We went to the fish fry at the old people's club today and as I looked around it occurred to me that the coffee waitresses were living in an episode of
The Golden Girls, an old TV sit-com. The whole place was sit-com material. Three-hundred-and-fifty people lined up like pigs at a feeding trough or waiting in line to pay a ridiculously low price for all-you-can-eat. I mean, what's the story behind why a bald guy standing in line was wearing rubber boots up to his arm pits in Michigan's February snows? And why doesn't a woman 80-something know by now that Bermuda shorts aren't appropriate attire for days when the winter wind is strong enough to tip cows over in the fields? And who let the young guy in who was wearing a jacket with a big bat on the front and the bloody letters "VA" on the back? And why aren't I smart enough to stay inside on a day like this? It's not as if Don's wheelchair is fitted with studded snow chains.
I've written about 'the club' before in an article published at Associated Content. That was last year before I learned about 'keyword density' and making things search engine compatible so consequently that article doesn't get much traffic. Even so, it's still one of my all-time favorite pieces of content. It touches on aphasia and the loneliness it brings plus it's laced with happy memories from more carefree days before the stroke, and people have said it has some funny moments. If you haven't read
Table Talk yet I hope you'll
click here because that article is getting cob webs on it, sitting back in the archives of unread AC material.
Jean Riva ©
Painting: The Debauchery of Prince Regent by James Gillray
1 comment:
Jean, your reflections make me realise I should take care to enjoy the simple moments in life.
One of my most beautiful memories is of family holidays where my sister and I (as adults, not children) used to play endless games of cards late into the night with our lovely bachelor uncles.
When one of those uncles had a stroke we tried huge playing cards, in an attempt to get him interested in a game again. But it was no use. He had moved on to a different stage of his life, so I had to hold close the happy memories of what at the time was an unpretentious and simple amusement.
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