...and you know, they weren't mad at all!

One of the most lovable ladies here is Angeline. She loves to help everyone--sometimes even if that means shoving them to one side while she 'helps'.

She couldn't make it over to the drycleaners on Friday (errands on done on Thursday and Friday). So she finally made it over to the drycleaners on the next Friday. Of course, she had called the previous Friday to tell the drycleaners that she would be bringing in her raincoat.

So she had missed the first Friday but was on time for the second Friday.

"And do you know what? They weren't mad that I hadn't been in to bring my raincoat the previous Friday; they weren't mad at all!"

Imagine. But she was releaved. She still can't get over it. That they weren't mad.

Della rides again

Della lives near me in the building and she is a tiny bit of work. She is all crippled up with something that looks to the untrained eye to be severe oesteperorisis; she moves around with a little three wheeled walker and has to strain to raise her head to see you. You almost want to beg her to leave her head down, but she is too nice a lady not to look you in the eye. She is inevitably cheerful and chipper.

The other day, she fell. Actually, she falls almost every day (and most nights). But this time, it was bad enough that she had a significant gash on the top of her noggin. So, it was off to the hospital but first, she made her son take her down to the local farmers market. She wanted to see what they had to offer and she wasn't about to miss it just because she was bleeding. Besides, the bleeding had mostly stopped.

She had six staples. I talked to her tonight. They had removed the staples. I asked if she got to keep the staples. "No" she replied sadly "I was hoping, but they said 'no'."

Small house repair

Heloise lives in a nearby house; it is one of the only houses within walking distance of the New Pointe building.

I have done some light gardening for her--planted some pots, took a dead small tree away and that sort of thing. She needed a small trim piece replaced on the exterior of the house. It needed a one by three inch board about twenty feet long.

How much? She had asked me to weed a little in the spring and I had told her there would be no charge. She insisted that I had to be paid. I suggested ten dollars an hour. She thought that 'too much'. So I did the work anyway and when she asked what I should be paid, I suggested that she 'put a little more in the church plate when it came around.' That seemed to work.

But the trim piece was a bigger deal. The wood cost $20--so I said that thirty dollars would be fine.

After I was done, she pressed the money on me but had a question: "How did you paint it so well and get none of the paint on the sidewalk?"

"I bought a pre-painted white broad."

Heloise's mouth went into a perfect oval. She hadn't thought you could just go out and buy painted trim.

I am a genius, as far as she is concerned. She's right.

At 100 , you get a free pass

I was having dinner with Henrietta, when she indicated that she really didn't want a brownie for desert. I told her to tell the waitress but it was the waitress that hadn't understood her in the first place--handing her a brownie when she clearly said she wanted ice cream.

Henrietta is Old School in not wanting to create any waves. I assured her that at her age, she has 'pre-forgiveness'. "You can do anything you want, and you are pre-forgiven. Ask for some ice cream and don't worry. You are forgiven anything you do; forgiven anything that you might say. Go ahead. You've earned it."

She laughed, but stuck with the unwanted brownie.

Slyvia

Slyvia, one of the real treasures, had a replacement aorta valve put in last week. She is doing even better than expected but she is still in ICU.

The level of concern for her is touching. Everyone wants to know how she is. Paula, one of her tablemates, is a small wisp of a 94 year old woman with a wonderful way about her. I had talked to Slyvia's son and Paula wanted to know how she was. "How is she?" Then she pointed a boney finger at me and said in a stern voice "And the Truth!" Fortunately I was able to honestly give her a good report.

Health, or the lack thereof, is very important around New Pointe.

Up on the Roof

One day, the boss told the staff to be on the look-out for someone who was going up on the roof. "We found cigarette butts up there. We don't know who has been going up there but keep an eye open for it."

Henry was finished with dinner and I was walking with him in the hallway. "Come on. We're going for a walk" I said.

Henry said "But I don't have a coat."

"It ain't that cold; come on." I steered him toward an door.

"But I already went for a walk this morning" he complained.

"And another won't hurt. A short one." I had gotten us outside and on the sidewalk. We went around the corner.

"Now, Henry: no more going on the roof." I tried to sound gruff but the laughing sort of ruined the effect.

"Who ratted me out?" Henry wanted to know.

