Sunday, November 26, 2017
426: A MOUSE AND A BUCKET OF DOOM
I was enjoying my peppermint tea when the phone rang. It was my senior friend M.
A long time widow, M is holding on to her small bungalow like cheese to pizza. She has friends of all ages, and a bunch of sweet relatives who visit often.
M hates wrestling with weeds, so I became her gardener.
But this phone call wasn't about weeds.
"There's mouse poop in my cereal cupboard," she wailed loud enough to bother bullfrogs in South Carolina.
I told her to sit tight. I'd be straight over. Ten minutes later I knocked on M's door. She opened it, eyes wide.
"I can't go into my kitchen until that mouse is gone."
"Don't worry. I have a plan." I carried in a bucket and a bag of sunflower seeds.
M looked at me.
"What are you going to do? Don't you need a mouse trap to catch mice?"
"Mice are crafty little devils, well versed in the art of eating and running. Let me try an idea I found on the internet."
M sighed and sat on her husband's once favorite chair. I filled the bucket with water, leaving six inches of space at the top, spread sunflower seeds evenly over the water and placed the bucket near the scene of the crime.
M waited in the big chair.
"Okay, M, the trap is set, but what about your dinner?"
"I'll go across the street and eat with B," she said."
Both long time widows, B and M look out for each other. I gave M a hug and went home. Next morning, crack of dawn, my phone rang. It was M.
"I'm too frightened to go check that bucket, she whispered, as if the mouse could hear every word.
"I'll be right there."
I biked up the street and rang M's bell. She whipped her door open like she was expecting an all night rave. She motioned toward her kitchen.
"I can't go in there."
I tiptoed into the kitchen as if stalking a moose and stared into the bucket. There was a mouse. Floating. Feet up. Like it had just discovered the truth about life, that sometimes what looks like a good thing, turns out to be a dud.
"M," I shouted, "your mouse is no more, it's done, gone and never more will it poop in your cereal cupboard."
"WAIT," M hollered.
"Let me turn up my hearing aid."
"M, your mouse is KAPUT."
"Oh, thank you."
"M, let's go outside. You need to show me where you'd like me to plant these perfectly good sunflower seeds."
"We'll give the mouse a proper burial at the same time, and then go to Cory's for breakfast. The pancakes are to die for."
Thursday, July 17, 2014
337: ACROSS THE TABLES
So I volunteer a couple hours a week busing tables at a senior residence I call "The Ranch."
My 90 something year old neighbor moved into TR a year ago, after finding herself flat on the floor of her kitchen wondering what the heck happened.
She was cooking dinner in her small bungalow.
W is a widow, no children. However, back in the day, she and her husband sponsored a child from India and helped him complete his education. W and her husband never met their sponsored child, but they received regular photos and thank you letters.
W is always in a good mood, even though she has severe back problems. She has a bunch of loving nieces and nephews who visit her regularly.
W was coaxed into downsizing to TR which is a fifteen minute walk from her former home.
I met W after dropping a flyer into her mailbox wanting to know if she needed help with her garden.
Yes she did, and thus we began a friendship that is still going strong. She still has my house key in case I lock myself out like I did on a snowy night last winter.
The building in which W now resides, was a long time coming.
Some local residents vehemently opposed having a senior home built in the area. Some of their reasons were:
*Seniors will make noise.
(That's right. Seniors never go to bed. They party like rock stars all night long, banging on drums, playing Alice Cooper, yodeling off their balconies at three a.m.)
*Seniors don't buy anything, so business will suffer.
(Yeah? You mean seniors never buy food, toys for children, themselves and grandchildren, gas for their cars, groceries?) They never need services such as mechanics, plumbers, podiatrists, hair salons, massage artists? I could go on.
*Seniors who can't afford to live in this area, should get the hockey stick out of here and find a cheap spot off-island.
(Oh so you mean those same seniors who paid school, work and property taxes, volunteered at local churches, in schools, at day care centers, you name it- those same seniors who built homes, raised children, and created businesses.. those people are not wanted now that they are a certain age?)
*Seniors will take up all the parking spots at the local pubs, grocery stores, art stores, etc.
