In spite of our long days and the swiftness of these passing years We’ve reluctantly grown old Old as in running out of time The potholed street of aging leads to a cul de sac of convalescence Age robs us of youths vanities It rubs our hair off, dulls our eyesight and deafens our hearing We slowly cave in on ourselves We can no longer get by on our sexiness or youthful bravado We’re left with a fading wit and the shreds of a once charmed personality This leaves some bitter, while others are liberated There’s nothing more attractive than someone who no longer gives a shit about what others think of them Shriveled skin, brittle bones, hemorrhoids and varicose veins ain’t so bad It’s the fading of memories and the onset of feeble mindedness that leaves us befuddled There’s that moment of confusion when we enter a room and forget what we needed there, or what we were looking for, or even why we came there in the first place??? But, I’ll fight like hell to forever remember your face
They say I’m old. But they don’t know what old is. They break it down into a simple math equation. They take my birthdate as the starting point, then they take the current date and add up the years between the two dates They’ll say that number is my age, they’ll say that’s how old I am. But they don’t understand that I’m not the sum of the years I’ve lived, but rather, I’m all my ages——-all the time.
Who I am, is all the things I’ve ever been. I’m the little girl playing with dolls and having a tea party. I’m the young girl learning how to dance. I’m the teen in the party dress nervously hoping some boy will ask me to dance. I’m the one discovering that indescribable passion of a first love. In me, is the youthful college graduate filled with tenacity and anxious to chase down her dreams. I’m the beautiful woman in that old photo dressed in a white wedding dress. I’m the first time mother gently cradling her baby. I’m the strong willed and determined career woman earning her respect in a man’s world. I’m the proud grandparent braiding her granddaughters hair. I’m the retired woman meeting her long time friends for lunch. I’m the matriarch giving my time and counsel to the young ones who are on their journey. Can’t you see, I’m all these things at once. So for god sake, please don’t call me old——call me experienced. I’m like a pair of broken in hiking boots, a little worn but comfortable and a good fit for all seasons.
Sure, I have those aches and pains that come with age. I move a little slower. I might forget a thing or two. My hair is graying and my hearing isn’t what it use to be. But inside, I swear, I feel much younger than I appear (Well, at least that’s true most days). Sometimes I sit in my chair and run all my favorite memories back like old movies being screened in a darkened theater. Yes, those were the days of my life and no one can take them from me. Life is bitter sweet, but mostly sweet. I enjoy the small things now. I enjoy sitting outside and listening to the birds, visiting with my family, slipping into a warm bed——-and of course——-having a good ole bowel movement.
If I could be young for one day I’d do some wild crazy things. I’d ride my bicycle down to the beach, peal off my clothes and go skinny dipping in that Pacific ocean. I’d have myself a slice of triple layer chocolate cake and wash it down with champagne. I’d challenge all those loudmouthed bullies to an arm wrestle. I’d beat their asses then tell them to fuck off. I’d go through the karma-sutra and try all the positions once, and the ones I liked, I’d do twice. I’d turn my speakers up to ten, then sing and dance to all my favorite songs. I’d make a point of calling everyone I love and tell them how they made my life joyful, memorable and worth living.
I’d hold your hand and look you in the eye as if I’d never have to let go or say goodbye. But life is like juggling, catching and then letting go—-catching then letting go. But there are parts of me you’re stuck with—— you’ve involuntarily inherited my funny quirks and crazy idiosyncrasy, my good parts and my not so good parts, my headstrong ways, my strong will, my soft heart, my love of a good laugh, my desire for deep late night conversations and my lust for travel and adventure. Ah, this life is such a beautiful gift——thanks for being such an important part of it.
And you see my love, through all these things I shall live on.
This play/story depicts the struggles a son faces as his father begins to show signs of Alzheimer’s and dementia. He must decide to either place his farther in an assisted living facility or to have him continue to live at home with him and his wife.
He feels guilty at the prospect of placing his father in an assisted living facility, but also feels he and his wife may no longer be capable of providing the care he requires. Baby Boomers are reaching the age where they must face the dilemma of what to do when their folks can no longer live independently. The topic of aging can at times be morbid and sad, but in this story there’s also room for calamity and humor. Sometimes there are no easy answers or good decisions.
(Harry enters the kitchen using his walker. He’s dressed in a tank top, jockey shorts and two miss matched socks. He’s unshaven and his hair is a mess.)
Harry, “Where the hell is my wristwatch. Someones been in my bedroom again messing with my stuff. Martin, can’t you at least wait until I’m dead and buried before you start taking my shit?”
Martin, “Dad, we aren’t messing with your stuff. Maybe you misplaced it. Wait a minute. Isn’t that your watch on your right hand?”
