The New Year
crept in while I was sleeping. There is nothing unusual about that; the last
twenty-five or so have managed to show up while I was visiting the sandman. The
allure of the dropping ball escapes me. I mastered the art of ball dropping
long ago. Ask any of my former bosses. Every one of them took me aside once or
twice a week to say, “Harris, you dropped the ball again.” They never seemed
impressed.
There was a New Year’s Eve dance after supper,
but I didn’t go. Penelope and Annie needed someone to deliver Table Talk. Going
door-to-door in the empty hallways is much more relaxing for me than trying to
maneuver the chair in a roomful of dancers. When I completed my rounds, I went
to see Al. We talked for forty-five minutes. Al’s different; he knows he’s
different, and sometimes that bothers him.
“Am I crazy?” he asks.
I hope he isn’t.
“I try to live according to ‘do unto others
as you would have them do unto you,’” he said. “Even in the service, that was
the way I wanted to treat my men.”
From what I’ve seen and from what I’ve heard
from others who have known Al for many years, he does live by the Golden Rule.
And he’s a crotchety old fart. It’s a wonderful combination.
There are two Catherines at Covenant Woods.
One is a holier-than-thou know-it-all, and the other is a delightful lady.
Covenant Woods sent the delightful Catherine a “Notice to Vacate” letter last
week. Catherine hasn’t been able to pay her rent in full for several months.
She had hoped to get additional money from the VA, but that hasn’t happened.
The good news is Catherine has found an apartment – in a regular apartment
complex – that rents for a fraction of what she’s paying here. Her right leg
was amputated several years ago and she is in a wheelchair. But she has family
in the area to help her. The bad news is, she is going to move.
Catherine is the second member of our dinner
table to move out of Covenant Woods. Sue left a few months ago. Sue has two
small dogs who failed to win the heart of the woman who lived across the hall.
The woman complained, and after some back-and-forth, Sue decided it would be
cheaper to move back to her own home than to move to another apartment in this
complex. Sue doesn’t have family nearby. In an e-mail the other day, she said
the holidays were difficult for her, because she was alone so much of the time.
But, she kept busy getting a number of stories she has written ready for
submission.
Helga has had health problems recently and
hasn’t been around much, and when she has been around, she’s been very subdued.
She has been moved to the assisted living wing and eats in the dining room over
there most of time. Last night, however, she ate in the main dining room and
was her old vivacious self. This coincided with my fifteen seconds of fame. It
was scary.
For reasons I cannot discern, I am the
Covenant Woods’ resident of the month. In the January schedule of goings on at
Covenant Woods, my picture appears above a paragraph of fluff. As I was headed
out of the dining room last night, Margaret stopped me to say she had seen my
picture. As my head was swelling while Margaret went on about what a nice
picture it is, Helga, who was at the next table, turned around.
“I too
saw your picture and thought it was lovely,” Helga said. “You are a very good
looking man. I’ve moved to the other wing, you know. You should come visit me
when you have time. And if you’d like to stay, I have plenty of room.”
I thanked her and told her I had to run. And
run I did.
I did have a less frightening brush with
fame. For several weeks now, I have been sending entries to the madkane.com
weekly Limerick-Off. In last week’s contest, I received honorable mention for
this bit of doggerel:
The woman said mine was too short,
Of the dull, microscopic type sort.
“You’re not a sex symbol
With that little thimble.”
Perhaps if she’d sipped some more port.
I’ll be of a certain age in April, and with
that in mind, I called Social Security to make sure I was squared away with
Medicare. I am convinced that when I shuffle off my mortal coil and am rejected
by St. Peter, I won’t be doomed to spend eternity doing the doggie paddle on
the lake of fire. No, sir. Lucifer will lock me in a small room furnished with
a bed, a table and a telephone. And the telephone will direct all my calls to a
computerized telephone-answering she-devil.
Today, Social Security’s
computer-in-the-telephone said, “Please tell me your first name and spell it.”
“Thomas: T…” “I’m sorry,” the computer said. “You have given me incorrect
information, and I must hang up.” And she did.
And with that, I called Russ and asked if
he’d take me to the Social Security office one day soon. Monday’s the day I get
to talk to real people.
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