Friday, December 24, 2010
Today was one of my favorite days ever at the Soldiers Home. I don’t know whether it’s because I was with my parents, my son and some of my best friends anywhere, or because I was caught up in the Christmas spirit, but my little Grinchy heart grew at least three sizes today.
A few weeks ago I’d had the idea for us to provide all the prizes for Christmas Eve Bingo. It’s not a big deal—we certainly didn’t buy 60 Rolexes or anything—but it was incredibly fun for my mom and me to shop for new and different things we thought they’d really like.
There was quite a bit of confusion at the Soldiers Home over whether this idea would actually fly—one staffer said thanks but no thanks, then another staffer said oh, yes, please—but we optimistically packed up our Santa bags and headed out, hoping for the best.
And that’s just what we found.
** Mike’s son and granddaughter were there, and Mike was over the moon. He commanded a table so full of people who love him, we had to scooch in extra chairs. He told story after story after story, and finally my dad took over Mike’s Bingo card just so he’d win a prize or two.
** I had prewritten simple Christmas cards for every Bingo regular I could remember, and took along 7 or 8 blank ones for newcomers. I had never met Gus before, but Gary had told me his name, so I gave him his own “Gus” card. “How’d you know my name?” Gus asked, kind of astonished. I pointed to my noggin. “Christmas,” I said. He was floored.
** Things didn’t go as smoothly with Ed. I wasn’t expecting Ed, and I thought I had slipped one of the nonpersonalized cards into a new “Ed” envelope—but instead I had put in Royal’s personalized card. At least embarrassment is a Christmas color.
** For six of the gifts, we put 3 crisp dollar bills in envelopes marked, oh-so-mysteriously, “$$.” Gary C. opened his at a full table, and everyone leaned in to see how much $$ was actually in that envelope. “Seventy-five dollars?!?!” Gary squealed. “Wow! Thanks!” Luckily, everyone laughed. And luckily, I hadn’t made that particular envelope mistake.
** For 8 or so other gifts, we stuffed goodie bags with homemade sweets—not exactly the day’s best-seller. When I wheeled the cart over to Lloyd, they were the only choice left. Lloyd made a face. “Hey,” I said. “I made those, you know.” He grinned and took one. “Mmmm,” he smiled.
** Robert, who had drawn the haunting Veterans Day artwork in November, had three hand-made Christmas cards set up at his table. They were seriously stunning, and personalized (probably correctly). “Are you going to mail these?” I asked. “No,” he said. “I’m going to hand them out in person.” (This made me very happy. Out of all the residents at Christmas Eve Bingo, just three or four had family with them.)
** In Gary’s card I had written, “Thanks for being my friend, even though I’m a pain in the ass.” (For some reason he seems to equate my constant newspaper-flicking with ass pain.) But when I went over to talk to Gary and his brother, Gary said, “For the record, you are not a pain in the ass.” Apparently I wasn't the only one overcome by good will.
** A few people I really wanted to see came in late—Cal Bush, Royal (who finally got the card meant for her), Ray McDade and Wesley Gourley the Christmas Eve Bingo caller. It was a full house, and I tried to introduce everyone to my parents. I asked Ann Lawson whether she wanted to meet them, but she said she “wasn’t very good” at meeting people, so we talked about where in Michigan they are from, and she waved. Actually, I think that’s a very successful people-meeting strategy.
Bingo took a long time, and it was unseasonably warm in there, but it felt so … Christmassy, it didn’t even matter. After the last game, more people wandered over to talk to my parents. I hugged more people than I’ve ever hugged in a single day—and a lot of people I’d never hugged before.
When we got to the car, half-drained and half-exhilarated, my dad patted my shoulder and said, “That’s my daughter!” My mom said it brings tears to her eyes to realize what I’m doing at the Home. (My son probably mumbled something along the lines of, “Yeah, Mom. Great.”) It didn’t make me cry at the time, but it does now—I spent Christmas Eve with my favorite people in the world. There is no greater gift.
