Me and My Colaborator, James Whitcomb Riley

 " Chuck, I need a poem to go on the bulletin board, for Father's Day.  Can you find one on the Internet?" Kathy, the activity director at the Old Folks' Home, asked the question while staring at the blank board.

   "Sure," I said automatically. One can find anything on the Internet. Right?

   Well I looked and was directed to book sellers and anthologies of epic odes.  "I could make up one quicker than this," I thought So I did.

   It was simple, told a little story, and was sentimental. "What if she asks who wrote it," I asked myself.  She doesn't want home grown junk.  She wants a classic. Quick I thought, who wrote sentimental stuff. Ah, I will tell her that it is from James Whitcomb Riley. That will satisfy her as to it's worth...he is a genuine author.

   She didn't ask.  She merely said "It's too long. I need one page."  Back to the drawing board. I edited it like mad making compound sentences out of whole paragraphs.

   "Is this all right?"

   She barely glanced at it,....Heck, if fit the space. "Fine," she said.

   So here is the prose piece that James Whitcomb Riley and I wrote for the Father's day bulletin board.

DAD

I was too tiny to remember, but Dad took me out of the play pen and put me on the carpet to learn to crawl

Dad held my hand when I began to toddle and held my hand when we went for walks

Dad lifted me high when the waves broke around us and held the back of my swim suit so I could dog paddle and clapped and cheered when I swam across the pool alone

Dad cheered when I ran my first race in high school.,.. And cheered when I came in third…..from last.

Dad taught me to drive and gave me the keys to the car so I could go on my first date.

Dad was my Best Man and held the wedding ring so I could place it on her finger.

Dad walked the waiting room when I waited for my first baby and Dad took the baby out of the play pen so she could learn to crawl.

Two New Photos

 

   Things have calmed down since my last frenetic entry.  I have located and talked to my Cousin Bertha. Yep, she was in a hospital and resting comfortably.

   I was able to log into Photobucket and upload my two neat pictures.  The first by a professional photographer Roger Wyan who took it as part of a documentary he is making about Hospice Patients. It went along with a long interview and I guess I did all right.. I only cried twice.  It is a neat photo of me at my daily job... adding entries to my blog.  He let me use it here.  thanks Roger.

 

                                Copyright2008 Roger J. Wyan

   And this homemade photo of me visiting with my great-grandson Evan.  It was the first time I had seen him.  He is four months old and as happy a baby as I have seen.  He smiled at Great-grandfather, and that  means a lot

Shown are Evan, four months, his dad, Luke, his grandmother and grandfather Jo and Steve and me, Great-grandfather.  I guess you can figure out who is who.

Cfushed

I cnnot explain how ctushed I feel this morning.  M toolbar is gone AGAIN and I cannot connect to Dribble without a battle.  Then I try to reach olf familiar photobucket to add a picture of my new great grandson.. and I cannot.  Bucket has about four different main pages and I always reache the wrong one... the tool bur used to keep me straight.  Finally I rech the log in oage and try to log u=in.. it wont accepot my password... somehow I have THAT wrong too.  fo I ask for my opass word and it says..NOT in database.  I paid them real money..twenty five bucks or more..and they dont recognise my name anynore.  so I come back here and thpe this without  proofingin it.  It just shows how depressed I am.  I feel the frustration in the oit of my stomach.  and I dont mine whining about it. sorry angie

   And, that's not all.  I tried to make my usual morning call to my Cousin Bertha, age 92, at the hospital where I talked to her yestrerday mornng, and am told "She's NOT a patient here."  I understand... maybe they/ve moved her to another hospital.. sure..but where?  Can the operator tell me? No, of coursse not. 

   At least she didn't tel me to call the "looooong distance" operatoer.  A grim joke like that wojld have been all I could take this morning. 

   Cursed... I TOLD THE MACHINE... 14 POIHT. And it came jp tiny ten or something less.

Hey, I Didn't Get No Brown Sugar

   The first thing we learn as children, as soon as we can speak sentences is "please" and "thank you". And judging by the conversations in the dining room of the old folks home, it is the first to go when we get old.  Here, as a convenience to those you you who may visit an old folks home is an interpretation from old folks lingo to normal polite English.

 

Hey, I didn't get no brown sugar

Translation: May I have some brown sugar

You forgot my grapefruit

Translation: May I have some Grapefruit, please.

You're in MY chair.

Translation: If you'd like to sit there toeay, I will move over here.

Coffee!

Translastion: May I have a refill, please.

A Year and a Half

Answering your question. How many nights does it generally take George to finish the whole alphabet?  Jackie.

George is a wonderful volunteer.  He comes weekly, seats himself aa the piano and plays for TWO HOURS. Most musicians play for an hour when they come, but George is just getting warmed up at the one hour mark.  And he holds his senior audience too,  remarkable feat.

George doesn't take requests...he plays alphabetically through his immense catalogue of songs. Show tunes popular songs ballads, and sing-alongs all appear...in order of their titles. If there are four torch songs in a row, that's the way we will hear them.

He used to take requests. He would write down the title of the tune you wanted to hear. During the week he would find it in his library, and bring in and play it the next time he came.  But he found that, even when he done the search, brought it, and played it...the person who requested it forgot to come that evening. Then he had to replace it in its exact spot in the library. So now he sticks to the alphabet.  And we love it.  We hear songs we would never have heard if he used any other system of making his play list.

But to answer your question... what was the question?

How many nights does it generally take George to finish the whole alphabet?

Oh yes, thank you.

We have gone through the alphabet with George at least once... and it took A YEAR AND A HALF.

Shall We Dance?

   John, nearly ninety, loves to dance.  When there is music of any kind he is tapping his toe or bouncing.  He is married but he'll ask any lady handy to dance.

   It is fun to see the ladies he chooses.  Ladies whom you would never suspect could walk across the room will dance with him, polka, foxtrot, jitterbug, or waltz.

   The other evening I was playing a Memorial Day Tribute to our honored dead on my keyboard.  I chose to read In Flanders Fields, a somber poem and play soft elegiac background music.  However I had just started the funeral music when John appeared and started to dance to  the dirge.

   I had to seat him next to me and actually hold his hands to keep him from snapping his fingers in rhythm to the hymn. It was amusing, but it somehow spoiled the seriousness of the moment. Some people were born to dance...no matter what.

Memorial DAy

  I have a feeling that Memorial Day will not be very memorable. It started at breakfast with the "silent treatment".

ME Oh, great the pancakes are served with strawberries and whipped cream.  I love 'em like that.

TABLEMATE. (Stares silently at me)

ME (Hearing some some coughs) Do kids still get Whooping Cough? I know they still get measles and mumps but I don;t hear about Whooping Cough anymore.

TABLEMATE (Stares silently at me)

   So I left and began reading journals. My daughter IM'd me and asked "How was 'Fun and Fitness'?"  I had complexly forgotten I was supposed to play my keyboard for Fun and Fitness.  I hurried to the parlor, but nobody was there.  Zero.  No Fitness...No Fun

   The housekeepers are off today... no room cleaning, no bed making.  The laundry lady is here, thank goodness, and picked up clothes to be washed.  But there is no staff, no activity director, the activity board is blank. Even our Rummy game is questionable...one player got her feelings hurt and has quit, and she was the only one who talked there.  It will be a silent game without her.