This might come as a stunner, but most of the seniors in TR do not own cars. They bus it, or ride the TR van to run their errands.
There is enough parking underground and in the side lot of TR for every car owned by the residents with space to spare.
*"I walk my dog on the property where they want to build TR. I don't want to lose my dog walking area."
Not making this up.
After a long battle, petitions signed, doors knocked on, slammed, issues explained, meetings held, questions answered, TR was built.
A case of "the little guy won."
TR was built low, so that it would blend into the surrounding area. You have to know where it is, it's so neatly tucked into the side of another already built edifice.
Who moved into TR?
Autonomous seniors such as widows, singles, couples.
One resident is 98 years old.
I got curious about how a home such as TR operates, so I offered to help with lunch.
Not cooking lunch. We volunteers set tables, carry loaded meal trays for those who need help, and put dishes away after everyone has eaten. I work with another volunteer.
So this means we volunteers are in the belly of the beast, and will learn everything about what it's like to live in an ILR.
W managed her transition with a positive manner.
She is doing fine in her chosen two bedroom second floor front apartment.
All her furniture, except the dining room table fit into her new space.
She pays $1700 a month, which includes underground parking, wifi, heat, electricity and one meal a day.
There are one bedroom and bachelor apartments available for less money.
The only thing W doesn't have is a washer and dryer in her unit.
That's down the hall.
But there is bus service to downtown five minutes away and TR will soon have a van for taking residents shopping.
W got busy decorating her apartment. So far I haven't heard a single complaint from her.
I've been checking the lunch menu though, and it's not getting an A plus on some days, because it's catered from a local restaurant.
In other words, my mom, the master chef, would not be amused.
Today, it was mushroom soup, an egg roll with rice, or mushroom soup, an omelet, and some fried zucchini.
Jello or fresh strawberries for dessert.
The egg roll looked like something the neighbor's cat deposited in my garden. (I love cats, so I tolerate it.)
The rice looked like it was spray painted with tar.
The omelet looked like a hunk of insulation.
I didn't taste any of this, but my eyes are pretty sharp.
Lunch is at 12 noon, and if a resident is absent, their meal is kept for them to pick up later.
Activities so far?
Bingo
Knitting
Jigsaw puzzles
Not much so far, but the place is just getting started.
More residents will bring more activities.
Does everyone get along in TR lunch room?
So far, everything seems tickety boo.
Some residents show up, get their food on a tray and disappear back to their rooms.
A new resident walked in last week and when we introduced ourselves as volunteers, she proclaimed we will rarely see her, as she is a very private person and doesn't like small talk, or sitting around a lunch table with strangers.
She said her son made her move into TR.
I overheard a male resident tell his table mates that his computer cost $8,000 dollars.
He says he is a psychologist.
W later told me she has his number.
She asked him what university he attended.
"Oh, I didn't go to university. I taught myself how to analyze people."
W is giving that dude a wide berth.
"I don't believe a word he says."
W wasn't born yesterday.
I wish W still had her house.
I want a rewind.
"And what's it for, that little empty garden by the brownstone door?"
(Elton John, Empty Garden)
My 90 something year old neighbor moved into TR a year ago, after finding herself flat on the floor of her kitchen wondering what the heck happened.
She was cooking dinner in her small bungalow.
W is a widow, no children. However, back in the day, she and her husband sponsored a child from India and helped him complete his education. W and her husband never met their sponsored child, but they received regular photos and thank you letters.
W is always in a good mood, even though she has severe back problems. She has a bunch of loving nieces and nephews who visit her regularly.
W was coaxed into downsizing to TR which is a fifteen minute walk from her former home.
I met W after dropping a flyer into her mailbox wanting to know if she needed help with her garden.
Yes she did, and thus we began a friendship that is still going strong. She still has my house key in case I lock myself out like I did on a snowy night last winter.
The building in which W now resides, was a long time coming.
Some local residents vehemently opposed having a senior home built in the area. Some of their reasons were:
*Seniors will make noise.
(That's right. Seniors never go to bed. They party like rock stars all night long, banging on drums, playing Alice Cooper, yodeling off their balconies at three a.m.)
