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| We've put more effort into helping folks reach old age than into helping them enjoy it.
-Frank A. Clark
“I’ve seen our economy rise and fall twice, I’ve fought in two
world wars and sent my children to fight in Korea and Vietnam, and
you’re trying to tell me a donut is hazardous to my health?” George was
shouting at the wall where he thought an employee was standing.
George was having one of his bad days.
When he moved next door to me six years ago, I just assumed he was
another one of us—an old man who was sent here because his family
didn’t trust him around stairs. Oh, they always mean well, but
sometimes kids don’t get that their parents don’t like the idea of
being put out to pasture, even if that Pasture is Glenndale.
Glenndale is a retirement home for singles. Well, not really
singles; widows and widowers. Tess passed away almost eight years ago
now, and I think I’ll be here for five years come this may. I kinda
like it really. In the men’s wing we have cards every night, and they
have a nice TV in the lounge for us to watch sports, if someone’s not
fighting over which team to watch, which they generally are.
George got a new TV from his oldest son, so he rarely joined the
arguing in the TV lounge. When he first moved in, he would invite a
bunch of us over on game nights and we would play Rook while he had the
TV blaring some boxing match. Next Christmas, his son bought him a
Miracle Ear.
I’ve never been over in the women’s wing, but George says they quilt
over there instead of watching the games (but some of them come over to
watch with us), but other than that it’s practically the same.
Besides, why would I want to go over there? It’s just where people
lived. We ate, socialized, and wasted our days at the commons.
George and I would go there every morning for breakfast. I would get
my dippy eggs and toast and he would come back with a plate full of
donuts. But they didn’t have donuts today.
George was having one of his bad days.
“What do you mean there’s no donuts?” George shouted at an aide he
somehow had cornered before they were able to run. Poor girl, she
doesn’t look older than nineteen, twenty at the most. Might not see
her next week if George keeps at it.
“George, sit down” I say, coming up behind him and pulling him back far
enough that the aide can run back towards the kitchen. “What are you
goin on about?”
“They say that they stopped ordering donuts,” He sighed, “’cause donuts are bad for us all of the sudden.”
“Will George, they aren’t good for you.”
“I’m 97, why would I care what’s good for me? The sooner I go, the less money they’ll get from my kids.”
“The shuttle is going downtown today, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind
dropping us off at the donut shop for an hour or so. Just get some
coffee and some toast and stop yelling at the wall.”
George glared at me, but made his way towards the coffee anyway. An
aide made the mistake of getting too close to him and making eye
contact.
“Hey you! If you’re not going to get me my donuts, get me some bacon
or something. I’m ninety-seven, why would I start counting calories
now?”
Sometimes I wonder what people are thinking when they buy land to make
a retirement home. Glenndale is one of those retirement homes you see
in the movies, with well kept gardens and a view that gets better with
every season. But if you live here, chances are you can’t drive
anymore, or you shouldn’t be driving, so the view has its limits. The
nearest town is only two miles away, but the nearest town with stores
is almost fifteen.
Glenndale runs a shuttle service to the stores every day, but sometimes
waiting for the shuttles to arrive makes you wish that you could walk
there if you really wanted to, not that any of us ever would.
George was having one of his bad days.
“I don’t see why they took away my license.” He was pacing up and down
the hallway, leaving his cane propped up on the chair next to mine. “We
could be there and back by now.”
“Sit down George.” I was still holding a mug of coffee while trying to
spread a paper across my knee with my other arm. “You spend at least
two hours in that coffee shop whenever we go. If you could come and go
as you please, you’d just find more people to talk to.”
He stopped pacing and sat down. I gave him his coffee and gave up on reading the paper, putting it in my jacket.
“The shuttle will be here soon enough, just finish your coffee and enjoy the morning.”
“It isn’t morning until I’ve had my breakfast.”
He put his mug on an end table and folded his arms across his chest and
stayed silent until the shuttle arrived. He informed me that he wanted
to sit next to the window, and didn’t say another word until we reached
the Wal-Mart parking lot where we got off.
Mount Laurel Coffeehouse was only two blocks from WalMart, built inside
a home that was gutted and remodeled to house the roasters, ovens,
tables, and counters that make a coffee house what it is. Or was.
Mount Laurel opened in the forties, being one of the first of it’s kind
out here, but as the decades went on little changed, and the shop was
now featured on the towns historical tour book rather than in the
shopping guide.
But it was George’s favorite store, and mine too since I started coming
to town with him. It’s dated, but spotless. It’s never crowded, but
there’s always a dozen or so old me (and occasionally their wives)
sitting at one of the faded booths, ignoring the drink in front of them
for the conversations to be had across the room.
We took our usual spots at the counter. I pulled the newspaper from my
pocket, unfolded it, and smoothed it out over the counter just as the
waitress came to take our order.
I ordered a black coffee and a bagel. George ordered a krueller for
me, two more for himself, and a box to take back to stick in the
commons later that evening. We ate in silence for a time before George
finally spoke up.
“I used to bring my kids here.” He was looking at me, but I think he
might’ve still talked even if he came alone. He just looked that sort
of way. “We would come every other Saturday after they finished their
chores. Beth would fuss about how coffee wasn’t any good for growing
boys, and I would promise only to let them have some milk, but I always
let them order whatever they wanted. She would get so angry.”
He smiled.
We never talked about our wives that much. It just seemed to be some
unspoken agreement we all had. I knew George had three sons and a
daughter, but other than a few gifts at Christmas and fathers day, he
rarely heard from them, and only mentioned them if someone noticed
something they gave.
