February 1, 2010
After a pretty crappy January, I woke up this morning determined to Get My Act Together. After an amazingly restorative early-morning nap, I gathered my camera, my videocamera, my project folder and my February determination and headed for the Veterans Home. For a minute there, I thought maybe January had followed me: Mike was sound asleep. Gary didn’t want to go to lunch, and he still didn’t want to sign my consent form so I could interview him.
Battered but not bowed, as they say, I went to the snack bar, had a delicious bowl of soup and planned my next attack. As I left, I ran smack into David Fox. Things were looking brighter already.
He said he was going for a little after-lunch walk and asked whether I’d like to go along. In fact, I did. "I’d love to walk with a pretty lady next to me and make everyone jealous," he said.
"Well, wait here, and I’ll go find one for you," I said. "You just keep walking, Sunshine," he said.
He asked what I was doing and I reminded him about my project. He had said earlier that he didn’t want to talk about the war, but he did say I could take his picture. So I showed him my camera and asked whether this would be a good time for a glamour shot.
"How does my hair look?" he asked in the most feminine voice he could possibly muster.
I laughed out loud. "You look marvelous," I told him.
And he did.
I checked in on Ray, just in time to help him hang his clean laundry. He agreed to talk, on camera, after a meeting he’d had scheduled. The day was looking up.
To top it all off, Mike was up, and he had a gift for me. His son had found and delivered a beautiful denim and leather purse Mike had made by hand. I tried to resist, but Mike can be rather insistent. Instead, I told Mike he is now off the hook for several birthdays, Christmases and any other gift-giving holiday he could think of. It’s far too precious to carry, but I will treasure it forever.
And bless Ray’s heart; we talked for an hour on tape, and he couldn’t have done any better if he’d come from central casting. He was articulate, engaging, funny and, most of all, he was himself.
I left with a huge smile on my face, a one-of-a-kind gift, a piece of history on tape -- and a wonderful sense of tiny bits of "act" coming together.
After a pretty crappy January, I woke up this morning determined to Get My Act Together. After an amazingly restorative early-morning nap, I gathered my camera, my videocamera, my project folder and my February determination and headed for the Veterans Home. For a minute there, I thought maybe January had followed me: Mike was sound asleep. Gary didn’t want to go to lunch, and he still didn’t want to sign my consent form so I could interview him.
Battered but not bowed, as they say, I went to the snack bar, had a delicious bowl of soup and planned my next attack. As I left, I ran smack into David Fox. Things were looking brighter already.
He said he was going for a little after-lunch walk and asked whether I’d like to go along. In fact, I did. "I’d love to walk with a pretty lady next to me and make everyone jealous," he said.
"Well, wait here, and I’ll go find one for you," I said. "You just keep walking, Sunshine," he said.
He asked what I was doing and I reminded him about my project. He had said earlier that he didn’t want to talk about the war, but he did say I could take his picture. So I showed him my camera and asked whether this would be a good time for a glamour shot.
"How does my hair look?" he asked in the most feminine voice he could possibly muster.
I laughed out loud. "You look marvelous," I told him.
And he did.
I checked in on Ray, just in time to help him hang his clean laundry. He agreed to talk, on camera, after a meeting he’d had scheduled. The day was looking up.
To top it all off, Mike was up, and he had a gift for me. His son had found and delivered a beautiful denim and leather purse Mike had made by hand. I tried to resist, but Mike can be rather insistent. Instead, I told Mike he is now off the hook for several birthdays, Christmases and any other gift-giving holiday he could think of. It’s far too precious to carry, but I will treasure it forever.
And bless Ray’s heart; we talked for an hour on tape, and he couldn’t have done any better if he’d come from central casting. He was articulate, engaging, funny and, most of all, he was himself.
I left with a huge smile on my face, a one-of-a-kind gift, a piece of history on tape -- and a wonderful sense of tiny bits of "act" coming together.
When Mike lived in the Roosevelt Barracks, he devoted one whole wall of his room to his leatherwork. He's made canes, saddles--and even a doll-sized miniature saddle that was once modeled by a dog. He crafted this purse from hand, using an old pair of Levis for the bag and his remarkably talented pair of hands to tool every bit of the leather.
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