Seeing Her Face First
She drove past me, but I didn't quite see her. The car looked familiar enough, though. A dirty and dusted deep red, which is not unusual here in the desert.
Meanwhile, I was parked in my teal and tan geriatric cart underneath a palm tree in front of the building, the nursing home complex where I reside. One of the CNA's hastily ran me outside three quarters of an hour earlier, which was far earlier than necessary. But I didn't mind. Time gave me a chance to settle in.
Sunday's are slow here. There are fewer employees, which means fewer cars parked in the parking lot. And probably, there were more roaming rabbits than vehicles. Birds? Yes, birds doing bird things just ahead of me, in and throughout the empty lot. Tumbleweed and shrubs. An abandoned grocery cart. Remnants of deceased Palo Verdes. A singular Saguaro barely pushing up above the ground.
Quietude. Nature simple. Even the car wash across the way was idle, and mostly soundless.
With the sound of heel to toe footfalls fast approaching, I recoiled slightly. Yes. Her car was parked by now, a few slots down the way. But with a dirty orange setting sun blinding my eyes, I did not see her. But who else could it be? The timing was right. It had to be she. Then again, the timing was all wrong. Or maybe it was neither of those things.
My first point of recognition was her scent, her favored perfume… which now, was uncomfortably familiar. Without looking at her directly, I instructed her to push the cart directly towards the sun. So across the rough pavement we traveled, aiming for the end of the road.
She said a few things, asked where we were going, and I simply pointed and said, "over there." Of course, I didn't have an exact fix. Nothing was preplanned. So into the gravel we went, seeking out long shadows for shade talking.
Despite smoke from distant fires leaving a thick haze along the horizon, the incessantly shining sun still angled brightly into our eyes. And heck, I didn't mind so much. I mean, did I really want to look at her directly, experience her in any way intensely?
At least heat wasn't the issue, as 85° isn't all that bad for a late April evening. But curiously, I'd forgotten how any kind of breeze at all negatively impacted her, how it made her eyes water. Nope. It never even occurred to me. When someone drops out of your reality, key details get lost. Key concerns become someone else's.
Anyway, we finally settled in just shy of the bike path, which was, in turn, just shy of the freeway. There were Palo Verdes and other native vegetation aligned between each, generating just enough filtered shade to make it work.
She sat on the foot rest of my geri-chair, and immediately placed her hand upon mine. My initial inclination was to shake her loose, to protest in some obvious manner. But I resisted the urge. I decided that I needed and deserved human touch. And really, I take it wherever I can get it these days. I appreciate contact, because it makes me real. And I decided to look at her, and look into her eyes .. for the first time in seven months.
Ugh. That sinking feeling. You know it. You've felt it. In your gut. And I did, too.
She began. Words came out. I listened. I nodded. She cried. She apologized. I kept listening.
"Aren't you going to say anything?"
I did. Yes. Eventually. Eventually I said things. She listened. I didn't want her to be sad, but I mentioned things that made her sad anyways. She encouraged me to speak, to say those kinds of things. So I did. And it wasn't easy.
A couple hours in, we hugged. Of course, hugs feel good. They really do. People without hugs may suffer from sensation deprivation. That's what I call it, at least. Everything is called something, eventually.
After three hours passed, she wheeled me back inside. CNA Kendra wheeled me back into my room. And I ever so briefly assessed the state of my state.
Yes, I felt okay. And ways not understood, I felt relieved.
On the Move, Off My Groove
By the way, I live someplace else now. I have a new room. I have a new roommate.
And surely, you want details .. don't you? I mean, living with a host of different people (and their personalities) at bi-monthly intervals is likely uncommon in real life… unless you live in a nursing home like me, or if you are in the military, or rotting jail. So I feel my doing so, my explaining, has some semblance of value. And yes, that's what I keep telling myself.
Hmmm… the following may seem confusing to each of you, but I'll do my best to straighten out the angles, to soften the jagged edges.
Explained
They came to me in the courtyard, one by one. A procession, of sorts. Maintaining pure intentions.
In the first instance, a key administrator dropped by - her smiling eyes (and masked mouth) retaining inside information involving clues regarding my immediate future.
Indeed. A new roommate was in the making. An imminent displacement. She even indicated whom it would be. Yet, giddy as I may have been, I was sworn to secrecy.
Okay. I didn't necessarily want to lose my current roommate, but I knew my roommate presence with the new guy (Dan) would be positively impactful, as well as appreciated by my adoptive family. Yes, the same inclusive people that visit with me at least once per week (his wife, her daughter, and a grandchild. etc.)
Then the second in command, the woman in Social Services came out to speak with me. She asked if I'd be willing to make The Change (which, of course I was), but suggested I'd also have to change rooms. Again.
Argh! Switching out from the best room on the planet … —-!!!
Ummmm… I signed off anyway, despite what promised to be a lesser view.
Next, they had to explain the situation to my soon-to-be former roommate, the one that kinda liked having me around. The one with 38 year's worth of military stories. And I had mixed emotions, because he'd soon be paired up with The Unmasked Super Singer, in Unit #2.
