'My new friend': Now with a name and a face to go with it!
Monday, September 20, 2010
I am thrilled to introduce Bill Crowell, the Soldiers Home resident formerly known as “my new friend,” aka The Bingo Survivor. Bill signed a publication consent form a few days ago, but he wanted to check out the Web site (which he did, thanks to tour guide Ray McDade), and I wanted to make absolutely sure he was absolutely OK with me publishing his name, his picture and his horrifying Bingo health scare.
He is. His real concern was his photo. I took two shots today, and we both agreed on the close-up, even though Bill had nicked his chin shaving. (Bill said his chum Ray thought it was jam, but it didn’t wipe off.) “I look like an old bastard,” Bill said. “You don’t look old,” I said.
On my way out, I certified in no uncertain terms that Bill was open to total online openness. He is.
“Maybe people will feel sorry for me,” he said. “Write, ‘Send money.’ “
I am not going to turn down an American hero. Send money.
I stopped in to see Mike—and to use him for his medic skills. I was stung by a bee this morning, right on the knuckle, and it still hurt. Kind of a lot. “You probably still have some stinger in you,” Mike said, and directed me to his magnifying glass. I couldn’t see anything, even with direct light and magnification, and then I tripped on his oxygen cord and almost took us both down. “I’m a mess,” I said.
Mike took me to the nurses’ station and asked for a Band-Aid as if it were for him. I felt a little guilty and admitted it was for me. “Well, I’m going to have to charge you,” the nurse said. But she was kidding.
We went down to Trivia, where no one was answering the question “What is the lightest metal?” even though Bob had offered the hint, “It begins with ‘L.’” “Lithium,” I blurted out, although I normally don’t butt in. Everyone looked at me as if I’d passed gas. “Well, whadya know?” I said. “The blonde got one right!” Everyone laughed—kind of as if they’d been thinking the same thing.
It was my turn to laugh when Bob was looking for the classic Herman Melville book whose location is “the sea.” Mike asked, “Melville and what? The tree?” Well, yes; that’s the prequel, where Moby-Dick is swept into a forest during a tsunami. Still makes me laugh out loud.
Before I left, Mike advised me to wrap my stinger finger in a vinegar compress. I just did. Still hurts. So maybe I’ll take the Bill approach: Feel sorry for me. Send money.
I am thrilled to introduce Bill Crowell, the Soldiers Home resident formerly known as “my new friend,” aka The Bingo Survivor. Bill signed a publication consent form a few days ago, but he wanted to check out the Web site (which he did, thanks to tour guide Ray McDade), and I wanted to make absolutely sure he was absolutely OK with me publishing his name, his picture and his horrifying Bingo health scare.
He is. His real concern was his photo. I took two shots today, and we both agreed on the close-up, even though Bill had nicked his chin shaving. (Bill said his chum Ray thought it was jam, but it didn’t wipe off.) “I look like an old bastard,” Bill said. “You don’t look old,” I said.
On my way out, I certified in no uncertain terms that Bill was open to total online openness. He is.
“Maybe people will feel sorry for me,” he said. “Write, ‘Send money.’ “
I am not going to turn down an American hero. Send money.
I stopped in to see Mike—and to use him for his medic skills. I was stung by a bee this morning, right on the knuckle, and it still hurt. Kind of a lot. “You probably still have some stinger in you,” Mike said, and directed me to his magnifying glass. I couldn’t see anything, even with direct light and magnification, and then I tripped on his oxygen cord and almost took us both down. “I’m a mess,” I said.
Mike took me to the nurses’ station and asked for a Band-Aid as if it were for him. I felt a little guilty and admitted it was for me. “Well, I’m going to have to charge you,” the nurse said. But she was kidding.
We went down to Trivia, where no one was answering the question “What is the lightest metal?” even though Bob had offered the hint, “It begins with ‘L.’” “Lithium,” I blurted out, although I normally don’t butt in. Everyone looked at me as if I’d passed gas. “Well, whadya know?” I said. “The blonde got one right!” Everyone laughed—kind of as if they’d been thinking the same thing.
It was my turn to laugh when Bob was looking for the classic Herman Melville book whose location is “the sea.” Mike asked, “Melville and what? The tree?” Well, yes; that’s the prequel, where Moby-Dick is swept into a forest during a tsunami. Still makes me laugh out loud.
Before I left, Mike advised me to wrap my stinger finger in a vinegar compress. I just did. Still hurts. So maybe I’ll take the Bill approach: Feel sorry for me. Send money.
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