*Seniors don't buy anything, so business will suffer.
(Yeah? You mean seniors never buy food, toys for children, themselves and grandchildren, gas for their cars, groceries?) They never need services such as mechanics, plumbers, podiatrists, hair salons, massage artists? I could go on.
*Seniors who can't afford to live in this area, should get the hockey stick out of here and find a cheap spot off-island.
(Oh so you mean those same seniors who paid school, work and property taxes, volunteered at local churches, in schools, at day care centers, you name it- those same seniors who built homes, raised children, and created businesses.. those people are not wanted now that they are a certain age?)
*Seniors will take up all the parking spots at the local pubs, grocery stores, art stores, etc.
This might come as a stunner, but most of the seniors in TR do not own cars. They bus it, or ride the TR van to run their errands.
There is enough parking underground and in the side lot of TR for every car owned by the residents with space to spare.
*"I walk my dog on the property where they want to build TR. I don't want to lose my dog walking area."
Not making this up.
After a long battle, petitions signed, doors knocked on, slammed, issues explained, meetings held, questions answered, TR was built.
A case of "the little guy won."
TR was built low, so that it would blend into the surrounding area. You have to know where it is, it's so neatly tucked into the side of another already built edifice.
Who moved into TR?
Autonomous seniors such as widows, singles, couples.
One resident is 98 years old.
I got curious about how a home such as TR operates, so I offered to help with lunch.
Not cooking lunch. We volunteers set tables, carry loaded meal trays for those who need help, and put dishes away after everyone has eaten. I work with another volunteer.
So this means we volunteers are in the belly of the beast, and will learn everything about what it's like to live in an ILR.
W managed her transition with a positive manner.
She is doing fine in her chosen two bedroom second floor front apartment.
All her furniture, except the dining room table fit into her new space.
She pays $1700 a month, which includes underground parking, wifi, heat, electricity and one meal a day.
There are one bedroom and bachelor apartments available for less money.
The only thing W doesn't have is a washer and dryer in her unit.
That's down the hall.
But there is bus service to downtown five minutes away and TR will soon have a van for taking residents shopping.
W got busy decorating her apartment. So far I haven't heard a single complaint from her.
I've been checking the lunch menu though, and it's not getting an A plus on some days, because it's catered from a local restaurant.
In other words, my mom, the master chef, would not be amused.
Today, it was mushroom soup, an egg roll with rice, or mushroom soup, an omelet, and some fried zucchini.
Jello or fresh strawberries for dessert.
The egg roll looked like something the neighbor's cat deposited in my garden. (I love cats, so I tolerate it.)
The rice looked like it was spray painted with tar.
The omelet looked like a hunk of insulation.
I didn't taste any of this, but my eyes are pretty sharp.
Lunch is at 12 noon, and if a resident is absent, their meal is kept for them to pick up later.
Activities so far?
Bingo
Knitting
Jigsaw puzzles
Not much so far, but the place is just getting started.
More residents will bring more activities.
Does everyone get along in TR lunch room?
So far, everything seems tickety boo.
Some residents show up, get their food on a tray and disappear back to their rooms.
A new resident walked in last week and when we introduced ourselves as volunteers, she proclaimed we will rarely see her, as she is a very private person and doesn't like small talk, or sitting around a lunch table with strangers.
She said her son made her move into TR.
I overheard a male resident tell his table mates that his computer cost $8,000 dollars.
He says he is a psychologist.
W later told me she has his number.
She asked him what university he attended.
"Oh, I didn't go to university. I taught myself how to analyze people."
W is giving that dude a wide berth.
"I don't believe a word he says."
W wasn't born yesterday.
I wish W still had her house.
I want a rewind.
"And what's it for, that little empty garden by the brownstone door?"
(Elton John, Empty Garden)
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
328: TABLE TALK
I'm going to do a reading of my book in a senior home.
Should be interesting.
The residents are from seventy something into their nineties.
Mostly widows.
They have recently moved in and are getting to know each other.
Some came from other provinces, like Ontario. Others downsized from large homes.
There are two men.
Two cute, dapper men.
The director guided me through pristine clean halls to a bright dining room decorated with flowers.
