Friday, February 11, 2011
It was another small-but-good crowd at Bingo tonight, which was fine with me. I’d ridden the commuter train to work for the first time today, and between the walk to and from the station and the rounds of prize-cart pushing, I could have turned over a pedometer. I was pooped.
But everyone was peppy, and it didn’t take long till I had a second wind.
Dorothy admired my necklace and suggested I show it to Cal Bush, who ID’d every stone on it. Turns out he makes jewelry. I am constantly surprised by the hidden talents of these wonderful people.
Wesley Gourley was back as Bingo caller, although apparently there was a little pregame drama when another man tried to claim the throne. I am not surprised Wesley won.
Wesley also won at Bingo. He loves stuffed animals, but there was only one on the cart, and it was a teeny, tiny, sad-looking little dog.
“This is all I’ve got,” I told Wesley. I was ready for him to opt for cookies. But he didn’t.
“I want that little doggy, and I want it right here,” Wesley said, pointing to his prize pile.
Everyone won big again, but there were a couple notable absences: One Bingo regular had just gotten back from the hospital and still was resting, and another had been admitted to the ICU.
After Bingo, I stopped to say goodnight to Mike. He was in bed, back in his comfy sweats, listening to his music. His boutonniere was tacked onto his wall, dangling upside down—I’d told him he could dry the rose that way and save it forever.
“You know,” I said, “that was my favorite Valentines Dinner yet, and I’ve been to three.”
“That makes me feel good,” Mike said, and hugged me goodnight. He could tell I was pooped, and he looked perfectly relaxed himself.
But he had one more thing to say.
“I already booked you for next year’s dinner, didn’t I?” Mike asked.
I said I didn’t recall that he did.
“Then, will you go with me next year, too?” he asked.
“Hmm,” I said. “I’ll have to see. I might be terribly busy.”
We both knew I won’t be terribly busy. We both laughed, and we both waved goodnight.
It was another small-but-good crowd at Bingo tonight, which was fine with me. I’d ridden the commuter train to work for the first time today, and between the walk to and from the station and the rounds of prize-cart pushing, I could have turned over a pedometer. I was pooped.
But everyone was peppy, and it didn’t take long till I had a second wind.
Dorothy admired my necklace and suggested I show it to Cal Bush, who ID’d every stone on it. Turns out he makes jewelry. I am constantly surprised by the hidden talents of these wonderful people.
Wesley Gourley was back as Bingo caller, although apparently there was a little pregame drama when another man tried to claim the throne. I am not surprised Wesley won.
Wesley also won at Bingo. He loves stuffed animals, but there was only one on the cart, and it was a teeny, tiny, sad-looking little dog.
“This is all I’ve got,” I told Wesley. I was ready for him to opt for cookies. But he didn’t.
“I want that little doggy, and I want it right here,” Wesley said, pointing to his prize pile.
Everyone won big again, but there were a couple notable absences: One Bingo regular had just gotten back from the hospital and still was resting, and another had been admitted to the ICU.
After Bingo, I stopped to say goodnight to Mike. He was in bed, back in his comfy sweats, listening to his music. His boutonniere was tacked onto his wall, dangling upside down—I’d told him he could dry the rose that way and save it forever.
“You know,” I said, “that was my favorite Valentines Dinner yet, and I’ve been to three.”
“That makes me feel good,” Mike said, and hugged me goodnight. He could tell I was pooped, and he looked perfectly relaxed himself.
But he had one more thing to say.
“I already booked you for next year’s dinner, didn’t I?” Mike asked.
I said I didn’t recall that he did.
“Then, will you go with me next year, too?” he asked.
“Hmm,” I said. “I’ll have to see. I might be terribly busy.”
We both knew I won’t be terribly busy. We both laughed, and we both waved goodnight.
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