I sit in my wheelchair dozing. I am just another old man, lost in a dream world. I am still in my pajamas; I had a good night’s rest but still I doze. A dozen ideas for journal entries swirl through my head but I lack the incentive to try to get them typed. I sit by my picture window and look at the world outside. The wild winds have stopped and been replaced by gentle rain and overcast sky. There will be no star or moon gazing tonight.
A mocking bird has built a nest in a bush just outside my window. It is strange to be so low, but it is all right, there are no cats in our court yard. She dashes back and forth, in an out of the bush. I wonder if she is still nest building, or is she busy feeding hungry fledglings. Will I get to see the babies try their wings. I’d love to see that first frantic fluttering flight.
Time to dress and go get a pancake; it is pancake day at the old folks’ home. I wonder which cook is on duty this holiday; well done pancake chef or under-done flabby doughy mess-around in the kitchen self-anointed would-be cook. Pity I finished my store-bought bran muffins yesterday.
The care givers just came in and dressed the old man, and they told me I am an hour early. It is seven, not eight am. Time for more reflections.
I had a nice day yesterday; grandson who lives in Phoenix and his wife, grandson who is single, daughter and husband were all here, and we went to lunch. Grandfather sat in the middle and was the center of attention. I was puffed up plenty. Later we came back to the old folks home and had a good visit with laughter and reminiscences.
In the evening I was responsible for getting our volunteer pianist. George, set up with lights and coffee. I went to the dining room and got some Lentil soup, a favorite of mine, in a coffee cup and took it to the parlor where George was already playing.
George has a peculiar way of choosing the songs he will play in an evening. He has an extensive library of sheet music, sixty one hundred selections in fact. They are all catalogued and in alphabetical order. And that’s the way he plays them, alphabetically. Last night it was the W’s. Every song started with W, and proceeded in alphabetical order. It makes a funny mix. The ballad Waiting was followed by the rousing Waitin’ for the Robert E. Lee with the practically unknown Waiting at the Station alphabetically in between.
Last night in an hour and a half George played one half of his collection of songs starting with W. It takes four evenings to play through the I’s, with all the songs starting with I, I’ve, I’ll, and Is. Is you Is or Is you ain’t my baby.
After George was through and headed for home my responsibilities were finished and I tried to watch a bit of television but I finished the evening with a pain pill and a flop into bed. It was a glorious and fun filled day.