Five round tables readied with tablecloths, cutlery.
Pots of fresh flowers.
A lone woman worked on a crossword puzzle.
Couple minutes later, several more residents arrived, some holding canes, others a little bent over, but every single one smiling.
The kitchen is eat off the floor/ state of the art, so whoever ends up being hired as chef, will feel like he or she is in Paris.
"This is where you will do your reading."
Cool.
"And then you will stay for lunch."
Even cooler.
Should be interesting.
The residents are from seventy something into their nineties.
Mostly widows.
They have recently moved in and are getting to know each other.
Some came from other provinces, like Ontario. Others downsized from large homes.
There are two men.
Two cute, dapper men.
The director guided me through pristine clean halls to a bright dining room decorated with flowers.
Five round tables readied with tablecloths, cutlery.
Pots of fresh flowers.
A lone woman worked on a crossword puzzle.
Couple minutes later, several more residents arrived, some holding canes, others a little bent over, but every single one smiling.
The kitchen is eat off the floor/ state of the art, so whoever ends up being hired as chef, will feel like he or she is in Paris.
"This is where you will do your reading."
Cool.
"And then you will stay for lunch."
Even cooler.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
318: SCARING SENIORS
Ads aimed at seniors:
Have you made your will yet? Are you suffering from hemorrhoids, sore back, bungy knees, can't sit, fart on command, do 50 pushups, hate your lumpy ass, wanna get fit, worried about someone breaking into your house, and hey, is your basement leaking, pipes frozen, heart making weird noises when you tie your shoelaces, is your closet full of fire ants, do you have bed bugs, is there a rotten tree hanging over your car, was that a wind storm, did your car drive over a homeless skunk where will you bury the body?
Is it time to call ghostbusters, is your house alarmed properly does your garage door open every time you rip a fart or press home on your phone, who did your colonoscopy, wasn't that the doctor who was sued for malpractice, do you need a whole new set of clappers, do your undies cover your entire butt, don't you think it's time to start giving your house, clothes, furniture away you need to move into a smaller space, you don't need a big house, here, try this mini mart, see even your cat fits sideways, you don't need anything bigger.
Have you started doing your spring cleaning, throwing away those old hockey cards, was that a ufo, is there life after death and if so what kind of life, do you want to apply for a one way ticket to Mars who put that box on my front steps, is it time to give up your car keys hey I saw that, you didn't wait in line.
Get off the dance floor, geezers.
Hair. You need hair. Here lemme show you how to hide that bald spot. You know you can't face the world as is, you gotta fake stuff, or you won't get a job. Like okay, those legs will always be short, so why not wear stilts, nobody will notice.
You need glasses. See- you can't drive without getting those eyes tested, here give me those car keys you could maim someone, I don't wanna be responsible for your driving errors. Watch it, no senior should ever back up in a parking lot.
Whaddaya mean you want to sit in the senior seat, we got here first, so get your wizzened butt out, teens need to sit down too dontcha know.
You want to join this hip hop group, lady- aren't you a little old to be bopping around a dance studio, shouldn't you be playing bingo or baking brownies?
Seniors.
Talking about my generation.
Note to advertisers:
Take off, hosers!
Have you made your will yet? Are you suffering from hemorrhoids, sore back, bungy knees, can't sit, fart on command, do 50 pushups, hate your lumpy ass, wanna get fit, worried about someone breaking into your house, and hey, is your basement leaking, pipes frozen, heart making weird noises when you tie your shoelaces, is your closet full of fire ants, do you have bed bugs, is there a rotten tree hanging over your car, was that a wind storm, did your car drive over a homeless skunk where will you bury the body?
Is it time to call ghostbusters, is your house alarmed properly does your garage door open every time you rip a fart or press home on your phone, who did your colonoscopy, wasn't that the doctor who was sued for malpractice, do you need a whole new set of clappers, do your undies cover your entire butt, don't you think it's time to start giving your house, clothes, furniture away you need to move into a smaller space, you don't need a big house, here, try this mini mart, see even your cat fits sideways, you don't need anything bigger.
