Sing Sing
Maybe ten days ago Angela came hustling outside into the courtyard (intentions unknown) as Dora and I sat shaded in the grass (her wheelchair, my geri-chair being semi-adjacent to each other).
You remember Dora, right? She's the 87-year-old who mostly says things I cannot quite hear, and then I exact my revenge by responding in an uninformed manner. Despite the unseen aural obstacles, we typically go back and forth that way for up to an hour each day (occasionally making out each other's words). My difficulties stem from still being deaf in my left ear. And I suspect hers are age related.
Actually, if there's a dearth of extraneous noises, our percentage of word recognition increases notably, and on all sides. In those instances an authentic conversation is hatched.
And when she's done being outside, I recruit a staff member to bring her back to the inside realm. She either gets too cold, or too warm, or it's nearly mealtime. And when it's mealtime, she prefers eating baked chicken, and not much else.
A couple of nights ago she got particularly cold because she'd been forgotten, left outside for nearly three hours by herself! After two hours spent chilling out (literally), she at long last realized no one was coming to save her. She'd been calling out, shouting out, and yelling her head off for some time.
It took her nearly an hour, but she managed to inch her way forward (and up a slight incline), which afforded her the opportunity to get somebody's attention (flagging down a nurse at the nursing station inside). It was 11pm by then.
Yikes! How was it that nobody knew she was missing?
Anyway, Angela whisked me away, rolling me into the cafeteria for the very first post-pandemic karaoke event. And at first, it was lightly attended. But Angela went out and gathered elderly others as we got underway.
Probably 25 residents were in attendance. And after a mere two songs sung (one by Kamar, and one by Colleen), the microphone was handed to me (and never left).
In the midst of my singing "Touch Me" (by the Doors) a number of office staff came out of their tucked away hallway offices to see from where the racket was coming. Yes, Howard was the cause for alarm. Perhaps I was singing too enthusiastically. Or simply, well off-key.
I managed to finish singing the song, and then things deescalated from there. The curious crowd along the periphery slowly dispersed. Yet there I was, still grasping the microphone.
Angela gave me the nod. I was also given the thumbs-up.
As the event progressed, I did my best to feel the room. Or rather, the cafeteria. The one with the age-old vehicle parked in the middle of the floor. I felt like a monkey shooting fish in a barrel of crude oil while wearing a blindfold.
No, my singing isn't worth listening to, but the admin team said something about being charismatic. Or maybe they intimated that I am spastic like a bad colon after ingesting a host of off-market dairy products.
Eh. Some people laughed, seemed occasionally amused, while others winced in agony. But I did what I could do based upon my inability to do much at all. And perhaps the wincing had more to do with an immediate need for pain meds. Most of the residents are on Percocet.
Afterwards, the director of activities designated me as the Karaoke Host of the Future. That means I need to organize the next event, because this first karaoke event (since the pandemic) was highly improvised from start to finish. And thus, my request (*see previous blog entry) for ancient songs to be played in the presence of, and sung put loud by ancient people.
Please feel free to share any secrets of the karaoke trade (your past experiences… or any imagined ones). I am open to suggestions.
Take care,
Howard
Sky High
Maybe ten days ago Angela came hustling outside into the courtyard (intentions unknown) as Dora and I sat shaded in the grass (her wheelchair, my geri-chair being semi-adjacent to each other).
You remember Dora, right? She's the 87-year-old who mostly says things I cannot quite hear, and then I exact my revenge by responding in an uninformed manner. Despite the unseen aural obstacles, we typically go back and forth that way for up to an hour each day (occasionally making out each other's words). My difficulties stem from still being deaf in my left ear. And I suspect hers are age related.
Actually, if there's a dearth of extraneous noises, our percentage of word recognition increases notably, and on all sides. In those instances an authentic conversation is hatched.
And when she's done being outside, I recruit a staff member to bring her back to the inside realm. She either gets too cold, or too warm, or it's nearly mealtime. And when it's mealtime, she prefers eating baked chicken, and not much else.
A couple of nights ago she got particularly cold because she'd been forgotten, left outside for nearly three hours by herself! After two hours spent chilling out (literally), she at long last realized no one was coming to save her. She'd been calling out, shouting out, and yelling her head off for some time.
It took her nearly an hour, but she managed to inch her way forward (and up a slight incline), which afforded her the opportunity to get somebody's attention (flagging down a nurse at the nursing station inside). It was 11pm by then.
Yikes! How was it that nobody knew she was missing?
Anyway, Angela whisked me away, rolling me into the cafeteria for the very first post-pandemic karaoke event. And at first, it was lightly attended. But Angela went out and gathered elderly others as we got underway.
Probably 25 residents were in attendance. And after a mere two songs sung (one by Kamar, and one by Colleen), the microphone was handed to me (and never left).
In the midst of my singing "Touch Me" (by the Doors) a number of office staff came out of their tucked away hallway offices to see from where the racket was coming. Yes, Howard was the cause for alarm. Perhaps I was singing too enthusiastically. Or simply, well off-key.
I managed to finish singing the song, and then things deescalated from there. The curious crowd along the periphery slowly dispersed. Yet there I was, still grasping the microphone.
Angela gave me the nod. I was also given the thumbs-up.
As the event progressed, I did my best to feel the room. Or rather, the cafeteria. The one with the age-old vehicle parked in the middle of the floor. I felt like a monkey shooting fish in a barrel of crude oil while wearing a blindfold.
No, my singing isn't worth listening to, but the admin team said something about being charismatic. Or maybe they intimated that I am spastic like a bad colon after ingesting a host of off-market dairy products.
Eh. Some people laughed, seemed occasionally amused, while others winced in agony. But I did what I could do based upon my inability to do much at all. And perhaps the wincing had more to do with an immediate need for pain meds. Most of the residents are on Percocet.
Afterwards, the director of activities designated me as the Karaoke Host of the Future. That means I need to organize the next event, because this first karaoke event (since the pandemic) was highly improvised from start to finish. And thus, my request (*see previous blog entry) for ancient songs to be played in the presence of, and sung put loud by ancient people.
Please feel free to share any secrets of the karaoke trade (your past experiences… or any imagined ones). I am open to suggestions.
Take care,
Howard
Sky High