A night of firsts: Mike in a suit, and me in a dress.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
I wanted to get to the Soldiers Home by 4, but when I stopped to pick up Mike’s boutonniere, it wasn’t ready—or even begun. For an entire day, the florist had not seen the order hanging right there in the order area. Had I not been in a dress and heels (and allergic to pollen), I might have started throwing things, but instead I stood there with my arms crossed while the florist whipped it up on the fly. Sigh. (She
I didn’t get to Mike’s room until 4:15, but technically that was within my promised window, if on the outermost edge.
I was disoriented by two unfamiliar presences: 1) Mike’s new roommate, and 2) the handsome man in a beautiful black suit, shiny cowboy boots and black cowboy hat sitting in Mike’s wheelchair.
He looked so incredibly different, and anticipatory, I could have cried. But instead I smiled.
“Brought you a flower,” I told him. He pointed to my corsage, on the sink. I fumbled around with his lapel and finally gave up on pinning my corsage to my thin sweater—instead, I made it into a beautiful bracelet.
It was probably 4:19 by this point, and Mike was ready to go.
We met Tara, a friend and physical therapist, in the hallway, and she took pictures. Mike stood up out of his chair and left his oxygen tube on the seat. This really was a special occasion.
It was chilly on the way to Chilson Hall, but I asked Mike to please stop for just a minute. I told him he looked like Ed Harris, but more handsome, and I wanted a couple pictures of him in the sunlight. They are beautiful.
Leo Burton zipped by and said, “You sure look nice tonight.”
“Doesn’t Mike look like a movie star?” I asked him.
“He looks like a mortician,” Leo said.
We were still laughing when we got inside. We waited in line for our official photo, then we were taken to table 21 and introduced to our wonderful waiter Ric (a volunteer who runs poker games at the Home).
The room was beautiful. More than half the tables already were filled. A pianist played sentimental songs, and we took it all in and settled in. Ric fixed our wobbly table, poured us some sparkling cider and led us through the menu.
“So,” I said to Mike, “What’d you do today?”
Mike laughed. “Got dressed,” he said. “It was quite a production.”
We made our way through the courses—and I need to say here, for the record, that I take back anything snotty I ever said about our menu options. The Snack Bar staff cooked dinner, and seriously, it was the best roast beef I’ve ever tasted. Mike loved his roast pork, the asparagus was delicious and we both ate more scrumptious pumpkin pie than we intended.
Before we left, I told Mike I didn’t know what made me happier—seeing him all dressed up and out, or seeing him eat an entire meal. Both were such pleasant surprises.
On our way back to Mike’s room, we saw his friend Wendy, who wanted a couple pictures of her own. In the hallway, Arla stopped and looked at us kind of strangely. “What’d you two do,” she said, “run off and get married?”
It was still early, but Mike had had a full day. He escorted me to the door, and I took one last picture—of the leather hatband he’d crafted years ago.
I thanked Mike and told him to go get comfortable. He said sweatpants were sounding pretty good. They were to me, too. We did eat a lot of pie.
I wanted to get to the Soldiers Home by 4, but when I stopped to pick up Mike’s boutonniere, it wasn’t ready—or even begun. For an entire day, the florist had not seen the order hanging right there in the order area. Had I not been in a dress and heels (and allergic to pollen), I might have started throwing things, but instead I stood there with my arms crossed while the florist whipped it up on the fly. Sigh. (She
I didn’t get to Mike’s room until 4:15, but technically that was within my promised window, if on the outermost edge.
I was disoriented by two unfamiliar presences: 1) Mike’s new roommate, and 2) the handsome man in a beautiful black suit, shiny cowboy boots and black cowboy hat sitting in Mike’s wheelchair.
He looked so incredibly different, and anticipatory, I could have cried. But instead I smiled.
“Brought you a flower,” I told him. He pointed to my corsage, on the sink. I fumbled around with his lapel and finally gave up on pinning my corsage to my thin sweater—instead, I made it into a beautiful bracelet.
It was probably 4:19 by this point, and Mike was ready to go.
We met Tara, a friend and physical therapist, in the hallway, and she took pictures. Mike stood up out of his chair and left his oxygen tube on the seat. This really was a special occasion.
It was chilly on the way to Chilson Hall, but I asked Mike to please stop for just a minute. I told him he looked like Ed Harris, but more handsome, and I wanted a couple pictures of him in the sunlight. They are beautiful.
Leo Burton zipped by and said, “You sure look nice tonight.”
“Doesn’t Mike look like a movie star?” I asked him.
“He looks like a mortician,” Leo said.
We were still laughing when we got inside. We waited in line for our official photo, then we were taken to table 21 and introduced to our wonderful waiter Ric (a volunteer who runs poker games at the Home).
The room was beautiful. More than half the tables already were filled. A pianist played sentimental songs, and we took it all in and settled in. Ric fixed our wobbly table, poured us some sparkling cider and led us through the menu.
“So,” I said to Mike, “What’d you do today?”
Mike laughed. “Got dressed,” he said. “It was quite a production.”
We made our way through the courses—and I need to say here, for the record, that I take back anything snotty I ever said about our menu options. The Snack Bar staff cooked dinner, and seriously, it was the best roast beef I’ve ever tasted. Mike loved his roast pork, the asparagus was delicious and we both ate more scrumptious pumpkin pie than we intended.
Before we left, I told Mike I didn’t know what made me happier—seeing him all dressed up and out, or seeing him eat an entire meal. Both were such pleasant surprises.
On our way back to Mike’s room, we saw his friend Wendy, who wanted a couple pictures of her own. In the hallway, Arla stopped and looked at us kind of strangely. “What’d you two do,” she said, “run off and get married?”
It was still early, but Mike had had a full day. He escorted me to the door, and I took one last picture—of the leather hatband he’d crafted years ago.
I thanked Mike and told him to go get comfortable. He said sweatpants were sounding pretty good. They were to me, too. We did eat a lot of pie.
Mike spent a lot of time shining those awesome boots. (His tie clip is an airplane!)
Love this picture--and there's a glimpse of the hatband he made.
Chilson Hall, transformed into a three-star restaurant.
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