Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Before we left for our long vacation, my son and I took a sack of Snickerdoodles to the Soldiers Home and said our temporary goodbyes.
It was one of those lucky visits when we found almost everyone we wanted to see, and everyone was very happy to see Carson—and cookies. Ray McDade was in his room, and very grateful for a couple of Snickerdoodles. “At 88,” he said, patting my hand, “these little acts of kindness really mean a lot.”
Wesley Gourley was sitting outside, smoking a cigarette, and Gary was in the hallway of the Nursing Center, even more eager to talk to Carson about golf than he was to grab a cookie. We found Stan Wilson in the dining room and Mike in his room—and they both wanted to talk to Carson about golf. Seriously, if I hadn’t been holding the Snickerdoodles, I would have been irrelevant.
For those people we couldn’t find, we dropped off cookies and goodbye notes—but we were in for a surprise at Vern Schiffer’s room: It was empty. My heart sank for a second (typically, rooms only turn empty for bad reasons), but only until we talked to a woman in the hallway. Vern had moved out, and for a good reason: He’d gotten his own apartment near Tacoma. My heart felt better. I’m guessing Vern got the job he’d told me about at our Valentine’s Day dinner. And I’m excited to track him down and find out more once we’re back. Plus, we’ll have lots of Carson's vacation golf stories to share.
Before we left for our long vacation, my son and I took a sack of Snickerdoodles to the Soldiers Home and said our temporary goodbyes.
It was one of those lucky visits when we found almost everyone we wanted to see, and everyone was very happy to see Carson—and cookies. Ray McDade was in his room, and very grateful for a couple of Snickerdoodles. “At 88,” he said, patting my hand, “these little acts of kindness really mean a lot.”
Wesley Gourley was sitting outside, smoking a cigarette, and Gary was in the hallway of the Nursing Center, even more eager to talk to Carson about golf than he was to grab a cookie. We found Stan Wilson in the dining room and Mike in his room—and they both wanted to talk to Carson about golf. Seriously, if I hadn’t been holding the Snickerdoodles, I would have been irrelevant.
For those people we couldn’t find, we dropped off cookies and goodbye notes—but we were in for a surprise at Vern Schiffer’s room: It was empty. My heart sank for a second (typically, rooms only turn empty for bad reasons), but only until we talked to a woman in the hallway. Vern had moved out, and for a good reason: He’d gotten his own apartment near Tacoma. My heart felt better. I’m guessing Vern got the job he’d told me about at our Valentine’s Day dinner. And I’m excited to track him down and find out more once we’re back. Plus, we’ll have lots of Carson's vacation golf stories to share.