Friday, June 4, 2010
My visit to the Soldiers Home today was unusually quick and quiet—but it actually worked out fine. I walked in the door at the end of Mike’s hallway, and there he sat, talking with a nurse.
"I was just headed out to the pond," he told me.
"Are you nuts?" I asked him. "It’s pouring out there."
Mike insisted the rain was on its way out and took me back to his room, and The Weather Channel, to prove it. Sure enough, it looked as if we were on the edge of something brighter.
Mike certainly was, anyway. "The kids are coming tonight," he announced.
I think I might get more excited than Mike when his family visits—but probably not. Mike’s son and granddaughter were expected between 5 and 6, and they were planning to spend the night (visitors can use a guest room in the Roosevelt Barracks like a hotel, only much, much more cheaply)—maybe even two nights.
I told Mike I wouldn’t stay for long, then, so he could rest before they arrived. But he still wanted to go to the pond, so out we went. Gotta hand it to the Doppler radar—the rain stopped within 10 minutes.
Today the pond was populated: A couple residents sat under cover at a picnic table, dozens of frisky trout swam just under the surface of the pond and the regal Mr. and Mrs. eagle watched it all from their perch atop their pine.
Still, it was peaceful, and not completely soaked, so we chatted for a while. Mike seemed a tiny bit distracted, understandably.
"I think I’m going to head out so you don’t get too pooped for company," I told him.
He didn’t argue, but he did see me to my car and thank me for coming. "That was just what I needed to knock me out of my blues," he said.
But I was merely an appetizer of happiness—perfectly content in my minor role, and knowing full well that Mike's soul-satisfying main course was just an hour or two away.
My visit to the Soldiers Home today was unusually quick and quiet—but it actually worked out fine. I walked in the door at the end of Mike’s hallway, and there he sat, talking with a nurse.
"I was just headed out to the pond," he told me.
"Are you nuts?" I asked him. "It’s pouring out there."
Mike insisted the rain was on its way out and took me back to his room, and The Weather Channel, to prove it. Sure enough, it looked as if we were on the edge of something brighter.
Mike certainly was, anyway. "The kids are coming tonight," he announced.
I think I might get more excited than Mike when his family visits—but probably not. Mike’s son and granddaughter were expected between 5 and 6, and they were planning to spend the night (visitors can use a guest room in the Roosevelt Barracks like a hotel, only much, much more cheaply)—maybe even two nights.
I told Mike I wouldn’t stay for long, then, so he could rest before they arrived. But he still wanted to go to the pond, so out we went. Gotta hand it to the Doppler radar—the rain stopped within 10 minutes.
Today the pond was populated: A couple residents sat under cover at a picnic table, dozens of frisky trout swam just under the surface of the pond and the regal Mr. and Mrs. eagle watched it all from their perch atop their pine.
Still, it was peaceful, and not completely soaked, so we chatted for a while. Mike seemed a tiny bit distracted, understandably.
"I think I’m going to head out so you don’t get too pooped for company," I told him.
He didn’t argue, but he did see me to my car and thank me for coming. "That was just what I needed to knock me out of my blues," he said.
But I was merely an appetizer of happiness—perfectly content in my minor role, and knowing full well that Mike's soul-satisfying main course was just an hour or two away.