Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Finally, after a month of furlough, I reclaimed my Home Bingo duties tonight. Outside the Bingo room stood something new: two easeled posters of the proposed changes for the Soldiers Home, showing beautiful, modern, suite-like accommodations for young traumatic-brain-injury veterans and their families. But inside the ’70s-era country-themed Bingo room, things were familiar: Greg the third-string caller helmed the Bingo machine; Gus the amazingly sweet prize-cart pusher had loaded his loot; and most of the regulars were in position.
Ray McDade wheeled in with an especially pleased smile: He’d been at the Puyallup Fair, and he’d had “just the best time.” He caught a performance by Vocal Trash, which he loved, and through some fairgrounds miracle, he ran into the one person who knew exactly where he could find a rosary to replace the one he’d lost last week. He bought two.
In other happy resident news, Dorothy had completed her move to Roosevelt Barracks, where she has a big single room—and housekeeping help; Cal Bush was anticipating another trip with his son to the Muckleshoot Casino, where I’m sure he’ll win; and Billy won a Bingo tube of heavenly coconut lotion.
Coconut is my favorite flavor, fragrance and food in the world. I kind of needed a whiff.
“Could I just smell that, please?” I asked Billy.
“Do you want it?” he asked back.
I didn’t. But he did let me sniff. I flicked off the lid and took a deep breath. “Ahh,” I said. “Thank you.”
A few minutes later, as I was confirming Dorothy’s bingo in the back of the room, Billy waved me over.
I thought he had a bingo, but instead he had a challenge. He held out his lotion. “How could you smell that?” he asked. “It’s sealed.”
I laughed out loud. The tube had one of those stupid safety seals over the opening. I insisted the coconut essence had come through, but Billy wasn’t buying it.
I had come to Bingo straight from my son’s golf match, so by the last blackout I was exhausted. Cal, Ray and Dorothy had gathered around Cal’s table to talk, so I said goodbye en masse. As I walked to the door, Cal yelled out a hearty thank you. He always says thank you.
“My pleasure,” I said. I always say, “My pleasure.”
Finally, after a month of furlough, I reclaimed my Home Bingo duties tonight. Outside the Bingo room stood something new: two easeled posters of the proposed changes for the Soldiers Home, showing beautiful, modern, suite-like accommodations for young traumatic-brain-injury veterans and their families. But inside the ’70s-era country-themed Bingo room, things were familiar: Greg the third-string caller helmed the Bingo machine; Gus the amazingly sweet prize-cart pusher had loaded his loot; and most of the regulars were in position.
Ray McDade wheeled in with an especially pleased smile: He’d been at the Puyallup Fair, and he’d had “just the best time.” He caught a performance by Vocal Trash, which he loved, and through some fairgrounds miracle, he ran into the one person who knew exactly where he could find a rosary to replace the one he’d lost last week. He bought two.
In other happy resident news, Dorothy had completed her move to Roosevelt Barracks, where she has a big single room—and housekeeping help; Cal Bush was anticipating another trip with his son to the Muckleshoot Casino, where I’m sure he’ll win; and Billy won a Bingo tube of heavenly coconut lotion.
Coconut is my favorite flavor, fragrance and food in the world. I kind of needed a whiff.
“Could I just smell that, please?” I asked Billy.
“Do you want it?” he asked back.
I didn’t. But he did let me sniff. I flicked off the lid and took a deep breath. “Ahh,” I said. “Thank you.”
A few minutes later, as I was confirming Dorothy’s bingo in the back of the room, Billy waved me over.
I thought he had a bingo, but instead he had a challenge. He held out his lotion. “How could you smell that?” he asked. “It’s sealed.”
I laughed out loud. The tube had one of those stupid safety seals over the opening. I insisted the coconut essence had come through, but Billy wasn’t buying it.
I had come to Bingo straight from my son’s golf match, so by the last blackout I was exhausted. Cal, Ray and Dorothy had gathered around Cal’s table to talk, so I said goodbye en masse. As I walked to the door, Cal yelled out a hearty thank you. He always says thank you.
“My pleasure,” I said. I always say, “My pleasure.”
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