“I remember I brought her here once and made her try some of the
coffee. She hated it so much she spit it out all over the counter.
She got so embarrassed by that, she never gave me a hard time about
coffee again.”
“Tess never cared much for coffee either,” I replied, “She said it
reminded her of burnt water and charcoal. She still drank it every
once and awhile though, especially when I put some chocolate and crème
in it for her. I asked her once why she drank it, and she said it was
so she could know me better, cause ‘something was making me the way I
was.’”
“Heh, Ha,” George chuckled, making his shoulders shake, a contented rattling.
“It’s funny what they’ll do sometimes, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s funny what we do too though. For them, I mean.”
“Heh, yeah it is at that.” We both smiled.
Maybe today was going to be a good day.
This was story #1 from writing fiction, as always, feedback is appreciated.
| | |
| Yeah, it takes forever for me to update.. sorry. In my defense, it is spring break.
I don't really have anything to write about at the moment because of that. Nothing new or strange to put into poems, and nothing pulls at my mind or emotions enough to spill out on the page.
For those of you who know of my other site, I have a new work of fiction.. a short story really, only five pages. But I think it turned out well. the title of the entry is "I am become death"
The most recent entry "menno volleyball" may be entertaining as well.
I'll write something here when I think of something to write... sadly, those moments are infrequent anymore... sometimes I fear I'm losing my dream, that the idea of finding a muse is becoming more fantasy and less something that can be attained.
I pray this feeling shifts, and soon. I miss my pen.
goodnight.
| | |
| The funny thing
About pursuit
Is that we men assume
That such futile deeds
Amount to more
Than a minor annoyance--
A fleeting joke long past its second wind
To those we seek to entreat
(Sorry for the generalizations, i know that they are not universal, but it is easier to write in them)
What's the deal with this thing called pursuit anyway? I'm not talking about just romantic pursuit either, but rather the whole idea of chasing after another person hoping to attain something.
Pursuing the girl (or relationship)
Pursuing the dream
Pursuing a vision
Pursuing a friendship
Even pursuing a job..
I mean, what's the point? Sure, the end justifies the path getting there, but very few of these pursuits end up going anywhere. You work really hard to maintain friendships, just to find they falter the instant they become inconvenient. You have a dream or a vision about how best to use the gifts given to you, and for some reason the entire world conspires against you until you end up 50 years later celebrating a work anniversary at a job you only took "until something better comes along."
And relationships.... I could write an entire book on relationships. I won't of course, because no one would read it, or the few that did would be offended by one of my (obviously) broad statements and fail to actually see what I wrote.
I haven't done my "nice guys don't finish last, nice guys just don't finish" in a long time, and I really don't feel like bringing it up here again because invariably it will be some reactionary work, and really nothing worthwhile. If however, I DO come up with some way that perfectly explains how ass-backwards our cultures view on worth is, believe me, nothing will contain those words from spamming your subscribers lists... just thought I would give fair warning.
But just a few truisms I've discovered when dealing with members of the opposite sex:
(Note: many of these can also be applied to guys, I know that. but as I am writing it and I am talking about Girls, I'll focus on that half of our population)
1. it is impossible to give a girl a compliment unless you are A) gay B) Considered asexual by them (in the friends zone) or C) unbelievably shallow. If some normal guy, or a typical friend compliments a girl, our words are immediately analyzed to see why we say what we do, and girls always miss the obvious answer. The reason we say someone looks good (most of the time) is because... we think they look good.
2. This is closely tied to #1, but Girls are far too harsh on themselves. Yes, this is true of people in general... but honestly.. 80% of my friends are female, and all of them are beautiful, intelligent, and a blessing to be around. And yet, I can't TELL them that, because of #1, and the fact that they won't believe me because I'm "just a guy" who doesn't know what he is talking about. Also, just because I think those things about you doesn't mean I like you as "more than a friend" either. So to the few who know of this site, you are beautiful, wonderful people. If I don't know you in real life but you keep checking up on this site, the same can be said for you as well because only someone who is wonderful could put up with everything that is thrown on this site by my erratic thoughts
3. Girls struggle with keeping time. Now, girls are amazing multi-taskers, and I think that is part of the problem. They have so much going on that it becomes easy to forget previous promises or meetings. The funny thing with this trait is that they ALWAYS notice this trait in others. They are also likely to complain about it, but never make the connection to their own actions.
4. Ladies: "The Chase" is the name for a bad movie, not something to participate in. We guys are simple minded in the fact that we assume that what we see/hear/read is what it is. We are aweful at metamessages, so if you want to say something, just say it. If you can't say it, start dropping hints of the two by four variety.
Yeah, I promised not to go overboard... sorry. but yeah, that's what's running around in my mind at the moment. Comments, hate mail, etc always appreciated.
- dancing through life | | |
| Wait a minute-
What makes you think
You have the right
To maim stars
And bleed their light
So your yellowed grin
Seems holy
And your hollow eyes
Become hallowed-
Incarnate Midnight
I'll try to add to this later.
I made a protected post about the situation surrounding it. Tally, Mell, you're on the list as are some others.. if people are really interested, let me know, and I'll see about putting you on the list.
- Trust | | |
| Why must the most verdant shores
Ever be beyond where
My arms are willing to reach?
I don't think I can say more than that tonight.
The irony of it all is just a little to great.
Billy Talent said it best:
I'd play the game but I'm the referree
- Surrender | | |
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