Saturday, January 22, 2011
If Friday’s Bingo was magical, today’s was merely marginal: light on epiphanies and life lessons, and heavy on logistical challenges.
The room was packed, and for some mysterious reason, everyone was clustered in the middle. It was like an obstacle course, especially for today’s surprise volunteer helper, a very nice boy who admirably navigated that prize cart around wheelchairs, walkers, chairs and the occasional protruding foot.
Something about the room and all those people led to that mystifying vortex effect I’ve experienced before—someone would call Bingo, which I would hear (most of the time), but if I didn’t see it happen, I couldn’t pinpoint it. Thankfully, a couple visitors in the back of the room had panoramic views, so I could just listen for them to yell, “Hey, Sandy!” and follow their pointing fingers.
So Bingo was Bingo, and it was fine. They can’t all be electric.
Beforehand, I finally met up with Gary in the woodshop and bought two of his beautiful handcrafted planters. He said each one takes about 10 hours, and they truly are artful.
Afterward, I stopped in Mike’s room. Two guesses what he was doing, and here’s a big hint: It wasn’t sleeping. Of course, he was listening to music, and he’d cued up a Willie Nelson/Ray Charles duet of “Seven Spanish Angels” that he’d wanted me to hear. Mike said that years ago, when he and his old Soldiers Home friend Jim were feeling low, they’d take out the pickup and some potent beverages and crank it up until they felt better. The last few weeks, Mike had been offering people $20 for the song on disc but had no takers—then, lo and behold, there it was on the CD he bought at Wal-Mart on Friday—for only $17. It really is a gorgeous song, and the video is even better. (I’m going to have to show him this: www.youtube.com/watch?v=x8A9Y1Dq_cQ).
I asked Mike what his plans were for the rest of the day, and he said he wanted to check all his CDs to make sure he hadn’t missed listening to any. “I bet if I go through all those cases, there are a few with the discs still in them,” he said. He has a lot of CDs.
“This sure has turned into a wonderful hobby for you,” I said.
“I think it’s been kind of therapeutic,” Mike said.
I think that’s an understatement.
If Friday’s Bingo was magical, today’s was merely marginal: light on epiphanies and life lessons, and heavy on logistical challenges.
The room was packed, and for some mysterious reason, everyone was clustered in the middle. It was like an obstacle course, especially for today’s surprise volunteer helper, a very nice boy who admirably navigated that prize cart around wheelchairs, walkers, chairs and the occasional protruding foot.
Something about the room and all those people led to that mystifying vortex effect I’ve experienced before—someone would call Bingo, which I would hear (most of the time), but if I didn’t see it happen, I couldn’t pinpoint it. Thankfully, a couple visitors in the back of the room had panoramic views, so I could just listen for them to yell, “Hey, Sandy!” and follow their pointing fingers.
So Bingo was Bingo, and it was fine. They can’t all be electric.
Beforehand, I finally met up with Gary in the woodshop and bought two of his beautiful handcrafted planters. He said each one takes about 10 hours, and they truly are artful.
Afterward, I stopped in Mike’s room. Two guesses what he was doing, and here’s a big hint: It wasn’t sleeping. Of course, he was listening to music, and he’d cued up a Willie Nelson/Ray Charles duet of “Seven Spanish Angels” that he’d wanted me to hear. Mike said that years ago, when he and his old Soldiers Home friend Jim were feeling low, they’d take out the pickup and some potent beverages and crank it up until they felt better. The last few weeks, Mike had been offering people $20 for the song on disc but had no takers—then, lo and behold, there it was on the CD he bought at Wal-Mart on Friday—for only $17. It really is a gorgeous song, and the video is even better. (I’m going to have to show him this: www.youtube.com/watch?v=x8A9Y1Dq_cQ).
I asked Mike what his plans were for the rest of the day, and he said he wanted to check all his CDs to make sure he hadn’t missed listening to any. “I bet if I go through all those cases, there are a few with the discs still in them,” he said. He has a lot of CDs.
“This sure has turned into a wonderful hobby for you,” I said.
“I think it’s been kind of therapeutic,” Mike said.
I think that’s an understatement.