Saturday, April 23, 2011
Today was officially the nicest, sunniest, warmest day of the year – and Bingo, indoors, in the middle of the Springiest part of the day, was the most packed it’s ever been. And nutso. Every table was full; Roy finally just parked a chair at the back of the room rather than fight for a spot.
My two new helpers were on-duty, although Gus was pooped from last night, when the scheduled prize group didn’t show up, and at the last minute Purple-Heart Bingo suddenly turned into Home Bingo (too last-minute to give me a call, apparently). And when helper Bill left to tell a nurse he had chest pains (!), Terry, a regular visitor, offered to pitch in since it was so bizarrely busy. And nutso.
I hugged Bill Crowell immediately. He said he had tried to watch his video interview online, but something went wrong, and he could only read the blog.
“Could you understand what I was saying in that interview?” he asked me.
“Absolutely,” I said.
“Well,” he said, pointing to his buddy Ray McDade, “He said I was murdering the English language.”
I hugged Ray McDade, too.
It was very loud and chaotic, and things just felt as if they could spin out of control at any second. Bingo moved quickly enough, though, considering the crowd, but a lot of winners were taking a long, long time to pick prizes.
“There must be a full moon,” I told Terry, the helpful prize-cart pusher.
“Some of these people are as slow as Christmas turkeys, I swear,” he said.
There was a whoopee cushion on the prize cart. I couldn’t get it to whoopee, but when Terry did, we giggled like idiots. Why was no one picking this prize?
Bill Crowell got up to leave because someone was in his regular spot, and Bill's neck was sore from turning around to see the number board. I asked the man in Bill’s spot, who was not even playing Bingo, whether he would please switch places with Bill.
“No,” he said.
So Bill left. And within a minute, the place-taking, non-Bingo-playing man left, too.
Ari announced a Blackout game with the best mad-scientist laugh I have ever heard.
After Bingo, I clocked my hours (good volunteer!) and ran into Terry and his family. They were headed to the pond.
“I was just going that way myself,” I told them. It was just too beautiful not to.
At the gate, I had to stop for a second when I noticed the posted sign about having a buddy at the pond.
This was my first pond visit alone since Mike’s death. He was my constant pond buddy.
There were seven or eight other people at the pond. One guy was fishing. I headed straight for the dock and just sat, alone, in the sunshine.
I tried really, really hard to hear Mike. I looked for eagles where he always saw eagles. I leaned back against the railing and closed my eyes, trying to remember the last thing we talked about at the pond, trying to picture Mike fishing, or laughing, or even smoking.
But there were too many people, and too much white noise, and I couldn’t hear Mike, or see him, or sense him. Ari came out on the dock to fish, too, and I felt in the way.
I took a few deep Spring breaths and headed for my car. Gary and his dog Gidget, Charlie and Dennis were sitting under the shelter.
“Soak up the sunshine while you can, guys,” I said.
“You too, dear,” said Dennis.
And in the brightest sunshine of the year, I got a little chill. That sounded a lot like Mike.
Today was officially the nicest, sunniest, warmest day of the year – and Bingo, indoors, in the middle of the Springiest part of the day, was the most packed it’s ever been. And nutso. Every table was full; Roy finally just parked a chair at the back of the room rather than fight for a spot.
My two new helpers were on-duty, although Gus was pooped from last night, when the scheduled prize group didn’t show up, and at the last minute Purple-Heart Bingo suddenly turned into Home Bingo (too last-minute to give me a call, apparently). And when helper Bill left to tell a nurse he had chest pains (!), Terry, a regular visitor, offered to pitch in since it was so bizarrely busy. And nutso.
I hugged Bill Crowell immediately. He said he had tried to watch his video interview online, but something went wrong, and he could only read the blog.
“Could you understand what I was saying in that interview?” he asked me.
“Absolutely,” I said.
“Well,” he said, pointing to his buddy Ray McDade, “He said I was murdering the English language.”
I hugged Ray McDade, too.
It was very loud and chaotic, and things just felt as if they could spin out of control at any second. Bingo moved quickly enough, though, considering the crowd, but a lot of winners were taking a long, long time to pick prizes.
“There must be a full moon,” I told Terry, the helpful prize-cart pusher.
“Some of these people are as slow as Christmas turkeys, I swear,” he said.
There was a whoopee cushion on the prize cart. I couldn’t get it to whoopee, but when Terry did, we giggled like idiots. Why was no one picking this prize?
Bill Crowell got up to leave because someone was in his regular spot, and Bill's neck was sore from turning around to see the number board. I asked the man in Bill’s spot, who was not even playing Bingo, whether he would please switch places with Bill.
“No,” he said.
So Bill left. And within a minute, the place-taking, non-Bingo-playing man left, too.
Ari announced a Blackout game with the best mad-scientist laugh I have ever heard.
After Bingo, I clocked my hours (good volunteer!) and ran into Terry and his family. They were headed to the pond.
“I was just going that way myself,” I told them. It was just too beautiful not to.
At the gate, I had to stop for a second when I noticed the posted sign about having a buddy at the pond.
This was my first pond visit alone since Mike’s death. He was my constant pond buddy.
There were seven or eight other people at the pond. One guy was fishing. I headed straight for the dock and just sat, alone, in the sunshine.
I tried really, really hard to hear Mike. I looked for eagles where he always saw eagles. I leaned back against the railing and closed my eyes, trying to remember the last thing we talked about at the pond, trying to picture Mike fishing, or laughing, or even smoking.
But there were too many people, and too much white noise, and I couldn’t hear Mike, or see him, or sense him. Ari came out on the dock to fish, too, and I felt in the way.
I took a few deep Spring breaths and headed for my car. Gary and his dog Gidget, Charlie and Dennis were sitting under the shelter.
“Soak up the sunshine while you can, guys,” I said.
“You too, dear,” said Dennis.
And in the brightest sunshine of the year, I got a little chill. That sounded a lot like Mike.