"Nobody ratted you out. You're the only one crazy enough to go up on the roof--and spry enough to make it." I threw an arm around him. "No more going up on the roof, OK?"

"OK. But I'm chiciken; I never went closer than ten feet to the edge."

"Maybe so, but no more roof walking. You might get blown off. I would miss you if you went and died."

We got back inside. You got to love the guy. I'm still not sure how he got up on the roof. And I am not sure he won't go back up. But I am sure I would miss him if he died.

To Dog food or Not to Dog Food

I have a dog here at the retirement center. That's not so unusual; there are about six dogs that I know of and about a dozen cats. My dog is bigger than all-but-one of them and frisky in spite of being blind. Several of the women--particularly the women--love my dog.

One of the residents has taken to saving some of her dinner for my dog. Her excuse is that she has a medical condition that prevents her from swallowing most foods but I think she would save something for my dog no matter. She brings the tidbits to the door and she is just tickled that the dog gets the food. It also doesn't matter that the rich food wrecks havoc on the dog's direstive system. I can't refuse her the opportunity to give the food.

So I end up eating it. It's good food. It does me no harm and I'm hungry around 9:30. The dog does not know that I am eating her food. The woman gets a warm, fuzzy feeling.

Rogue Tank

Henry is a loud, fun, cranky resident here. He roams the halls like a rogue tank, looking to stir things up. Normally, it is harmless fun. He has a running gag with one of the dining room servers. He claims that he has done a good deed--like running his finished dinner plate to the dishwasher--and since this deed, his 'debt' to the server has been reduced from $20 to $15. The server, a small Chinese woman, insists that 'he did it wrong' and he now owes $25. It goes back and forth like this, every night, every lunch.

One day, Henry noticed that Rae was uncovering the bird in the lobby at nine o'clock.

Now, Rae hates everything and everybody--except this canary in the lobby and her cat. She is a particularly bitter old woman but she does love animals. The canary used to be crammed into a small cage, with the minimum attention and left uncovered at night. Rae takes care of the bird in a kindly and attentive manner.

Henry was on it like a bloodhound. He called up the ASPCA and they confirmed that the bird should be uncovered soon after sunrise. Rae doesn't get up that early and there is nothing to indicate that the bird is suffering any. The bird sings, eat and looks healthy.

But Henry aroused is Henry happy. He confronted Rae. He accused Rae of mistreating the bird. Rae, of course, was infuriated. This was meat for Henry. He was in high clover.

Finally, I took him aside. Or rather, ambushed him at dinner. He was going on about how Rae was mistreating her bird--knowing that she could hear him. I told him to knock it off. I asked him, as a favor to me, to knock it off. With a lot of blustery talk and waving of hands, he finally agreed to stop.

He had his fun. Rae had her bird. And I like to think that I brokered a little peace around here.

Bess and the New Leg (Foot-Actually)

Bess missed dinner because her new foot was too tight.

Who knew? Bess has a fony-foot? An erstaz peg?

Her daughter brought her the shame gam and when she put it on, it fit and was lovely. But when she went to take it off, it wouldn't come off. So Bess and her leg had to go to the doctors and see what gave with the gait. Turned out the 'take off' button was set too tight. All fixed.

But Bess had missed dinner. "No problem; I'll bring it up."

Bess was thrilled to have dinner delivered, a foot that worked and a little attention paid. It's great to know that I can still thrill 'em.

Lost: the Bank Statement

Pete may have lost his bank statement.

"Did you call the bank?"

"It's too late; they're closed."

"Did you go up to the bank and look for it on the sidewalk?"

"I had a couple of cups of wine before I discovered I lost it."

Now, at Pete's table is Stu. Stu used to be a banker. It is Stu's considered opinion that no one can get into Pete's account with the bank statement. Of course, Stu knew every single one of his customers by name and he doesn't understand that the new teller on the hill wouldn't know Pete if he bit him unless he ran his DNA.

A Trip to the Drugstore

I was sitting at the dinner table when one of my favorite residents asked the woman opposite of him at the table 'if she planned on becoming sick, any time soon?'

"What the hell is this about?" I asked kindly (me and this favorite kid around all the time).

"Walgreen's says that they will fill a printer cartridge for a computer printer for $10."

"And this makes it all clear how, exactly?" I asked at a slightly increased decibel.

