Saturday, April 10, 2010
Mike called this morning with welcome news: The creepy quarantine at the Soldiers Home had been lifted. And the timing couldn’t have been better: I was dropping off my son to golf with friends, so I had a whole 18-hole afternoon to spare.
Turned out to be good timing for them, too—they had thrown a surprise Home Bingo on the calendar, and I got there just in time to help out.
First, though, I stopped to see Mike. His digital clock was blinking, and as I leaned over to reset it, I got a good look at his wall calendar—and a bad, bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t really April 10, was it? Because that would mean yesterday was April 9—and that was Mike’s birthday. I have known for months that his birthday is April 9, but today, thanks to Spring Break and the quarantine, I had no idea April 9 had come and gone. Crap, crap and double crap. I swore in my head, apologized profusely out loud and promised him a proper gift the next time I came down. He seemed more amused than hurt, but then he told me not to worry about missing his birthday because “everyone else had forgotten about it, too.” Oh, yeah. That made me feel a lot better. Crap.
Mike was tired, so he decided to nap while I went to Bingo. It was great to see everyone again—or, at least, the few who showed up. I don’t know whether people were afraid to mingle, or unaware of the surprise Bingo session, but only about 15 people showed up.
Happily, one of them was Wesley. I hadn’t seen him since he’d flown off to the National Disabled Veterans Winter Sports Clinic in Colorado, and I couldn’t wait to hear how he’d done. (We had all just called it the “Wheelchair Olympics,” but with a little digging, I found the actual organization and event—plus Wesley’s athlete profile (click here).)
Well, Wesley did amazingly well: Not only is his baseball cap covered with shiny new souvenir pins, but he also won a gold medal in downhill skiing! He proudly pulled out a framed, dated photo of him with his coach and assistant coach, speckled with snow. I don’t use the word “awesome” very often, but this seemed the perfect occasion. “That is absolutely awesome,” I told him. He kind of thought so, too.
Mike popped in toward the end of Bingo, and we headed down to the pond for some late-afternoon sunshine and tranquility. It didn’t disappoint. It never does. Wish I could say the same for me and my muddled birthday-missing mind. Still, it felt good to be back—and even better to be forgiven.
Mike called this morning with welcome news: The creepy quarantine at the Soldiers Home had been lifted. And the timing couldn’t have been better: I was dropping off my son to golf with friends, so I had a whole 18-hole afternoon to spare.
Turned out to be good timing for them, too—they had thrown a surprise Home Bingo on the calendar, and I got there just in time to help out.
First, though, I stopped to see Mike. His digital clock was blinking, and as I leaned over to reset it, I got a good look at his wall calendar—and a bad, bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t really April 10, was it? Because that would mean yesterday was April 9—and that was Mike’s birthday. I have known for months that his birthday is April 9, but today, thanks to Spring Break and the quarantine, I had no idea April 9 had come and gone. Crap, crap and double crap. I swore in my head, apologized profusely out loud and promised him a proper gift the next time I came down. He seemed more amused than hurt, but then he told me not to worry about missing his birthday because “everyone else had forgotten about it, too.” Oh, yeah. That made me feel a lot better. Crap.
Mike was tired, so he decided to nap while I went to Bingo. It was great to see everyone again—or, at least, the few who showed up. I don’t know whether people were afraid to mingle, or unaware of the surprise Bingo session, but only about 15 people showed up.
Happily, one of them was Wesley. I hadn’t seen him since he’d flown off to the National Disabled Veterans Winter Sports Clinic in Colorado, and I couldn’t wait to hear how he’d done. (We had all just called it the “Wheelchair Olympics,” but with a little digging, I found the actual organization and event—plus Wesley’s athlete profile (click here).)
Well, Wesley did amazingly well: Not only is his baseball cap covered with shiny new souvenir pins, but he also won a gold medal in downhill skiing! He proudly pulled out a framed, dated photo of him with his coach and assistant coach, speckled with snow. I don’t use the word “awesome” very often, but this seemed the perfect occasion. “That is absolutely awesome,” I told him. He kind of thought so, too.
Mike popped in toward the end of Bingo, and we headed down to the pond for some late-afternoon sunshine and tranquility. It didn’t disappoint. It never does. Wish I could say the same for me and my muddled birthday-missing mind. Still, it felt good to be back—and even better to be forgiven.
RSS Feed