Moonlight

Moonlight

The nearly full moon,

Lingering above the trees,

A soft, peaceful light.

Notes from the Home - June 11, 2016

Covenant Woods is buzzing with activity; the place is being renovated inside and out. In the hallways, workers have been busy ripping the old wallpaper off the walls, priming the walls, painting some of them, preparing others to be wallpapered, installing new lights, and replacing some windows here and there. 

I'm embarrassed to make a quick trip to the mailbox these days. It seems there are always three or four workmen in the hallway. They are kind, patient folk, who stop what they are doing so they can move their tools and equipment to the side. Then, just as they've put the stuff back where they want it and have resumed working, I'm on my way back down the hall. The workers move everything again; I apologize for being a pest; they say "no problem"; I'm on the verge of saying, "Liar, liar, pants on fire," but I contain myself and go on my way, knowing I will disturb them several more times before the day is done.

In April, it was out with the old and in with the new dining room furniture. For some reason - maybe Covenant Woods is hoping to encourage intimacy among its residents - the number of tables-for-two in the dining room has gone from zero to a dozen or more. More tables take up more space, and the additional space was taken from the space between the tables. For the residents who use walkers or wheelchairs, getting around in the dining room is not so easy anymore. With the limited space between tables, I feel like a lab rat making its way through a maze.

To make matters worse, work on the dining room walls began yesterday. Part of the work involves pulling the tables along the walls away from the walls, which makes moving among the tables and chairs even more difficult. I'm going to have to get an early start to supper for a while, so I can grab a seat before the rush begins.

Outside, all the action is on the roof. It looks like an anthill as dozens of workers rip off the old shingles and install new ones. Listening to the roofers as they work, it soon becomes obvious that Covenant Woods was wise to replace the roof this year. Should Trump win the election, most of the roofers will be back in Mexico by this time next year.

The view from my porch door on the days they were working on the roof of this section of the B Building. They still haven't taken down the yellow caution tape. I hope no one confuses it for something the police might have put there and concludes that there is a body inside.

*     *     * 

Alisha, who formerly toiled as the receptionist in the evenings, is Covenant Woods' new activities director. She takes over for Penelope, who is somewhere between semi- and completely retired. Tuesday afternoon, Alisha asked me, as she sometimes does, to help her with the wording of a few items in "Table Table", the twice weekly compendium of goings on around Covenant Woods. While I was in the activities' office, Roger, the general manager, came in with some guy from the corporate office. 

Roger introduced the man to Alisha, explained to him that Penelope had retired, and rattled off the various jobs Alisha has held in the thirteen years she's been at Covenant Woods. Then Roger introduced the gentleman to me. "Tom is our resident writer," Roger said. "He helps us with a lot of things. He's a real asset." Not knowing how to react to Roger's kind words, which fell somewhere between gross exaggeration and total fabrication, I said, "That's because I'm always firmly set on my ass." Roger laughed heartily. The man from corporate either didn't get it or didn't appreciate my comment.

Wednesday morning, as I was going through the lobby someone said, "Hey, Tom." I turned toward the voice and saw Kerri, the business manager, looking out the door to the hallway to the offices. "Oh, hi, Kerri," I said. She giggled for a moment and  shut the door. Why would she do that? Of course, Roger told her why I though I was an asset. Then again, maybe there was something weird or embarrassing about my appearance that morning. I looked to make sure my fly was up. It was.



 

 

Notes from the Home - June 6, 2016

The call came at three-thirty that Friday afternoon. My phone didn’t recognize the number, and I didn’t recognize the area code. “Either somebody wants to sell me something or it’s a wrong number,” I thought. But I was bored and answered it.

“Hello,” I said, poised to flip the flip phone shut at the first sign of telemarketing.

“Hey, Mr. Harris, how are you?”

“I’m fine. How are you?” I asked, cautiously. The voice was vaguely familiar, but too jovial, like the voice of someone about to offer to take all my money in return for something I neither need and nor want.

“This is Lance from NuMotion, and I have your wheelchair.”

“Wonderful!” That’s not exactly what I said. All I got out was a series of gleefully incoherent noises in an effort to say, “Wonderful!”

“I won’t be able to get to you today, but if it’s OK, I’ll be there Monday sometime between ten and eleven.”

“I’ll be here,” I said with authority.

“Will your aide be there?”

“I don’t have an aide.”

“You transfer independently?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m going to give you real workout. It’ll take about an hour.”

“That’s fine.”

“OK, I’ll see you Monday between ten and eleven.”

In my post-call elation, I chuckled at the notion of Lance thinking I’d need an aide to help me get from the old wheelchair to the new one. But the words “real workout” kept bouncing around in my head. And the more they bounced, the more convinced I became that I would need someone to help me do whatever Lance was planning to have me do.

One of the advantages of being a father is having kids to impose on. With that in mind I called Russ and asked if there was any way he could come over for an hour or two on Monday.

“Not a problem,” he said. “Karen and I were going to bring some hot dogs and stuff over for Memorial Day. We’ll do it for lunch instead of dinner.”

That’s when I remembered that the Monday in question was Memorial Day. What if Lance forgot about the holiday, too? I told Russ I’d call him if Lance called to reschedule. For the rest of the weekend, I was as excited as a kid on Christmas Eve. Every thought I had involved the wheelchair. When I wasn’t imagining Lance guiding the chair into the apartment Monday morning, I was imaging my disappointment when the phone rang and Lance told me he’d forgotten about Memorial Day and wasn’t sure when he’d deliver my chair.

 I didn’t sleep at much Sunday night, and got up at three in the morning. At quarter of ten, I heard the jingling of a dog collar in the the hall. When the it got right outside my door, I said, “Come in.” Karen and Russ followed Molly in. After a few minutes of idle conversation, Russ said, “That must be him now; a NuMotion truck just went by.” Then my phone rang. “Hey, this is Lance. I’m here at the door, can you come let me in?” I told him I’d send Russ, who went out my door and returned moments later with Lance and the new chair. 

Lance had me get into the new chair. And once I did, he took a picture of me. Then attached the brace designed to keep me from leaning to the left. It’s about eight inches long by four inches high and fits between the armrest and my armpit. He got me situated with it and took another picture, in which I was sitting straight and tall. 

Lance asked if I was aware of how much I had been leaning as I sat in the chair. I was. Jim, a resident here, brings his camera to all the Covenant Woods’ social events and takes pictures of everybody who will let him. A day or two later, he goes around and gives people the pictures he took of them. If his pictures of me had been taken in front of the face of a clock, my head would be on the two. 

With my posture improved everything is much easier, especially late in the day. Sitting up straight, or as straight as I could, in the old chair was hard work, and by evening sitting up was hardly worth the effort. 

The new chair also reclines. It not only reclines, it really reclines. I didn’t ask at what angle I’m lying when the chair reclines and the foot plates come up and straighten my legs. It feels like it must be 45 degrees, but I don’t know. In order to keep my feet from swelling, Lance suggested I get in that position for five minutes every hour. I don’t do it that often, but I do put in the time. I recline like that three or four times a day, often for an hour or more at a time. I don’t know what it is about being at that angle with my feet up and my head down that makes it so conducive to sleep.

Best of all, I can go outside and make a lap or two around the building. It ain’t walking, but it’s the next best thing.