"Mavis here gets her prescriptions from Walgreen's and if she is going to get sick and going down there anyway, I thought maybe she could find out about this printer thingie for me."

"Or you could call!" I suggested at the top of my voice with accompanying threatenting gestures.

"Well, I thought that if she could find out for me...."

"Give me the damn cartridge and I'll take it down to Walgreen's and get it exchanged." I offered as I moved over and took his napkin, formed a gag and wrapped it around his mouth, helpfully.

"But what if its over ten dollars? I need to be sure."

"Then you get back an empty cartridge, you old dummy."

(What I loved was, during this entire exchange, Mavis appeared not only ready to go to Walgreen's but was semingly weighing her sickness quotient and about to announce her 'nearness-to-sickness' possibilties. She was amused but ready to help, if possible.)

I followed him up to his room, got the cartridge and miracles of miracles, got the exchange for ten dollars.

He paid me the $10.90 and let me keep the dime. Nice guy, he is.

Kate and Paul

New Pointe has two new residents--or really, two have returned: Kate and Paul. They lived here a couple of years ago, moved out and now they are back.

They are horrible. 'Horrible' as in, 'Hard to describe how horrible'. They complain constantly. Ask for all kinds of extra help and complain, complain and complain. Most of the time that I see them, they are talking to the help and administrators--complaining.

And they don't like each other. I overheard this gem between them the other night:

"Shit. Get out of the way." Paul was rolling down the hallway with his wheeled-walker.

"Damn it, you rolled over my foot, you shit."

"Well, you keep your foot out in the way."

"Shit. I did not."

Love: it's a wonderful thing.

The scary thing is someone told me that 'they used to be worse when they were here a couple of years ago.' I can't even imagine.

Sheila

Sheila is a marvelous old woman that rolls up and down the halls with her wheeled-walker like a benevolent cop on the beat. She passes judgement --mostly favorable--on everyone she meets and if she must be negative she bends as far forward as she is able and whispers that perhaps someone should have a better attitude or maybe they should get over the loss of a loved one. Then she purses her lips and hums a sighing sound that indicates that she has spoken all that she has to say on that subject.

At dinner she announced to the table that her children worry about her but she doesn't want them to worry, "So I lie. 'No, I haven't fallen down all week. Yes, I have a good appetite and eat most everything on my plate. Yes, I take a long walk every day if the weather is good.' I lie, and they feel better and it hurts nothing."

She steered her wheeled-walker towards the elevator. You could fold her up and put her in your pocket, if you were of the mind to.

Stu and I go do some errands

One night, after dinner, I knocked on Stu's door. "I am going out to do some errands. Would you like to come along?" Stu was coming up out of his Baccalounger in a second "You bet." He brought his walker.

All we did was go to the grocery store, the liquor store and a detour to see the Puget Sound and the Olympic Mountains. Even though he had spent most of his life in the state, he had stayed up in the foothills of the Cascades and this was all new to him. He loved it. I pointed out places of interest, historic sites and flowering trees and shrubs. He just took it all in.

"To be honest, having you along makes this 'an official trip'. " That was crap and Stu knew it. I liked having him along and it made the trip better. I was glad to have the company.

And he loved it. I plan on doing a lot more of this sort of thing as the days get longer this summer.

Angeline

She is a tiny owlish woman with more ticks than an abandoned sleeping bag. She blinks her eyes, scurries around like a neurotic cat and she has dozens of self-assigned tasks to complete. When we go shopping at the supermarket, she invariably has a list from at least one other resident and sometimes two lists to fill. She is convinced that without this service that she does, the other resident will surely starve--at the very least. She is all about punctuality--except for herself.

Once, in the middle of winter, the weather broke perfectly with blue skies allowing the Mountains to the west to show their latest snow covering in all of its glory. Since we were on the top of the hill and the mountain view was only a few blocks away, I suggested that we take a few minutes to swing around the hill and view the mountains. It was one of those days that everyone on the bus was a woman. The other girls loved it. They ohhed and awed at all of the appropriate places. A couple of them pointed out where they had lived. Everyone was having a great time. Everyone except Angeline. I could hear her in the back, saying 'shit!' and 'God damned it!' in short emphatic bursts. She wanted to get back and we weren't getting back nearly fast enough.

