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Time is of the Essence

10/24/2010

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Saturday, October 23, 2010

Today I was not so eager to go to Bingo. Today my son needed a ride to a friend’s house, and we had just found the Iowa game on TV, and I didn’t leave home until the last minute.

Halfway to the Soldiers Home, my phone rang. It was Mike, wondering whether I was coming to Bingo, and when. "By 2," I said, maybe a little snarkily, since Bingo starts at 2, and since I had told Mike (and several other people) last night that I’d be back for Saturday Bingo. At 2.

When I got there, the room was nearly full. Everything seemed ready to go, except number-caller Wesley, who seemed to be putzing. I was hoping to see a movie after Bingo, provided that Bingo ended on time, so I was not especially pleased with putzing.

"Let’s Bingo!" I cheered, maybe slightly fakely. But it worked.

Things went smoothly. A very nice man who comes out often to visit his mother offered to push the prize cart. Theoretically (and selfishly), I thought, that could take a big chunk out of my Bingo time.

Then Mike came in. I was thrilled to see him back at Bingo, but he wasn’t too happy. He said he’d called me because Wesley was going to cancel Bingo if I didn’t show up PDQ, "because he could." I wasn’t upset, but Mike was. But still, he stayed, and played, and won.

During the first Blackout game, I sat with Mike and Ray McDade. A newer resident came in and stood by my chair—kind of uncomfortably close to my chair. "I don’t play Bingo," he said. I offered him the other chair at the table, anyway, thinking he might like to take a load off—or at least move in that direction an inch or two. For a good few minutes he alternated between that Bingo phrase and something about his dad’s ring. I nodded, and smiled, and kept offering that nice open chair on the other side of the table. Finally, Ray interjected: "You know what the problem is," he said. "He sits at this table for lunch, and you’re in his chair."


Well, now you tell me.

I stood up and offered the man his chair. He claimed it in a second, very happily.

Ray left before the last Blackout game, so I sat with Mike, who out of nowhere told me how he started smoking. At 17. It’s the first good, long story-story he’s told me in a long time, full of drama and description and characters most 17-year-olds would never meet, unless they’re crammed into a cramped plane flying volatile Danish servicemen to or from Korea.

By the time we got to the end of Mike’s story, and Blackout, I realized there was no chance I’d make the movie. But the Soldiers Home has a way of aligning, or realigning, priorities. Wesley ended up a big winner for the day, and he was happy. Mike made it to Bingo for the first time in weeks, and relaxed enough to get caught up in a memory, and a damn fine story. And Ray helped a resident find comfort in the familiar. As for me, I ended up going to a different movie, at a different time—big frickin’ deal. And once again, I was reminded: This time, this Bingo time, is not "me" time, anyway.
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    Author
    My name is Sandy Deneau Dunham. I'm a journalist who’s worked at The Phoenix Gazette, The (Tacoma) News Tribune,  The Seattle Times, Town Hall Seattle and Pacific Lutheran University. I'm now back at The Seattle Times, as associate editor of its gorgeously glossy Pacific NW magazine. I've been a volunteer at the Washington Soldiers Home and Colony in Orting, Washington, since January 2009, and I am still a remedial videographer.   

     

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