Friday & Saturday, October 21 & 22, 2011
Two days, two Home Bingo sessions, two totally different experiences.
Friday night: The first news I heard when I walked in was bad: Danny White had died the day before. Danny was one of the first people I’d ever met at Bingo. He never missed a session unless he was sick, and he almost always won. I almost always gave Danny a push to his room before the last game of Blackout. And it was always a challenge to find room for his latest loot. I missed Danny immediately, and I was unnerved by the emptiness at his table.
But the Bingo police had no time for mourning. They were far too busy amping up to riot mode. Tonight’s inciting incident: Doug wanted help tracking his numbers, and Ken Levick offered to do it. I find that incredibly sweet, so I encourage the partnership. But the Bingo patrol—a very vocal (and mobile!) group tonight—screeched repeatedly and demanded that Doug play his own card, and Ken play only his. I tried to talk them down, but they wanted nothing to do with intermediaries. They yelled from afar and eventually stomped over to physically move Doug’s card in front of Doug.
The fight had gone out of me. But I did pat Ken on the shoulder.
Especially in the absence of Danny’s comforting presence, everything, and everyone, felt kind of sad and challenging. I had always thought my main Bingo role was as a brightener-upper, but I was feeling pretty gloomy tonight.
Saturday afternoon: I downloaded some new music today, and on the way to the Soldiers Home I blared myself into a slightly better mood. By the time I got there, I had decided to make a concerted effort to find bits of joy—anywhere— in that Bingo room.
The first came easily. I should have known to start with Ray McDade.
“I hope you didn’t break any speed limits,” he grinned. I was 30 seconds from late, which, in Soldiers Home time, is the same as four days late.
“Maybe I should have,” I grinned back.
David Fox stepped up next, waving me over.
“I have to ask you a serious question,” he said. I leaned in. “Have I missed anything with the presidential election?”
I wanted to laugh, but he had said it was serious. And really, who could blame him? If you were just judging by TV ads and debates, you’d think maybe things were coming to a head.
“You have not,” I said right into his good ear. “You have a good 13 months.”
I got a solid thumbs-up, which I returned with a smile—and darned if I didn’t mean it.
A lot of Bingo help showed up today, which lightens not only my load but also my spirits. Doreen came, along with a guy I thought I recognized as a volunteer and sweet Gus the prize-cart-pusher.
I already felt better, and then someone’s shiny new shoes caught my eye. I scanned around at floor level, a new perspective for me, and I noticed quite a few residents sporting really spiffy footwear. This made me very happy.
Then I eavesdropped on Gus as he approached residents with the prize cart. He said hello to every single person who won, cheerfully, and stood there with the patience of a saint as some took their time choosing. This made me happy, too—as well as a little humble.
Bill Crowell stopped by outside. He is my constant smile machine. He said he’s in the market for a new prayer book, and when I told Ray that, he promised to help Bill. And he will.
By the end of the afternoon, I was newly buoyed by a spirit of gracious helpfulness, and very grateful to be part of it.
As I left, Ann Lawson thanked me for helping. Erin the recreation therapist chimed in, too—and then so did Greg the Bingo caller.
“You’re welcome, you’re welcome, you’re welcome,” I laughed back. “And thank you, too.”
I was smiling as I walked to my car.
Two days, two Home Bingo sessions, two totally different experiences.
Friday night: The first news I heard when I walked in was bad: Danny White had died the day before. Danny was one of the first people I’d ever met at Bingo. He never missed a session unless he was sick, and he almost always won. I almost always gave Danny a push to his room before the last game of Blackout. And it was always a challenge to find room for his latest loot. I missed Danny immediately, and I was unnerved by the emptiness at his table.
But the Bingo police had no time for mourning. They were far too busy amping up to riot mode. Tonight’s inciting incident: Doug wanted help tracking his numbers, and Ken Levick offered to do it. I find that incredibly sweet, so I encourage the partnership. But the Bingo patrol—a very vocal (and mobile!) group tonight—screeched repeatedly and demanded that Doug play his own card, and Ken play only his. I tried to talk them down, but they wanted nothing to do with intermediaries. They yelled from afar and eventually stomped over to physically move Doug’s card in front of Doug.
The fight had gone out of me. But I did pat Ken on the shoulder.
Especially in the absence of Danny’s comforting presence, everything, and everyone, felt kind of sad and challenging. I had always thought my main Bingo role was as a brightener-upper, but I was feeling pretty gloomy tonight.
Saturday afternoon: I downloaded some new music today, and on the way to the Soldiers Home I blared myself into a slightly better mood. By the time I got there, I had decided to make a concerted effort to find bits of joy—anywhere— in that Bingo room.
The first came easily. I should have known to start with Ray McDade.
“I hope you didn’t break any speed limits,” he grinned. I was 30 seconds from late, which, in Soldiers Home time, is the same as four days late.
“Maybe I should have,” I grinned back.
David Fox stepped up next, waving me over.
“I have to ask you a serious question,” he said. I leaned in. “Have I missed anything with the presidential election?”
I wanted to laugh, but he had said it was serious. And really, who could blame him? If you were just judging by TV ads and debates, you’d think maybe things were coming to a head.
“You have not,” I said right into his good ear. “You have a good 13 months.”
I got a solid thumbs-up, which I returned with a smile—and darned if I didn’t mean it.
A lot of Bingo help showed up today, which lightens not only my load but also my spirits. Doreen came, along with a guy I thought I recognized as a volunteer and sweet Gus the prize-cart-pusher.
I already felt better, and then someone’s shiny new shoes caught my eye. I scanned around at floor level, a new perspective for me, and I noticed quite a few residents sporting really spiffy footwear. This made me very happy.
Then I eavesdropped on Gus as he approached residents with the prize cart. He said hello to every single person who won, cheerfully, and stood there with the patience of a saint as some took their time choosing. This made me happy, too—as well as a little humble.
Bill Crowell stopped by outside. He is my constant smile machine. He said he’s in the market for a new prayer book, and when I told Ray that, he promised to help Bill. And he will.
By the end of the afternoon, I was newly buoyed by a spirit of gracious helpfulness, and very grateful to be part of it.
As I left, Ann Lawson thanked me for helping. Erin the recreation therapist chimed in, too—and then so did Greg the Bingo caller.
“You’re welcome, you’re welcome, you’re welcome,” I laughed back. “And thank you, too.”
I was smiling as I walked to my car.
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