A month or so later, on another shopping trip, she became absolutely convinced that som of the bags had got mislabeled or something of the sort. She came off the bus cursing and damning us up-and-down. She was nearly beside herself. (Later, it became clear that there was nothing amiss.)

An hour later, she appeared with a letter for me. It was a letter of apology. It was not particularly easy-to-read for the handwriting, but she insisted that I read it; I was insisting that there was no need for apology. It was the usual fairly childish letter of apology. I looked up from reading it and said to Angeline: "But it's all right; you can't help it--you're Italian!" Angeline blinked a couple of times and brightened. This was exactly right! She was Italian! It wasn't her cursing me out but those aweful Italian DNA that she couldn't help. (She had told me she grew up in the Rainier Valley of Seattle when it was known as Ulcer Gulch for all of the Italians in the area.) She was delighted that she had apologized and better, she was off the hook. It wasn't Angeline, it was the cursed Italian blook that had made her swear and act badly.

She danced off to find another assignment.

Bill

I got a knock on the door of my apartment about 6:30 tonight. The nightman who is 'the company' presence all night, wanted to know if I could drive Bill to the hospital: "I can't get a cab to come here--they're all busy or something, but I haven't been able to get one."

I said "Of course" and started out the door. The nightman was sort of taken aback by the immediacy of my response. "Of course, if Bill has to get to the hospital, we go."

The nightman told me that Bil's temperture was 102.

Bill was waiting up in the front lobby sitting in a seat. Bill is 90 something and blind since his early adult years. Now, his hearing is going bad. He can hear but barely, everything has to be repeated and even then, sometimes not. I got him into the van and off for the hospital we went.

A few blocks from the New Pointe, he asked "What is the name of this cab company?" I told him that I was his normal driver and not a cab at all. "This one is on the house," I said.

We got up to the hospital and finally, a nurse got a hold of him and took him into an examing cubicle. Forget about the medical privacy act; Bill was telling the nurse that he was "93 years old, blind and I have a temperture of 102--what more do you need to know?"

Marge

Marge is 95 but dresses like a million bucks. She is always dressed in immaculate clothes with a nice eye to both color and cut. She has a short blue coat that any woman would love to wear. Her nails are better than perfect and of the brightest red possible. She walks with a walker, but erect and steady.

We had a wedding here recently. Two of the residents met here and fell in love. It happens. Sometimes, it happens just right and they decided to have the wedding here.

Marge showed up wearing a long black velvet dress, high heels and what I can only presume in my fashion illiteracy would be called a Bolero jacket. Anyway, it was a short jacket with a lovely black-and-white print that matched the skirt and Marge looked fabulous. She was in her fancy and loving it.

Stu

Stu just moved into New Pointe and he looks like a grumpy gus but I finally sat at his dinner table.

Seating in the dining hall is fairly regimented. And yet not so much as seems at first glance. You are assigned to a seat at a particular table. There are as many as six and as few as two people assigned to a table (one poor soul insists on sitting by herself). Your name is put on a little stand and there you are. You can request to move and it will be granted.

I have decided to not be assigned anywhere and instead, rotate from table to table every meal. It makes it more interesting and the residents seem to like it.

So tonight I found myself sitting down to dinner with Stu. He sounds gruff only because he is a large man of some eighty years or so and he grew up in the American Southwest. I asked about his childhood. He told a beautiful tale, beautifully told with a strong voice. "I was a 'widow's child' (I assume that means that his father died before he was born). There was talk of 'giving up the boy'. But my uncle came one day and told my mother 'He's your boy and you raise him. Find a way and stop this talk of 'giving up the boy'. He's yours and you raise him."

I couldn't help myself and verbally punched the air, saying "Good for your uncle". Stu didn't stop his story but acknowledged the sentiment. "And so there was no more talk of 'giving up the boy'. My mother did home baking and I went out once a week and sold donuts in the neighborhood."

"Eventually she took in two nephews that were ready to graduate from high school and even a neighbor boy."

Stu spoke with such dignity and conviction that it was very moving and yet simple. The simple story of the poor, to paraphrase Lincoln.

Dinner was very good with shrimp and tortelinnni. Stu only added to the food but it was all the better for him.

