray said.).
Ray couldn’t get his camera to work, even with new batteries, but we will not want for photos: I had my camera, and through the course of the evening we had our picture taken by 1) Doris’ son/dinner date Patrick; 2) Terry the volunteer coordinator; 3) Charlie the volunteer/waiter; and 4) Faith, who came to dinner with a fellow Roosevelt Barracks resident and chatted with us for quite a while.
Our entrees were nice (and filling), and for dessert Ray had strawberry-rhubarb pie (pie!) and half of my peach cobbler. We lingered and talked some more. Ray was still working on his camera, and when he got to the point where he had to set the date and time, he asked, “What time is it? 8?” Actually, it was 6. But Ray had had a very busy day, so we thanked everyone and headed out.
On our way back to Ray’s room, we stopped to see Bill Crowell. “You two look like you’re on your honeymoon,” Bill said.
We talked for a while, and I took a beautiful picture of the two of them. Bill threw his arm around Ray and laughed—it was Valentines Dinner night, after all.
I dropped Ray off and hugged him goodnight.
“You deserve a happy life,” Ray told me. “And I have a feeling it’s coming to you.”
I thanked him—for the thought, and for the evening.
He thanked me back.
“I’ll wait for a day or two to ask you to next year’s,” he said.
Ray McDade, bless his sweet little anticipatory heart, invited me to this year’s Valentines Dinner months and months ago—so you’d think I might have figured out what to wear sometime before 4 pm today. But it’s hard: You want to look nice, because it’s such a special Soldiers Home occasion, but you don’t want to look overdressed, or flashy, or trashy—or, as I’ve picked up over the years, like an Amazon in heels towering over someone in a wheelchair.
As I was ruling out shoes, my phone rang. Ray had emailed earlier in the week (“All systems go,” he wrote. “As they say in space.”), and now he was calling to check on my progress—and our meeting spot. I told him I thought I’d come to his room first, but I was still half an hour away. “Oh, that’s splendid,” Ray said. And suddenly getting there was much more important than my outfit.
I stopped to pick up Ray’s boutonniere and a heart-shaped box of cookies, and when I got to his room, he was ready and waiting. And very, very debonair. “Wow,” I said. “Do you ever look nice.” Ray is always very put-together, but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him without his blue Navy hat. Today, though, his shiny hair was beautifully combed, his raw-silk jacket crisply pressed, his bolo tie perfectly coordinated. He gave me a lovely pink-carnation corsage and a sweet Baggie of candies; I pinned on his red rose and took a picture, and we were off.
Ray is happily married to a beautiful woman, but she can’t drive herself all the way to the Soldiers Home, so Ray had never been to a Valentines Dinner. This was my fourth, so when we got into the transformed Chilson Hall, I directed him toward the photo area, and our waiter, Richard, introduced himself and shook our hands.
We sat at table No. 1. Most tables were full. Soldiers Home staffers and volunteers were busily coordinating and photographing. At first, we were serenaded by a woman playing the guitar; she later was replaced by a pianist, who somehow played every single song in my piano repertoire.
When Richard brought our appetizers (shrimp cocktail, which meant Ray got mine, too), Ray took my hands and said a sweet prayer. Then he said, “I’d like to talk about Mike, if you don’t mind.” I was surprised, but I didn’t mind at all. We covered a lot of topics, from Ray’s dapper wardrobe (his wife had worked in the men’s department at Frederick & Nelson, he said, and insisted he be “the best-dressed manager in the United States”) to our Bingo histories; Ray’s remarkable, supportive family and friends; and our favorite foods (“I could live on pie,” Ray said.).
Ray couldn’t get his camera to work, even with new batteries, but we will not want for photos: I had my camera, and through the course of the evening we had our picture taken by 1) Doris’ son/dinner date Patrick; 2) Terry the volunteer coordinator; 3) Charlie the volunteer/waiter; and 4) Faith, who came to dinner with a fellow Roosevelt Barracks resident and chatted with us for quite a while.
Our entrees were nice (and filling), and for dessert Ray had strawberry-rhubarb pie (pie!) and half of my peach cobbler. We lingered and talked some more. Ray was still working on his camera, and when he got to the point where he had to set the date and time, he asked, “What time is it? 8?” Actually, it was 6. But Ray had had a very busy day, so we thanked everyone and headed out.
On our way back to Ray’s room, we stopped to see Bill Crowell. “You two look like you’re on your honeymoon,” Bill said.
We talked for a while, and I took a beautiful picture of the two of them. Bill threw his arm around Ray and laughed—it was Valentines Dinner night, after all.
I dropped Ray off and hugged him goodnight.
“You deserve a happy life,” Ray told me. “And I have a feeling it’s coming to you.”
I thanked him—for the thought, and for the evening.
He thanked me back.
“I’ll wait for a day or two to ask you to next year’s,” he said.
The beginning of our lovely dinner -- from the bottle to the glasses,that sure looks like wine, but it's really sparkling cider.
Ray and Bill Crowell are amazing friends to each other, and to me. Bill said he ordered those particular overalls because they were made in the U.S., and he wants "to get that ball rolling." I just love these guys.
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