activities

I told you before about this miserable old woman resident that sits down in the lobby all day and yells at people. Usually I just speed past her, but lately I've been answering if she asked a logical question. But no more. That just encourages her.

Today she yelled after me, "Is my family coming today?!"

I said,"I don't know."

She said, "Do you know anything at all?"

Much of the problem is that the residents don't really have anything at all to do here except eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner on schedule. For the most part their time isn't structured at all. There are occasional bingo games, which are well attended. The activities director plans stuff like word games and supervised discussions, called "socials", and there is a core group of residents who participate, but many of the residents aren't interested. Often people just sit aimlessly in their wheelchairs in the lobby or in the "ice cream parlor", which is actually the big activities room. I don't know why they call it "ice cream parlor". I've never seen ice cream served there!

Actually, I drive the activities director crazy because I've never participated in any of her activities. They are all geared toward the mentally compromised. I guess that pretty well sums up the difficulties I've encountered here - the entire staff assumes that being in a wheelchair affects mental ability.

I was out on the front porch this morning reading the Post on my Kindle. The activities director came out and said, "It's going to be too hot to sit outside later." I said, "Uh-Huh". but thought, "Which is why I'm sitting out now, Lady!" She said, "This afternoon we're playing Big Word, Little Word, a game where we all make as many words as we can from a big word. It'll be FUN! Why don't you join us?"

So what does one say to that?

What I said was, "No thank you."

What I wanted to say was, "If I'm ever in such poor shape that I enjoy playing Big Word, Little Word with a bunch of octogenarians, then just shoot me and put me out of my misery!"

Except that I doubted she knew what "octogenarians" meant, and I really didn't want to start a whole new conversation.

Everyone doesn't need to write and tell me not to be so sensitive and thin-skinned, and to have a more upbeat attitude. I know all that. I guess I just wanted to illustrate the point that being assumed to be slow-witted all the time creates a very hostile environment. To which I guess I react with hostility. But I've been here for a long time, paying LOT of money. There are probably less than 50 residents in here. She is a professional staff person. Isn't it her job try to get to know the residents and to provide apppropriate activities?


Anyway. lets go back and talk about the Kindle, which is the wireless reading machine that Amazon sells. I love mine. I can carry my whole library around all the time. It is much smaller and more compact than a book or newspaper, and it has a dictionary built in, so it is easy to look stuff up. I love it that I can carry my whole library all the time. What I don't like so far is that it doesn't have the Post's death notices or editorial cartoons.

I love edritorial cartoons. The funniest I ever saw showed 2 Arabs and Michael Jackson standing in the desert. The caption has one of the Arabs saying, "So, Ossama, where did you get your plastic surgery?"

Native American

Today was a nice, warm Sunday. I went to church in the AM - no big deal. except that I left after the service, and got to the restaurant where I was eating lunch and realized that I had an entire hymnal in my scooter basket... I ran back down to the church to return it and this woman asked me to lead the Sunday School discussion of Buddhism that happens in a couple weeks, because I'd mentioned that I'd sort of majored in Buddhism in college... which I did, sort of. I guess this means that I actually have to read the book they are using. Or at least the Buddhism chapter. Which just goes to show you - always just go ahead and steal the hymnal!

Yesterday was another beautiful day. I went down to the "Living Earth" festival at the National Museum of the American Indian. It was real neat. I'd already toured the exhibits in the museum, so I just went to the special stuff. They had people weaving baskets, and cooking on big barbecue contraptions, and a Native American Art Market, at which I purchased just a few little things. One is a framed print depicting the Native American's concept of "nature". The cool part is that the artist who had created the print is the person who sold it to me, and she told me what it means. It's a nice, lively addition to this dreary room. Right before I left, they had a family on the main stage who did story telling, and singing and dancing and hoop dancing.

chicks

I did something really great today. I'll tell you about it tomorrow. But first, since I promised a story about baby chicks, I'll give you the short version. We lived in the new house in Roanoke. The Taylor kids ages were about 1, 4, and 7. Mom and Dad bought us 3 cute little fuzzy chicks one Easter. Cool, huh?