The Centurian

Tonight I went to dinner and sat with a nice group. On the way to the table, I spotted Henrietta. She is over a hundred years old and she dines in a wheelchair. But she doesn't look, act or talk like a hundred year old. She is clear as a bell, talks in a clear voice and is a lot of fun. Tonight, several of her tablemates were missing. She was alone. I asked her if she was alone and she offered that she didn't know if any of her people would show up or not. I said that I had already promised to have dinner at another table but I would come over and eat dessert with her.

I grabbed up my chocolate cake and headed over to Henrietta. One tablemate had shown up but she had left early and so she was sitting alone. I sat and we talked.

We had something in common: we both had had pneumonia as children. She had it when she was nine. She remembers that her mother and the doctor went into the other room to talk. They were whispering so that she couldn't hear but she heard the doctor say "If she wakes up, I think she'll pull through".

When I was a new born, at two months, I had pneumonia. The doctors gave me pennecilan and put me in an incubator. They told my father not to expect me to be alive in the morning.

After we were through eating but before we were through talking, Henrietta's caretaker came to wheel her back to her room. I offered to do it.

When we were through, I got behind the wheelchair and released the brakes. "Do you know how to work one of these?" Henrietta asked. "Hah! I wheeled more chairs than you have sat in when I was a cab driver. I'll show you how we handled these things!"

And away we went, briskly wheeling around tables, between the regular chairs, nearly running people over. Henrietta was loving it. So was everyone still left in the dining room.

I took her up to her apartment and got her in. She transferred to a wheeled walker. I left to walk the dog.

All in all, fun for everyone.

Bess

Bess had a major stroke but she is a gamer. One side of her face is distorted but her eyes still dance with a sparkle that cheers you up every time you see her.

The other day, she was sitting alone in the hallway, when I happened by. She beckoned me to her side and I kneeled down on the floor so that I could be at the same height.

The doctors checked out my hearing for my commercial driving license and told me that my hearing was fine. I told them that they were lying. It seems to me I am having a harder and harder time of hearing people. Or at the very least, understanding what they are saying. I have taken to leaning in, turning my head and trying to hear. Is it possible to squint your ear?

Bess looked around and made sure that no one was nearby. "Did you hear about the boys that bought their ninety year old father a girl? You know, a call girl or whatever?" I had heard a joke that started out vaguely like this, but to be honest I had forgotten the punch line. "So this beautiful girl goes and knocks on his door and he answers it. ' Yes, young lady, what can I do for you?' and she says 'Your sons sent me over to offer you super sex'. And the ninety year old says 'Then, I'll take the soup.'

Bess laughed and she was so happy to tell the story and tell it right. I admitted that I had heard it, forgotten it and was glad she told me the joke. I did love it.

It should be The Official Joke' of New Pointe.

My boss told me the other day that Bess used to be a singer with big bands back in the day. I intend to get the story out of her if I have to waterboard her. I bet it will take about fifteen seconds of tickling.

Food

It is a cliche but a retirement center resembles a kindergarten in some ways. Food is a surprizingly big deal. It isn't the food so much as the whole riggimole that goes with it.

First, there is the gathering for food and that has a choreography all its own. There are those, notably Dale, who rush to be at the front of the line. There is good natured kidding, greeting and acknowledgement. Clearly, some people are checking to see who 'has made it down'. Those not there ar noted and inquiries are made: "Are they getting their meals in the room; are they alright?"

It is not always that they physically can't make it down. Sometimes, they are depressed and don't want to come down. Some are just tired. A few don't want to see anyone and so it is easier to stay in their rooms. There is a lot of clucking that doesn't rise to the level of being able to be heard. "She gets this way. She'll snap out of it."

Food is judged on a scale of one to ten with only one and two, nine and ten used. There is no three to eight involved. Residents will confide to you that the food used to be much worse--or much better. "Tonight's apple pie was very good. If I was hungry, I would have had two pieces." And "Tonight's apple pie was very good. I am glad I wasn't very hungry."

Since food is such a big deal, I will be writting more on it later.

Tim

Tim is a large and imposing looking gent of some years. He has a beautiful full head of white hair. When he stands up he is well over six foot and barrel-chested. He has some mobility issues; he uses a wheeled walker and has a little trouble talking. He has a very slight stutter and I like him a lot.

He was a bus driver for years. He worked a while in administration but he got back behind the wheel for a few years at the end of his career.

