Friday, September 10, 2010
As I was walking to Mike’s room before Bingo, I stopped to talk to Dorothy in the hall. “Mike’s outside by the woodshop,” she told me, which saved me at least 1,000 steps trying to find him.
Actually, I found him in the parking lot, but he wanted to head over to the woodshop/garage area, where a small gaggle of residents had gathered. They were talking about the Puyallup Fair, over which an issue or two had developed: Apparently there was some question as to whether the residents would receive free tickets this year, as they usually do, and whether they could secure enough volunteers to push residents’ wheelchairs once they got there. Traditions matter a lot at the Soldiers Home, and so do activities, and respect, and fairness; things can get a little testy when these topics are challenged, and they did today. Mike and I were mostly quiet. I found it fascinating to just step back and watch the discussion, and the ideas and suggestions and intensity, develop.
I had to go to Bingo, but before I did, I slipped the name of the Fair’s spokeswoman (with whom I had worked at the Tacoma paper) to the president of the Resident Council, thinking that through his leadership position he might be able to find some answers, or at least talk through some issues.
Mike dropped me off at Bingo, where Wednesday’s happy aura still lingered. Ray McDade and my new friend took their seats, and I sat my purse at an empty chair at their table. I had given my new friend some information about this Web site and suggested maybe he could take a look at it on Ray’s computer if he had any questions. “Ray’s become my good chum,” my new friend told me. I told Ray I thought it was great that they’d bonded. “Know why we’re chums?” Ray asked me. “We’re chums because I can’t understand a word he says.” Everyone laughed.
Another newish resident came in and wanted to sit at Ray’s table. I didn’t realize this until I saw the man walking toward the door with my purse, which was apparently in his way. “Whoa,” I said. We all agreed I’d rest my purse atop their table, where the new guy kept a very close eye on it for me. So much so that after Bingo, when I pushed Danny back to his room, the new guy found me in the hall to tell me I’d left my purse on the table.
There is just so much sweetness here.
Later I walked with my Bingo survivor friend on my way to say goodnight to Mike. I’d noticed earlier that my new friend seemed a little subdued (clue No. 1: a handshake vs. a hug). “How long have you been friends with Mike?” he asked me. I told him I’d met him the first day I ever volunteered, and we’d been friends ever since. And then, in case this was bothering him, I told him I considered a lot of residents very good friends, and I always have room for more. Which I do.
I updated Mike on my son’s golf team’s latest match (another notch in the “W” column!), and Mike said, “You tell him I am just so damn proud of him.” And I did.
Not only is there a lot of sweetness here; there’s a lot of goodness and generosity and giving. And I can’t think of any bunch of people anywhere more deserving of a day at the Fair.
As I was walking to Mike’s room before Bingo, I stopped to talk to Dorothy in the hall. “Mike’s outside by the woodshop,” she told me, which saved me at least 1,000 steps trying to find him.
Actually, I found him in the parking lot, but he wanted to head over to the woodshop/garage area, where a small gaggle of residents had gathered. They were talking about the Puyallup Fair, over which an issue or two had developed: Apparently there was some question as to whether the residents would receive free tickets this year, as they usually do, and whether they could secure enough volunteers to push residents’ wheelchairs once they got there. Traditions matter a lot at the Soldiers Home, and so do activities, and respect, and fairness; things can get a little testy when these topics are challenged, and they did today. Mike and I were mostly quiet. I found it fascinating to just step back and watch the discussion, and the ideas and suggestions and intensity, develop.
I had to go to Bingo, but before I did, I slipped the name of the Fair’s spokeswoman (with whom I had worked at the Tacoma paper) to the president of the Resident Council, thinking that through his leadership position he might be able to find some answers, or at least talk through some issues.
Mike dropped me off at Bingo, where Wednesday’s happy aura still lingered. Ray McDade and my new friend took their seats, and I sat my purse at an empty chair at their table. I had given my new friend some information about this Web site and suggested maybe he could take a look at it on Ray’s computer if he had any questions. “Ray’s become my good chum,” my new friend told me. I told Ray I thought it was great that they’d bonded. “Know why we’re chums?” Ray asked me. “We’re chums because I can’t understand a word he says.” Everyone laughed.
Another newish resident came in and wanted to sit at Ray’s table. I didn’t realize this until I saw the man walking toward the door with my purse, which was apparently in his way. “Whoa,” I said. We all agreed I’d rest my purse atop their table, where the new guy kept a very close eye on it for me. So much so that after Bingo, when I pushed Danny back to his room, the new guy found me in the hall to tell me I’d left my purse on the table.
There is just so much sweetness here.
Later I walked with my Bingo survivor friend on my way to say goodnight to Mike. I’d noticed earlier that my new friend seemed a little subdued (clue No. 1: a handshake vs. a hug). “How long have you been friends with Mike?” he asked me. I told him I’d met him the first day I ever volunteered, and we’d been friends ever since. And then, in case this was bothering him, I told him I considered a lot of residents very good friends, and I always have room for more. Which I do.
I updated Mike on my son’s golf team’s latest match (another notch in the “W” column!), and Mike said, “You tell him I am just so damn proud of him.” And I did.
Not only is there a lot of sweetness here; there’s a lot of goodness and generosity and giving. And I can’t think of any bunch of people anywhere more deserving of a day at the Fair.
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