Dan was originally supposed to move into the room with The Super Singer (the guy who takes to singing early and often throughout the livelong day), but they needed somebody to keep an eye out.. to make sure unfortunate things wouldn't happen to Dan (a long involved story having to do with debilitating difficulties perhaps caused by being overmedicated). In addition, they wanted us rooming as close to the nursing station as possible.
In any case, Super Singer has got a fine voice. I do hope it suits my ex-roommate.
Moments later the procession continued, as Dan and his visiting wife joined me in the courtyard. They were smiling and seemingly happier than usual, but hadn't been informed regarding the change of venues - or had they?
Losses?
My only casualty in the room switch was loss of the hair conditioner my little sister recently purchased for me.. some sort of apple essence. And I guess, really, that doesn't matter. Also, I am now facing the wrong way.
I see buildings, a parking garage, and cars intermittently parked along the side road. That's where the stray high school kids of Paradise Valley park. I do, however, have an easier view of the constant rabbits, both great and small. But the hawks? Well, they typically fly the other way. Better thermals. Better prey.
Pain Removal Machine
Yeah. The dentist happened yesterday. Tooth infection. Antibiotics on the way. And that's that. For now.
I'm also waiting on an ENT to help resolve my stupid left ear discomfort. Ten days of intermittent ear drops haven't resolved the impacted wax issue. But at least my other ear is semi-fully operational -
But great news on the "intolerable" pain front! Yes, the elephant in the room sitting squarely on top of my barn burning stoma hole agitation has been vanquished!
I found a powder that absorbs the burning bile fairly well. For seven long days the pain had become unbearable (literally), but now the open wound(s) are at long last healing. So if anybody has a similar corrosive fluid / wound issue, I highly recommend Adapt Stoma Powder. It's "for external use only" so don't get any wise ideas.
Side effects may (or nay not) include: imminent healing, death, dismemberment, disenfranchisement, dastardly disturbances, dander decimation, disco dancing, deranged dopamine dissuasion, domed dingo dissatisfaction syndrome, decadent doomsday depictions, and dizen dulcimer deprivation
And hey, before I disengage, what do you think of the following (which has nothing to do with anything)?
I have a woman who doesn't know squash.
Take care,
H
P.S. - if you happen to be kind of old, please suggest songs that old (and really really super old) people enjoy singing out loud - church hymns, battle hymns, commercials, theme songs, etc. THX
Hazy Sunset - Clear Conscience
Sunsetting Again I Bother
One (of many)
She drove past me, but I didn't quite see her. The car looked familiar enough, though. A dirty and dusted deep red, which is not unusual here in the desert.
Meanwhile, I was parked in my teal and tan geriatric cart underneath a palm tree in front of the building, the nursing home complex where I reside. One of the CNA's hastily ran me outside three quarters of an hour earlier, which was far earlier than necessary. But I didn't mind. Time gave me a chance to settle in.
Sunday's are slow here. There are fewer employees, which means fewer cars parked in the parking lot. And probably, there were more roaming rabbits than vehicles. Birds? Yes, birds doing bird things just ahead of me, in and throughout the empty lot. Tumbleweed and shrubs. An abandoned grocery cart. Remnants of deceased Palo Verdes. A singular Saguaro barely pushing up above the ground.
Quietude. Nature simple. Even the car wash across the way was idle, and mostly soundless.
With the sound of heel to toe footfalls fast approaching, I recoiled slightly. Yes. Her car was parked by now, a few slots down the way. But with a dirty orange setting sun blinding my eyes, I did not see her. But who else could it be? The timing was right. It had to be she. Then again, the timing was all wrong. Or maybe it was neither of those things.
My first point of recognition was her scent, her favored perfume… which now, was uncomfortably familiar. Without looking at her directly, I instructed her to push the cart directly towards the sun. So across the rough pavement we traveled, aiming for the end of the road.
She said a few things, asked where we were going, and I simply pointed and said, "over there." Of course, I didn't have an exact fix. Nothing was preplanned. So into the gravel we went, seeking out long shadows for shade talking.
Despite smoke from distant fires leaving a thick haze along the horizon, the incessantly shining sun still angled brightly into our eyes. And heck, I didn't mind so much. I mean, did I really want to look at her directly, experience her in any way intensely?
At least heat wasn't the issue, as 85° isn't all that bad for a late April evening. But curiously, I'd forgotten how any kind of breeze at all negatively impacted her, how it made her eyes water. Nope. It never even occurred to me. When someone drops out of your reality, key details get lost. Key concerns become someone else's.
Anyway, we finally settled in just shy of the bike path, which was, in turn, just shy of the freeway. There were Palo Verdes and other native vegetation aligned between each, generating just enough filtered shade to make it work.
She sat on the foot rest of my geri-chair, and immediately placed her hand upon mine. My initial inclination was to shake her loose, to protest in some obvious manner. But I resisted the urge. I decided that I needed and deserved human touch. And really, I take it wherever I can get it these days. I appreciate contact, because it makes me real. And I decided to look at her, and look into her eyes .. for the first time in seven months.