But best of all, he was in vaudeville. He was a member of a three man roller skating act. Someone at one of the dining tables told me that and called him over. He rolled over to us and said that his was an opening act "because it had a lot of action." I jumped in "And because you had no scenary and could get off the stage fast." I love reading about vaudeville. He said "The best act was always 'next-to-last'." And I jumped in with "The last act was the worst because they wanted to drive the people out of the audience and empty the seats for the next crowd. The last act was called 'the haircut act' because all the performer saw was the haircuts of the audience as they filed out." Tim lit up; someone remembered.

I intend to corner Tim and get all the details. Vaudeville! You gotta love it!

The argument

Jaime and I took about a dozen of the residents to a waterfront restaurant.

Jaime was sitting at a table with Vera Mae and several others, including her boyfriend Barney. She and Barney got together when her previous boyfriend moved into a nursing home, where he had recentily died. Now, Vera Mae and Barney are an item.

Somehow during the lunch, the subject of where Barney had lived in New Mexico had come up for discussion. Barney said that he had lived in 'Old Town'. Vera Mae asked, naturally, where 'Old Town' was. Barney said 'New Mexico' Vera Mae asked 'Where in New Mexico?' Barney came back with 'Old Town'. Then, they got into it. Like a bad version of 'Who's on first?', they went back and forth with Vera Mae saying 'Old Town isn't a state.' And Barney saying 'No, New Mexico' and Vera Mae asking 'Where in New Mexioc?' and Barney back with 'Old Town' wherein Vera Mae would insist that 'Old Town' wasn't a state. This went on, unabated, for five minutes. Very little variation. Jaime was ready to scream, at the very least or maybe kill.

Later that night, Vera Mae had a heart tremor or maybe fell down or maybe she thought she fell down but the upshot was that she called the hospital and they felt that she should come in immediately for tests. Lots of tests.

So the ambulance came. We get a lot of that here at New Pointe. Seriously, about one a night on average. People fall, their heart beats irregularly or they start bleeding for no reason. The ambulance comes and they go. So Vera Mae went.

In the morning, Barney came up to me like a little boy who had lost his puppy. "My girl is in the hospital." Now I might not be the swiftest but I know what comes next. "Would you like a ride to the hospital to see her?" Barney's puppy was back. We went up the next day. The day after that, we went up and got her and brought her back.

From then on, I was top drawer as far as Barney is concerned. I think he even thanked me in his own way.

And to be honest, it was kinda nice to be able to do such a little thing that meant so much to them.

Holly and the question of age

Holly is a very elegant and sharp rsident here. We had gone out for doctor's appointments and on the way back there was Holly and Molly Ames in the van. Molly Ames was saying that she was eighty-eight. Holly suddenly barked from the back seat of the van that Molly was only eighty-six. "Shame on you for lying about your age. You are saying you're eighty-eight to get sympathy! You're only eighty-six and you know it."

Sad but true; Molly Ames had been lying. She was only eighty-six.

What was surprizing was the vehemence that Holly had taken after her (I half expected her to put poor eighty-six year old Molly in a headlock and make her fess up.

Age, even lack of it, seems to hold some importance around here.

Della

Della lives next door to me. Age has deformed her. He legs are bowlegged to the point where it is difficult for her to walk. Her head is bent forward and it is a fair amount of effort for her to lift it up to speak to you, but she always makes the effort. Her voice, like herself, is tiny.

For all of this, she is a gamer.

One sunny day, we loaded the 20 passenger bus about two-thirds full and headed off to an event. When we got there, it was clear that there was no room for us--even able-bodied people weren't getting in. Back we went. When we arrived, Della's little voice came out from the front seat "Well, it was fun to get out."

"Getting out" is very important for most of these people. It doesn't matter so much what we do, as long as we do it. A drive to see a sunset can be the highlight of the week.

Della needed my help one evening. Della can't sleep because of various problems, so she gets up two or three times a night, has an Ensure and then she can sleep for an hour or two. She needed me to open the Ensure.

For a product largely aimed at old people, Ensure comes in a box like Forrt Knox. After that, it is wrapped in ten nil plastic and finally, you have to break the safety seal--th operative word here being 'break'. Della was thrilled how I heroically tore through the triple packaging (I think she fully expected me to fly out threw the window ala Superman).

