Saturday, January 15, 2011
A few days ago, I got a call from the Soldiers Home Recreation Director, who was concerned that I haven’t been recording my volunteer hours very regularly—or, maybe, at all. And she’s right; I have not. For one thing, the official volunteer log hangs on a wall outside Activities, and I never get down that way on Bingo days. But the bigger issue is the bigger picture: I don’t feel much like a “volunteer” anymore. OK--maybe during some particularly challenging Bingo sessions, but most of the time, when I go to the Soldiers Home, I feel as if I’m simply visiting friends.
Like today. Today was one of the most genuinely fun visits I can remember—Mike and I watched football together all afternoon.
He had the game on in his room, and we both had a lot of news. First, of course, I sampled his new Bose headphones. (And, I gotta say, potential site-sponsor Bose, they are wonderfully surrounding-sounding.)
Then Mike asked me to grab the brown envelope on his desk. Inside: a form letter and a little ballot. I took the letter, which asked residents to nominate members to the Resident Council. Mike took the ballot. “I’m going to write ‘prime rib,’” he said.
What?
Turns out the ballot was unrelated to the letter, which neither of us realized until we compared notes. The ballot was for residents’ suggestions for Valentines dinner entrées. Whew—merely a paper-packaging abnormality.
Ballot filled (prime rib and chicken cordon bleu, a hit last year), we went to Activities to refill Mike’s coffee mug and ended up staying to watch the game on the big screen. I waved and said hi to a few other people who came and went, but basically we had the room, and the game, to ourselves.
We play-by-played the game, and Mike told story after story: about his first wife’s sweetly excitable mother, who jumped when she saw him; about how he worked out and bulked up without the benefit of steroids; and about any random topic that came to mind. You know, like friends do.
“I’m always so happy to see you,” Mike said.
“Me, too,” I said. “You look really good, Mike.” And he does—solid, bright and happy.
I told him about Volunteer log-gate. “I certainly haven’t done anything volunteer-worthy sitting here watching the football game with you,” I told him.
“You’re visiting,” Mike said. “Visitors don’t sign logs.”
A few days ago, I got a call from the Soldiers Home Recreation Director, who was concerned that I haven’t been recording my volunteer hours very regularly—or, maybe, at all. And she’s right; I have not. For one thing, the official volunteer log hangs on a wall outside Activities, and I never get down that way on Bingo days. But the bigger issue is the bigger picture: I don’t feel much like a “volunteer” anymore. OK--maybe during some particularly challenging Bingo sessions, but most of the time, when I go to the Soldiers Home, I feel as if I’m simply visiting friends.
Like today. Today was one of the most genuinely fun visits I can remember—Mike and I watched football together all afternoon.
He had the game on in his room, and we both had a lot of news. First, of course, I sampled his new Bose headphones. (And, I gotta say, potential site-sponsor Bose, they are wonderfully surrounding-sounding.)
Then Mike asked me to grab the brown envelope on his desk. Inside: a form letter and a little ballot. I took the letter, which asked residents to nominate members to the Resident Council. Mike took the ballot. “I’m going to write ‘prime rib,’” he said.
What?
Turns out the ballot was unrelated to the letter, which neither of us realized until we compared notes. The ballot was for residents’ suggestions for Valentines dinner entrées. Whew—merely a paper-packaging abnormality.
Ballot filled (prime rib and chicken cordon bleu, a hit last year), we went to Activities to refill Mike’s coffee mug and ended up staying to watch the game on the big screen. I waved and said hi to a few other people who came and went, but basically we had the room, and the game, to ourselves.
We play-by-played the game, and Mike told story after story: about his first wife’s sweetly excitable mother, who jumped when she saw him; about how he worked out and bulked up without the benefit of steroids; and about any random topic that came to mind. You know, like friends do.
“I’m always so happy to see you,” Mike said.
“Me, too,” I said. “You look really good, Mike.” And he does—solid, bright and happy.
I told him about Volunteer log-gate. “I certainly haven’t done anything volunteer-worthy sitting here watching the football game with you,” I told him.
“You’re visiting,” Mike said. “Visitors don’t sign logs.”
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