Ugh. That sinking feeling. You know it. You've felt it. In your gut. And I did, too.
She began. Words came out. I listened. I nodded. She cried. She apologized. I kept listening.
"Aren't you going to say anything?"
I did. Yes. Eventually. Eventually I said things. She listened. I didn't want her to be sad, but I mentioned things that made her sad anyways. She encouraged me to speak, to say those kinds of things. So I did. And it wasn't easy.
A couple hours in, we hugged. Of course, hugs feel good. They really do. People without hugs may suffer from sensation deprivation. That's what I call it, at least. Everything is called something, eventually.
After three hours passed, she wheeled me back inside. CNA Kendra wheeled me back into my room. And I ever so briefly assessed the state of my state.
Yes, I felt okay. And ways not understood, I felt relieved.
On the Move, Off My Groove
By the way, I live someplace else now. I have a new room. I have a new roommate.
And surely, you want details .. don't you? I mean, living with a host of different people (and their personalities) at bi-monthly intervals is likely uncommon in real life… unless you live in a nursing home like me, or if you are in the military, or rotting jail. So I feel my doing so, my explaining, has some semblance of value. And yes, that's what I keep telling myself.
Hmmm… the following may seem confusing to each of you, but I'll do my best to straighten out the angles, to soften the jagged edges.
Explained
They came to me in the courtyard, one by one. A procession, of sorts. Maintaining pure intentions.
In the first instance, a key administrator dropped by - her smiling eyes (and masked mouth) retaining inside information involving clues regarding my immediate future.
Indeed. A new roommate was in the making. An imminent displacement. She even indicated whom it would be. Yet, giddy as I may have been, I was sworn to secrecy.
Okay. I didn't necessarily want to lose my current roommate, but I knew my roommate presence with the new guy (Dan) would be positively impactful, as well as appreciated by my adoptive family. Yes, the same inclusive people that visit with me at least once per week (his wife, her daughter, and a grandchild. etc.)
Then the second in command, the woman in Social Services came out to speak with me. She asked if I'd be willing to make The Change (which, of course I was), but suggested I'd also have to change rooms. Again.
Argh! Switching out from the best room on the planet … —-!!!
Ummmm… I signed off anyway, despite what promised to be a lesser view.
Next, they had to explain the situation to my soon-to-be former roommate, the one that kinda liked having me around. The one with 38 year's worth of military stories. And I had mixed emotions, because he'd soon be paired up with The Unmasked Super Singer, in Unit #2.
Dan was originally supposed to move into the room with The Super Singer (the guy who takes to singing early and often throughout the livelong day), but they needed somebody to keep an eye out.. to make sure unfortunate things wouldn't happen to Dan (a long involved story having to do with debilitating difficulties perhaps caused by being overmedicated). In addition, they wanted us rooming as close to the nursing station as possible.
In any case, Super Singer has got a fine voice. I do hope it suits my ex-roommate.
Moments later the procession continued, as Dan and his visiting wife joined me in the courtyard. They were smiling and seemingly happier than usual, but hadn't been informed regarding the change of venues - or had they?
Losses?
My only casualty in the room switch was loss of the hair conditioner my little sister recently purchased for me.. some sort of apple essence. And I guess, really, that doesn't matter. Also, I am now facing the wrong way.
I see buildings, a parking garage, and cars intermittently parked along the side road. That's where the stray high school kids of Paradise Valley park. I do, however, have an easier view of the constant rabbits, both great and small. But the hawks? Well, they typically fly the other way. Better thermals. Better prey.
Pain Removal Machine
Yeah. The dentist happened yesterday. Tooth infection. Antibiotics on the way. And that's that. For now.
I'm also waiting on an ENT to help resolve my stupid left ear discomfort. Ten days of intermittent ear drops haven't resolved the impacted wax issue. But at least my other ear is semi-fully operational -
But great news on the "intolerable" pain front! Yes, the elephant in the room sitting squarely on top of my barn burning stoma hole agitation has been vanquished!
I found a powder that absorbs the burning bile fairly well. For seven long days the pain had become unbearable (literally), but now the open wound(s) are at long last healing. So if anybody has a similar corrosive fluid / wound issue, I highly recommend Adapt Stoma Powder. It's "for external use only" so don't get any wise ideas.
Side effects may (or nay not) include: imminent healing, death, dismemberment, disenfranchisement, dastardly disturbances, dander decimation, disco dancing, deranged dopamine dissuasion, domed dingo dissatisfaction syndrome, decadent doomsday depictions, and dizen dulcimer deprivation
And hey, before I disengage, what do you think of the following (which has nothing to do with anything)?
I have a woman who doesn't know squash.
Take care,
H
P.S. - if you happen to be kind of old, please suggest songs that old (and really really super old) people enjoy singing out loud - church hymns, battle hymns, commercials, theme songs, etc. THX
Hazy Sunset - Clear Conscience
Sunsetting Again I Bother
One (of many)