Except that, when chicks grow up, which these did, they become chickens. Or, in this case, roosters.

I'll never forget those roosters flying around the family room.

After awhile, the conversation finally happened. I remember a distressed Mom saying, "We can't just have chickens flying around the house. What if a church member comes over?!"

Soon after, Dad mysteriously found a farm that would love to adopt 3 resident pet roosters. We kids were told that the farmer would keep them as pets, too, and not hurt them.

I think Mom still believes this.

Probably, if I were a better person, I would too.

Beatles

I remember being on the side porch of the house in Roanoke, playing with my brother, when Mom and Dad, excited, called us inside to see something on TV. It was this bunch of guys in a band. Everyone was talking about them, they said, and they played silly music and had real long hair. We all watched in rapt attention as the Beatles played their gig on Ed Sullivan. I remember Mom and Dad laughing at how Ringo didn't sing, but just played drums. Isn't it amazing how the memory of that event stuck with me my whole life? It's almost like I knew I was witnessing history being made.

It was not long after that when we moved to the larger house in Roanoke. Dad had told the church they had to get a new parsonage because that one wasn't big enough to raise children in. It was at that point that I realized the downside of having a same sex sibling - I had to share a room with Sue, and Ed had his own room. The little jerk.

It was a pretty cool house, though, For one thing, it was right up the hill from my school. I could walk every day, and I loved that, because walking meant freedom.

One time, in the snow, Mom slipped getting out of the car and slid all the way down that, huge steep hill. She landed in some neighbor's yard. We kids laughed and laughed to see her go sliding past like that, but we got into all kinds of trouble with dad!

Gotta go. Tomorrow - baby chicks!






























d

Susan's birth

Mom and Dad lived in a wee, tiny house in Roanoke,VA when Susan was born. Dad had Grace Methodist (they weren't "United" yet). The church is so small, they apparently don't have a website. I was 6 when Sue was born, and Ed was 3. Back in those ancient, long ago days, nobody knew the sex of a baby until it was born. (imagine!) I, of course, wanted a girl, Ed a boy. Mom and Dad's official position was that they didn't care. When Sue was born, Dad told us we had a new baby sister. Ed reacted by yelling over to the neighbor-boy and saying, "Johnny! Johnny! Our side lost!" This tale later became Granny's favorite anecdote, and was re-told until we were sick of it! (So I thought I would share it yet again!)

More tomotrrow - The Beatles!

The Scream

I went to the National Gallery and saw the Edvard Munch exhibit. "The Scream" was great, of course, but the rest of the exhibit was also poignant and dramatic.

The copy of this shown at the gallery is a print.

This next print that I'll show you is "The Sick Child", and, considering that his sister died of TB when he was just a child, it chilled me even more than "The Sceam" did. It was like a real depiction of personal pain.


Lots of the exhibit was devoted to several versions of "Vampire".




Lots was devoted to Madonna.


Munch's mother and sister died when he was young, and his father was a morbidly religious psycotic. This, plus Edvard's own poor health and the vividly macabre ghost and Edgar Allen Poe stories that his father told the children to entertain them probably inspired the macabre visions depicted in Edvard's work.

Those of you readers who knew Dean Scott (if anyone, it is just Lloyd and Bobby Tyler), know this is the type art he'd love. Dean is a guy we used to know who delighted in the macabre.

Birthday

We had a real nice birthday party yesterday for Ron and Sue at Mom & Pops place. Shirley came, as did Martha. Sue is 47 today, and Ron is either 46 or 48. He's either one year older or one year younger. I forget which! I gave Sue a cool present (thanks to Lloyd!) which she loved! Lloyd scanned all the photos Sue & I had accumulated over the many years we lived together. I have always had all of them in my room. I gave her the photos and I kept the CDs of the scans. Ain't that cool?

Actually, I guess most of the credit for this cool present ought to go to Lloyd... Thank you, Lloyd!

Here is a picture or Lloyd looking buff and drinking a beer.











I have good news from Sunrise, for a change! They've decided I can pay extra money and get 5 baths a week! Remember, previously they had told me it just wasn't possible, so this is great news!