There was a picture in her entry hall. It was obviously old. A little girl of about two was shown and sitting beside her was a small stuffd toy monkey. It would melt your heart so that it would seep out of your toes. It was Della when she was two: "I would cry if I didn't have an animal with me or at the very least a stuffed toy. My parents brought the monkey to the studio."

Inside the living room was another framed picture. At first, I thought it was a painting. It was from the late Sixties. A couple were standing against the front panel of some muscle car of that era. The couple were both wearing sunglasses and standing very erect. The man was tall and handsome. The woman was wearing six inch weggies, those cork high heeled things that women favored when they had a tall husband or boyfriend. Della told me that it was a picture that she had someone blow up and frame. In the expansion of the photo, it took on the pantina of a painting. It was beautiful. I asked Della if it had been taken at Daytona. She was delighted that I knew it was Daytona: "How did you know?" Well, most beaches don't let cars on the sand and that looks like a pretty hot car.

It was her and her husband. She must have been something in her prime and this was a photo from her prime.

It must be nice to have had a great time with someone.

Slyvia

Slyvia is the keeper of the joint. You would love to have her as a Grandma.

She is as spicy as a good stew and ready for whatever you might dish out. Sarcasim is her favoite accent and she gives as well as she takes.

She was married to a politician and if there is a Republican in the room, she can smell him out like a rat terrier.

She has great stories but the best part is that she doesn't just live in the past.

And around here, she is superior because she can still drive.

Stevie

She is old but not as old as she looks. Or acts. There are signs of obvious physical problems. There is a two inch 'indentation' on her skull, under the hairline and near the temple. She has trouble walking and she is bent in several directions. But it is her mental state that is most noticeable. It is noticeable from down the hall, across the room or at the dining table. She has no self-confidence. She constantly apologizes for her behavior when it is certainly no worse and maybe even better than the average. She almost uses an apology as a way of greeting or conversationally like the weather. Nearly always, the first thing out of her mouth is an apology.

The other night, I was writing on the computer and the phone range. It was Stevie. She wanted to know if I was busy. I am the driver here and my hours do not normally extend into the evening. I assured her that I was doing nothing of importance. I had to drag it out of her: her television wasn't working. Could I come up and help her? I live below her, so her request was not much.

I looked at the television. I followed the cable to the outlet and that looked fine. The indicator light on the plug was on. Should be good. So I hit the 'power' button. The TV came to life. Problem solved. Stevie went into full apology storm. "Not a problem; glad to help." She would have none of it. According to her, the real problem was medical: "Normally, I am not like this."

I finally clawed the door open. Went downstairs and was back on the computer when the phone rang again. Stevie's TV was out.

"It's getting late. Have some tea and go to sleep and if the TV isn't working tomorrow, call me and I'll come up and fix it." This seemed like a good idea to Stevie and she adreed that was the very thing to do.

The next day, she approached squaking out apologies. Apparently, giving the TV a rest was exactly the thing and it now worked. A dozen layers of apoogies were laid about and I finally got away by assuring her that my mother had the same problems with her TV. Tiny in the measure of lies, but it worked and Stevie brightened considerably until the weight of her failure simply over-took her and she sat on a bench--retirement centers have lots of benches sprinkled in the lobby, the halls and generally anywhere where old people might have a cause to need a seat for a moment or longer--weary to the end-of-time and puzzled as to why she had such a hard time coping.

I told her what I tell nearly everyone here: "Stop being so hard on yourself. Relax. No one is expecting much and you've earned a rest. Relax."

I must give this speech a dozen times a day.

Purpose

At the beginning of 2008, I got a job driving at a retirement center. I was a tour driver and cab driver and it was time to move away from that. Tour driving is high demand and high stress in the summer and nothing in the winter. I had escaped from cab driving ten years ago and definitely did not want to go back to that racket. The retirement center offered a low demand job; I would be driving about three hours a day and about twenty miles a day--at most. More importantly, they offered me a room in the apartment complex and meals. Virtually 'thinkng free' work.

I also dumped my girlfriend of five years (or was she right and it was seven?) when she refused to give up her neurocices for me.

This blog is nothing more than an exercise in recording the stories, the events and the personalities of the people here at New Pointe. I am not even sure that thre is any real reason for writing this down, any more than there is a point to writing anything down.