Saturday, October 8, 2011
Yesterday I got an email from Ray McDade that was inspiring in its unselfishness but painful in its message:
“Here is a resident that needs your help and it is playing cribbage. He has hid his head in the sand and does nothing. He does play cribbage. [I’ve deleted the resident’s name and other identifying information since I don’t know him. Yet.] Anyway I like to play but he needs you more.”
I wrote back to Ray and suggested we both invite the resident to play cribbage. And then I went to Bingo to sit in on another group’s session.
Ray was dozing. In fact, the whole Bingo room seemed sleepy and morose. Until a sharp, piercing yell woke up everyone.
Ray was sitting at a table littered with someone’s dried-out lunch remains. “Unappetizing” is not a strong enough word.
“That looks like my dog’s food after he’s ignored it for a day,” I told Ray. “I’ll take it to the kitchen.”
I scooped up the plate along with three half-filled glasses.
Ann Lawson shrieked. “You can’t move that!” she yelled. “Yelled” is not a strong enough word. She was incensed. I was shocked. “The nurse has to see that!” she screamed. “Put it back now!” I sheepishly shuffled back to the table and set down the desiccated meat chunks. (Although I did rebelliously cover them with a napkin.) After my last frustrating Bingo session, I was thisclose to walking out. Instead I sighed and sat down with Ray, who wisely suggested I scurry to his room and retrieve his cribbage board.
“Let’s go ask (the head-in-the-sand resident) to play cribbage with us,” he said. “We can go after the first Blackout game.”
Ray is smart, and I was thankful. So while Ray played, I wished Leo Mortell a belated Happy Birthday, waved hello to David Fox, pawed through the Bingo-card box to look for Ken Levick’s missing lucky card and checked in with Dorothy. I avoided eye contact with Ann and the meat chunks. Ray won the $5 Blackout, and we headed off to meet a man who possibly really needed a game of cribbage.
“How should I introduce you?” Ray asked.
“Say I’m your cribbage partner,” I suggested. Ray smiled.
We found the resident in bed. Ray introduced me and urged him to join us. He was not moved to move. Ray pushed a little, but not a lot, and we eventually left on our own with a promise for “next time.”
Ray and I sat in what I call the “sun room” and caught up on my parents’ visit and my son’s birthday. I told Ray I was going to set my phone on the table because Carson was having one guy friend and two girls over, and here I was a good half-hour away. Ray and I talked about the teenage influences of alcohol, drugs and self-discipline. We talked about Ray’s busy weekend of visitors, Ray’s tummy troubles and Ray’s 2-0 cribbage record against me.
And then he beat me again. Make that 3-0.
Yesterday I got an email from Ray McDade that was inspiring in its unselfishness but painful in its message:
“Here is a resident that needs your help and it is playing cribbage. He has hid his head in the sand and does nothing. He does play cribbage. [I’ve deleted the resident’s name and other identifying information since I don’t know him. Yet.] Anyway I like to play but he needs you more.”
I wrote back to Ray and suggested we both invite the resident to play cribbage. And then I went to Bingo to sit in on another group’s session.
Ray was dozing. In fact, the whole Bingo room seemed sleepy and morose. Until a sharp, piercing yell woke up everyone.
Ray was sitting at a table littered with someone’s dried-out lunch remains. “Unappetizing” is not a strong enough word.
“That looks like my dog’s food after he’s ignored it for a day,” I told Ray. “I’ll take it to the kitchen.”
I scooped up the plate along with three half-filled glasses.
Ann Lawson shrieked. “You can’t move that!” she yelled. “Yelled” is not a strong enough word. She was incensed. I was shocked. “The nurse has to see that!” she screamed. “Put it back now!” I sheepishly shuffled back to the table and set down the desiccated meat chunks. (Although I did rebelliously cover them with a napkin.) After my last frustrating Bingo session, I was thisclose to walking out. Instead I sighed and sat down with Ray, who wisely suggested I scurry to his room and retrieve his cribbage board.
“Let’s go ask (the head-in-the-sand resident) to play cribbage with us,” he said. “We can go after the first Blackout game.”
Ray is smart, and I was thankful. So while Ray played, I wished Leo Mortell a belated Happy Birthday, waved hello to David Fox, pawed through the Bingo-card box to look for Ken Levick’s missing lucky card and checked in with Dorothy. I avoided eye contact with Ann and the meat chunks. Ray won the $5 Blackout, and we headed off to meet a man who possibly really needed a game of cribbage.
“How should I introduce you?” Ray asked.
“Say I’m your cribbage partner,” I suggested. Ray smiled.
We found the resident in bed. Ray introduced me and urged him to join us. He was not moved to move. Ray pushed a little, but not a lot, and we eventually left on our own with a promise for “next time.”
Ray and I sat in what I call the “sun room” and caught up on my parents’ visit and my son’s birthday. I told Ray I was going to set my phone on the table because Carson was having one guy friend and two girls over, and here I was a good half-hour away. Ray and I talked about the teenage influences of alcohol, drugs and self-discipline. We talked about Ray’s busy weekend of visitors, Ray’s tummy troubles and Ray’s 2-0 cribbage record against me.
And then he beat me again. Make that 3-0.
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