Where Are You Big Bird?

It was a good thing I wasn't really hungry. We had an 11am appointment to take dad to an assisted living place for a tour and then they ushered us into the large dining room for "dinner." What is it about these places that believe old people want to eat "dinner" at noon? Actually, my dad would rather eat "dinner" at eight. After the cocktail hour. But, I guess those days are kind of over. At 84 he's lost driving, living alone and eating when he wants to. Kind of lost the cocktail hour too, but that's a different story. A sort of shy looking girl came by with a cart and asked if we'd like salad. "Do you have any diet dressing?" I inquired. Hey, it was worth a shot. Actually, she handed me a packet of fat free ranch, and I was happy, but I did kind of wonder, how older people with arthiritis would open it. Then came another girl with a cart, this time with little plastic glasses of liquid in them. I couldn't help but think they looked like the pretend dishes my youngest daughters used when they played with their dolls. Pretend this is real. Pretend you're in your own home. Pretend you're not drinking out of tiny plastic doll glasses. We got to choose between apple juice, milk or....really I'm not kidding (I was going to say making this up, but that's so Dave Barry)...prune juice. I asked if they had coffee, and thank goodness they did, and I gratefully turned over the china mug in front of me and let her pour. Sigh. What in the world is the main course going to be? I didn't have to wait long. Chow Mein or Meatballs. The chow mein looked....well...interesting. I said "meat balls please." So did dad. My sister Cathi chose the Chinese option, but looking over at her plate, I don't think she touched it. Dad hardly ate a bite, but I suppose he was kind of nervous being in a new place and all. He did eat the bread pudding dessert though. Good move on their part. Bread pudding. Dad loves that. We looked at the room and it really was great, and had sliding glass doors to a tiny patio and an area where we could put chairs for him to sit outside. He'd like that. Then we had "the meeting." The one where they ask you all the questions, and you hope you answer correctly so your loved one "passes" the test. That's when it became kind of...well...funny. I know it wasn't supposed to be. Really, I was trying to be good. It's just that, the head lady...what was her name?...well, I can't remember...but she was sitting across this big mahogony desk and asking us all these questions and that's when I asked her about times the residents have to be home, like if there was a certain "curfew" or something. Anyway, she smiles. Looks straight at me and says: Okay now I really can't resist because it sooooo fits....And I'm not making this up...."This isn't a facility...we want you to think of this as your neighborhood..." Well, I want you to know , right then and there, as the mother of six kids, who has made it through 23 years of "Sesame Street" my mind wandered immediately to the themesong of that show...you mom's out there know which one I mean..."We are the People in your neighborhood....in your neighborhood...." Oh dear. Not a good plan. I started to laugh. Not just a little giggle... no way... a real, out loud...LAUGH. Right there, in the office of this...some kind of important, old people place person's office. "Your Neighborhood?" This place was going to be my dad's "Neighborhood?" Oh dear. They totally didn't know why I was laughing. And now really...did I? It's just that it was kind of one of those "What's it all about Alfie?" kind of moments when you wonder: "Does life do a complete turnaround, from pre-schooler to the elderly? Are we all going to living in a "Sesame Street" neighborhood in our 80's? Are we doomed to drink out of doll sized plastic glasses?" All I know is I think the important lady behind the desk found an extra room for me at this place...with padded walls. But that's okay...as long as I get my own patio, unlimited coffee...and "Oscar The Grouch" brings chocolate!

We've Been Talking To Your Neighbors......

I can't believe it just happened again. There's a loud knock at the front door, and I race upstairs like I always do, assuming it's someone I know, or actually want to talk to. Or maybe the muscle bound electric company workers wanting me to move my car again. But, no. It's two overly cheerful guys with clipboards and the same ole familiar phrase. "We have some appointments with your neighbors this week and we're..."
"Stop!!" I interrupted. "Let me guess.Windows?"

They actually looked surprised. How did I know? Well, maybe because it's like ...the FIFTH time this month I've had the same visitors. Well, not actually the same exact visitors, but guys with clipboards, wanting to give me quotes on new windows, and who ALL reported having appointments with my neighbors. What I don't get is WHY they aren't over at these neighbors if they have so many appointments with them? Is our street on some kind of crazy internet list out there, advertising homes with the shabbiest looking windows? Is there some kind of statistic that says the tenth time you knock and talk the owner will finally cave and sign up for $20,000 in tempered glass and frames? I don't get it. Why do these guys think "We've been talking to your neighbors" is a persuasive sales technique? Maybe I should have asked them to point out "which neighbors?" Was it the one who had the political sign out for the guy I thought was sleaze-ball nut case? Or maybe the one who starts his diesel truck every Saturday morning at 5am? Yeah. I shoulda asked. Hmm, maybe I should actually consider this a little more. Who knows....with better windows, I could see even more of what's going on out there in the neighborhood, or at least spot the next two guys peddling something with clipboards...in time to hide.