Today was one of my favorite days ever at the Soldiers Home. I don’t know whether it’s because I was with my parents, my son and some of my best friends anywhere, or because I was caught up in the Christmas spirit, but my little Grinchy heart grew at least three sizes today.
A few weeks ago I’d had the idea for us to provide all the prizes for Christmas Eve Bingo. It’s not a big deal—we certainly didn’t buy 60 Rolexes or anything—but it was incredibly fun for my mom and me to shop for new and different things we thought they’d really like.
There was quite a bit of confusion at the Soldiers Home over whether this idea would actually fly—one staffer said thanks but no thanks, then another staffer said oh, yes, please—but we optimistically packed up our Santa bags and headed out, hoping for the best.
And that’s just what we found.
** Mike’s son and granddaughter were there, and Mike was over the moon. He commanded a table so full of people who love him, we had to scooch in extra chairs. He told story after story after story, and finally my dad took over Mike’s Bingo card just so he’d win a prize or two.
** I had prewritten simple Christmas cards for every Bingo regular I could remember, and took along 7 or 8 blank ones for newcomers. I had never met Gus before, but Gary had told me his name, so I gave him his own “Gus” card. “How’d you know my name?” Gus asked, kind of astonished. I pointed to my noggin. “Christmas,” I said. He was floored.
** Things didn’t go as smoothly with Ed. I wasn’t expecting Ed, and I thought I had slipped one of the nonpersonalized cards into a new “Ed” envelope—but instead I had put in Royal’s personalized card. At least embarrassment is a Christmas color.
** For six of the gifts, we put 3 crisp dollar bills in envelopes marked, oh-so-mysteriously, “$$.” Gary C. opened his at a full table, and everyone leaned in to see how much $$ was actually in that envelope. “Seventy-five dollars?!?!” Gary squealed. “Wow! Thanks!” Luckily, everyone laughed. And luckily, I hadn’t made that particular envelope mistake.
** For 8 or so other gifts, we stuffed goodie bags with homemade sweets—not exactly the day’s best-seller. When I wheeled the cart over to Lloyd, they were the only choice left. Lloyd made a face. “Hey,” I said. “I made those, you know.” He grinned and took one. “Mmmm,” he smiled.
** Robert, who had drawn the haunting Veterans Day artwork in November, had three hand-made Christmas cards set up at his table. They were seriously stunning, and personalized (probably correctly). “Are you going to mail these?” I asked. “No,” he said. “I’m going to hand them out in person.” (This made me very happy. Out of all the residents at Christmas Eve Bingo, just three or four had family with them.)
** In Gary’s card I had written, “Thanks for being my friend, even though I’m a pain in the ass.” (For some reason he seems to equate my constant newspaper-flicking with ass pain.) But when I went over to talk to Gary and his brother, Gary said, “For the record, you are not a pain in the ass.” Apparently I wasn't the only one overcome by good will.
** A few people I really wanted to see came in late—Cal Bush, Royal (who finally got the card meant for her), Ray McDade and Wesley Gourley the Christmas Eve Bingo caller. It was a full house, and I tried to introduce everyone to my parents. I asked Ann Lawson whether she wanted to meet them, but she said she “wasn’t very good” at meeting people, so we talked about where in Michigan they are from, and she waved. Actually, I think that’s a very successful people-meeting strategy.
Bingo took a long time, and it was unseasonably warm in there, but it felt so … Christmassy, it didn’t even matter. After the last game, more people wandered over to talk to my parents. I hugged more people than I’ve ever hugged in a single day—and a lot of people I’d never hugged before.
When we got to the car, half-drained and half-exhilarated, my dad patted my shoulder and said, “That’s my daughter!” My mom said it brings tears to her eyes to realize what I’m doing at the Home. (My son probably mumbled something along the lines of, “Yeah, Mom. Great.”) It didn’t make me cry at the time, but it does now—I spent Christmas Eve with my favorite people in the world. There is no greater gift.