Friday, February 25, 2011
Maybe Mike is right about our psychic connection—I had a feeling I should call him Thursday, but once I did, that feeling turned decidedly bad. The nurse who answered said Mike was too sick to take a phone call. Huh? I seriously don’t understand how that happened—I’d just seen him Monday at Trivia, and he looked more hale and hearty than ever.
So I called back today, and while he was well enough to take my call, he sure didn’t sound well. I told him to rest, and I’d see him in a few hours.
When I got to Bingo, Ray McDade and Ken Levick were sitting in the hall together, pointed in opposite directions. “Well,” I said, putting one hand on each of their shoulders, “two of my favorite guys right next to each other!”
As we were talking, Dorothy ran toward me as if her pants were on fire. “Another group is supposed to do Bingo tonight!” she announced. And sure enough, even though the calendar said “Home Bingo” and Bill the prize guy, Ann the attendance lady and I all had believed it, other people with other prizes were taking over the Bingo room. We were not especially pleased. With a big sigh, I went in and said hi to everyone, anyway, and told them I’d see them Saturday—unless someone changes that Home Bingo between now and then.
On the bright side, I had more time with Mike, although he was groggy and easily out of breath. He said he was feeling a little better, so I decided to believe that and let him get to sleep.
On the way down the hallway, I had another psychic tingling: I honestly thought, “It sure would be nice if Gary were outside (in his usual smoking spot) on the way to my car.”
I walked down the sidewalk and saw a wheelchair behind a post at Gary’s usual smoking spot. I smiled like a lunatic. A psychic lunatic.
“I hope you don’t think you’re hiding from me,” I told Gary.
He laughed.
We talked a long time. It was freezing out, and I couldn’t find a place to avoid his nasty smoke, but still we talked and talked and talked. First I zipped up my jacket, then I put on my gloves, then I wondered what percentage of my legs had gone numb. Gary is such an amazing man—not just smart, but incredibly wise, and compassionate, and funny. Very, very funny. At one point I had wanted to see just how long we’d been talking, but I was afraid to move my sleeve to look at my watch. It was cold.
Finally I said, “Wanna walk me to my car? I am frozen.”
“Nope,” Gary said. “I’m going in this door right here to get warm.”
I thought he was kidding, but he headed for that door right there. We both laughed.
As I thawed on the way home, still earlier than my usual post-Bingo getaway, I silently thanked that other group for kidnapping Bingo.
Maybe Mike is right about our psychic connection—I had a feeling I should call him Thursday, but once I did, that feeling turned decidedly bad. The nurse who answered said Mike was too sick to take a phone call. Huh? I seriously don’t understand how that happened—I’d just seen him Monday at Trivia, and he looked more hale and hearty than ever.
So I called back today, and while he was well enough to take my call, he sure didn’t sound well. I told him to rest, and I’d see him in a few hours.
When I got to Bingo, Ray McDade and Ken Levick were sitting in the hall together, pointed in opposite directions. “Well,” I said, putting one hand on each of their shoulders, “two of my favorite guys right next to each other!”
As we were talking, Dorothy ran toward me as if her pants were on fire. “Another group is supposed to do Bingo tonight!” she announced. And sure enough, even though the calendar said “Home Bingo” and Bill the prize guy, Ann the attendance lady and I all had believed it, other people with other prizes were taking over the Bingo room. We were not especially pleased. With a big sigh, I went in and said hi to everyone, anyway, and told them I’d see them Saturday—unless someone changes that Home Bingo between now and then.
On the bright side, I had more time with Mike, although he was groggy and easily out of breath. He said he was feeling a little better, so I decided to believe that and let him get to sleep.
On the way down the hallway, I had another psychic tingling: I honestly thought, “It sure would be nice if Gary were outside (in his usual smoking spot) on the way to my car.”
I walked down the sidewalk and saw a wheelchair behind a post at Gary’s usual smoking spot. I smiled like a lunatic. A psychic lunatic.
“I hope you don’t think you’re hiding from me,” I told Gary.
He laughed.
We talked a long time. It was freezing out, and I couldn’t find a place to avoid his nasty smoke, but still we talked and talked and talked. First I zipped up my jacket, then I put on my gloves, then I wondered what percentage of my legs had gone numb. Gary is such an amazing man—not just smart, but incredibly wise, and compassionate, and funny. Very, very funny. At one point I had wanted to see just how long we’d been talking, but I was afraid to move my sleeve to look at my watch. It was cold.
Finally I said, “Wanna walk me to my car? I am frozen.”
“Nope,” Gary said. “I’m going in this door right here to get warm.”
I thought he was kidding, but he headed for that door right there. We both laughed.
As I thawed on the way home, still earlier than my usual post-Bingo getaway, I silently thanked that other group for kidnapping Bingo.