Have you started doing your spring cleaning, throwing away those old hockey cards, was that a ufo, is there life after death and if so what kind of life, do you want to apply for a one way ticket to Mars who put that box on my front steps, is it time to give up your car keys hey I saw that, you didn't wait in line.
Get off the dance floor, geezers.
Hair. You need hair. Here lemme show you how to hide that bald spot. You know you can't face the world as is, you gotta fake stuff, or you won't get a job. Like okay, those legs will always be short, so why not wear stilts, nobody will notice.
You need glasses. See- you can't drive without getting those eyes tested, here give me those car keys you could maim someone, I don't wanna be responsible for your driving errors. Watch it, no senior should ever back up in a parking lot.
Whaddaya mean you want to sit in the senior seat, we got here first, so get your wizzened butt out, teens need to sit down too dontcha know.
You want to join this hip hop group, lady- aren't you a little old to be bopping around a dance studio, shouldn't you be playing bingo or baking brownies?
Seniors.
Talking about my generation.
Note to advertisers:
Take off, hosers!
Thursday, June 20, 2013
277: FOOD BANK
It had to happen sooner or later. Today I served one of my night school classmates.
He's new to Canada, married with three children.
Studying French to get a job here in Quebec.
He never skips class.
I hope he finds success.
He's new to Canada, married with three children.
Studying French to get a job here in Quebec.
He never skips class.
I hope he finds success.
Monday, April 8, 2013
267: USED TO BE'S
"I used to volunteer here.. never thought I'd be standing on the other side of the counter."
"We all travel some rough roads."
"Yeah, and you know, I just quit my job at the worst possible time."
"The recession, and all that."
"What were you doing?"
"I was a hairstylist."
"Five buck tips, on my feet all day, touchy grabby boss."
"I might regret it, but I am looking for something completely different."
"We all travel some rough roads."
"Yeah, and you know, I just quit my job at the worst possible time."
"The recession, and all that."
"What were you doing?"
"I was a hairstylist."
"Five buck tips, on my feet all day, touchy grabby boss."
"I might regret it, but I am looking for something completely different."
Monday, September 19, 2011
188: LOOKING OUT HIS BACK DOOR
He walks in head down, he's wearing a faded green dress shirt over jeans. Maybe the shirt was once his best for work.
His hands gently place two grocery bags on the counter.
We look at each other. We're about the same age. Sixty something.
The look on his face reflects resignation, sadness.
A face called "Rock Bottom."
A first timer, he tells me. Doesn't know the drill. Should he hand me the permission slip or?
I take his paper, smile, ask him what kind of breads he would like.
"Oh anything you have."
We chat over the counter. Small talk. No probing questions.
But he wants to tell his story.
"My wife and I were living in a nice part of Montreal, planning our retirement. The money we had invested in Europe suddenly evaporated due to some crooked scheme it would take too long to explain to you."
"My wife died thirty days after hearing that news."
"I had to sell everything, move to a smaller place. Now I live above a pizza parlor, but it's better than being homeless."
"My social worker gave me the food bank address. It's the first time in my life I have had to walk in and ask for food."
I loaded him up with veggies, fruit and bread, shook his hand.
He turned to leave.
"It can happen to anyone. You think you're all set up, then boom.
You have nothing."
His hands gently place two grocery bags on the counter.
We look at each other. We're about the same age. Sixty something.
The look on his face reflects resignation, sadness.
A face called "Rock Bottom."
A first timer, he tells me. Doesn't know the drill. Should he hand me the permission slip or?
I take his paper, smile, ask him what kind of breads he would like.
"Oh anything you have."
We chat over the counter. Small talk. No probing questions.
But he wants to tell his story.
"My wife and I were living in a nice part of Montreal, planning our retirement. The money we had invested in Europe suddenly evaporated due to some crooked scheme it would take too long to explain to you."
"My wife died thirty days after hearing that news."
"I had to sell everything, move to a smaller place. Now I live above a pizza parlor, but it's better than being homeless."
"My social worker gave me the food bank address. It's the first time in my life I have had to walk in and ask for food."
I loaded him up with veggies, fruit and bread, shook his hand.
He turned to leave.
"It can happen to anyone. You think you're all set up, then boom.
You have nothing."
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