Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Seems as if it’s been a long time since I worked a Home Bingo—probably because it’s been a long time since I’ve worked a Home Bingo.
But I did tonight, after a nice pregame chat with Gary; then Leo Burton; and then Mike, who is really ready for his fancy new headphones to arrive from the catalog.
Mike and Gary didn’t come to Bingo, though. In fact, not very many people did, but still it was nice to catch up with folks and sit for a spell with Ray McDade, who reports he is still eating his way through the jelly variety pack we gave him for his birthday.
Ray asked how my parents were, and I told him we were thrilled we’d all had a chance to talk while they were here. He said he was, too. We talked about golf, and the prospects for my son's team next season, and then what item on the prize cart would taste best with all that jelly (we decided on a bag of something that looked like multigrain crackers. I sure hope they weren’t cookies.).
Ray told me Wesley has given up on calling Bingo numbers. Too bad, because he really has a way of keeping people in line while encouraging companionable competition. So Ari apparently has taken over, and tonight he brought a giant “Spinal Tap” amplifier turned up to 11. As long as Ari and his suitcase-sized speaker are involved, Bingo volume no longer will be a problem.
At one point, I think I saw Bill Crowell waving in the hallway, in his nightie. Either that, or I narrowly avoided an encounter with the Ghost of Christmas Past.
I was very happy to talk to Cal Bush, David Fox and Ann Lawson, who writes the $5 “scrip” receipts for blackout victories and got to make one out to herself during the second half. She was very happy, too.
Dorothy had checked with the kitchen, but our usual cooperative red prize cart was nowhere to be found, so all night I pushed a rackety silver beast that refused direction and threatened the safety (and feet) of anyone within range. Most people found it entertaining, except for those who grew impatient as I tried to maneuver around wheelchairs and tables. I found it entertaining for maybe the first 15 minutes.
Mike had asked me to stop by after Bingo, but he was afraid he might be conked out since the new nurse was planning to dispense his sleeping pills at 8 o’clock sharp. “I’ve got 15, 30 minutes max after that point,” he had warned, and Bingo wasn’t over until almost 8:30. But when I got to Mike’s room, he was laughing to himself.
“Boston Pops, Fiddler on the Roof,” he smiled. He hadn’t had a pill yet, just another wonderful dose of music. He looked very content—smiling, warm and cozily tucked in—and I asked whether he’d like to put his headphones back on now that I was leaving.
“I guess I would,” he said. I kinda thought he might.
Seems as if it’s been a long time since I worked a Home Bingo—probably because it’s been a long time since I’ve worked a Home Bingo.
But I did tonight, after a nice pregame chat with Gary; then Leo Burton; and then Mike, who is really ready for his fancy new headphones to arrive from the catalog.
Mike and Gary didn’t come to Bingo, though. In fact, not very many people did, but still it was nice to catch up with folks and sit for a spell with Ray McDade, who reports he is still eating his way through the jelly variety pack we gave him for his birthday.
Ray asked how my parents were, and I told him we were thrilled we’d all had a chance to talk while they were here. He said he was, too. We talked about golf, and the prospects for my son's team next season, and then what item on the prize cart would taste best with all that jelly (we decided on a bag of something that looked like multigrain crackers. I sure hope they weren’t cookies.).
Ray told me Wesley has given up on calling Bingo numbers. Too bad, because he really has a way of keeping people in line while encouraging companionable competition. So Ari apparently has taken over, and tonight he brought a giant “Spinal Tap” amplifier turned up to 11. As long as Ari and his suitcase-sized speaker are involved, Bingo volume no longer will be a problem.
At one point, I think I saw Bill Crowell waving in the hallway, in his nightie. Either that, or I narrowly avoided an encounter with the Ghost of Christmas Past.
I was very happy to talk to Cal Bush, David Fox and Ann Lawson, who writes the $5 “scrip” receipts for blackout victories and got to make one out to herself during the second half. She was very happy, too.
Dorothy had checked with the kitchen, but our usual cooperative red prize cart was nowhere to be found, so all night I pushed a rackety silver beast that refused direction and threatened the safety (and feet) of anyone within range. Most people found it entertaining, except for those who grew impatient as I tried to maneuver around wheelchairs and tables. I found it entertaining for maybe the first 15 minutes.
Mike had asked me to stop by after Bingo, but he was afraid he might be conked out since the new nurse was planning to dispense his sleeping pills at 8 o’clock sharp. “I’ve got 15, 30 minutes max after that point,” he had warned, and Bingo wasn’t over until almost 8:30. But when I got to Mike’s room, he was laughing to himself.
“Boston Pops, Fiddler on the Roof,” he smiled. He hadn’t had a pill yet, just another wonderful dose of music. He looked very content—smiling, warm and cozily tucked in—and I asked whether he’d like to put his headphones back on now that I was leaving.
“I guess I would,” he said. I kinda thought he might.
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