Harry, “What the hell? I always wear my watch on my left hand. This damn world’s gone topsy turvy on me. Are you playing tricks on me. I know what you’re all saying behind my back. Saying I’ve got old timers.”
(Martin shakes his head as he looks over at his wife Erin).
Martin, ‘Dad, it’s called Alzheimer’s not old timers. We aren’t talking behind your back. We all get a little bit forgetful, don’t worry about it. Here let me help you put your watch on your left hand.”
Harry, (pulls back his hand) “Ya see this ring? It’s my wedding ring. She may be dead now, god rest her soul, but I’ll never take it off. This world may take on new ways, but somethings will always remain the same. Call me old fashion, call me an old timer, but I still believe promises made, are promises kept.”
Martin, “Dad, your wristwatch is two hours slow.”
Harry, “Maybe the worlds two hours too fast. Ya ever consider that one? What’s it all matter to me anyhow, I have nowhere to go and no place to be. Hell, I don’t know the time, the date or what year it is half the damn time. I got no where to go or any reasons to keep track of such things. I do wish I still had somewhere to go or something to do. I wish I still had someone who depended on me, needed me.”
Martin, “Dad, why don’t ya take a shower and when you get out I’ll give ya a shave.”
Harry, “Ah bullshit. I took a shower just the other day. (holds out his shaking hand) As for a shave, I’m steady as a rock, I doin’t need no one to shave me. I’m gonna get dressed and do some chores around here. That garden needs some tending. (He turns his walker around and heads out of the kitchen).
Erin, “You’ve been putting it off, but you’re gonna have to have that talk with him. We can’t keep an eye on him twenty four hours a day. I’m just afraid he’s gonna fall down and hurt himself or wander off and get lost. He could walk right out into traffic and get run over. Besides, what are we going to do with him when we go to Hawaii?”
Martin, “He doesn’t want to go to a what he calls an old folks home. He’s made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t want to live with a bunch of old and feeble minded people. I can’t look him straight in the eye and tell him that I’m gonna leave him at a nursing home. He’s still in his right mind——most of the time. His short term memory has faded a bit, but that’s to be expected at his age.”
(From off stage Harry hollers). “If anyone finds my watch, let me know.”
Martin, Dad, “I just put it on your left wrist for you. (Sighs in frustration).”
Erin, (Shakes her head) “You see what I’m saying. He’s already forgotten about you helping him with his watch. You know I found his dentures in the refrigerator the other day. Every time we leave him alone I’m afraid he’s gonna fall down the stairs or leave the stove on and burn the house down.”
Martin, “He’s not ready for that big of a change yet.”
Erin, “Maybe it’s you that’s not ready for that big of a change—yet. I don’t want to push you and I don’t want to be the bad guy. But, you need to start thinking about what’s gonna be best for him. I’m still not sure what we are going to do with him when we go on our trip to Hawaii. We need to start enjoying are golden years too.”
Martin, “It’s just that dad has always been so independent. When I was a kid I always admired the way he handled himself. There was an honesty and directness in the way he expressed himself. He saw things for what they are. He use to say ‘I call a spade a spade’. You knew where you stood with him. (Laughs). Funny thing, animals and kids alway gravitated to him, it’s as if they could pick up on his authenticity, his goodness.”
Erin, “I remember when our daughter started pre-school and you’d drop her off at the school and she’d cry and scream for you not leave her. You felt so guilty that you’d go back on your breaks and lunch hour to check on her. The teacher pleaded with you to please not come back until the end of the day because you were just making the situation worse. But you still kept coming back until one day our she told you she was okay and didn’t need you to come back until school was out. I think you were disturbing her playtime with her friends and probably embarrassing her. Honey, it’s one of those circle of life things. One of these days you’re gonna have to drop dad off at a nursing home. It’ll take time, but he’ll adjust, just like our daughter did with pre-school.”
Martin, “I don’t know about your comparisons between preschool and nursing homes. The circle of life is cruel. One day I’ll be the one being dropped off to live with a bunch of strangers. He may not act it, but dad is sensitive. I’m afraid if we force him to move into an assisted living facility that he might get depressed and just give up on living all together.”
Erin, (Puts her arms around Martin) “Honey, you’re so sweet and sensitive, and that’s why I love you. But sometimes you have to be a bit more practical.”
Martin, “Do me a favor, don’t tell my buddies that I’m a softy. They already think I’m a wuss because I drove a Yugo when I was in college, and I once attended a Yanni concert. I won the tickets on the radio. I guess buying a Yanni T-shirt was a bit over the top. I’m not sensitive, I’m compassionate.”
Erin, “God, you’re a goofball. But you’re my goofball.”
(Harry sitting in a chair in his living room, looking out the front room window.)
Martin, “Dad, are you awake?”
Harry, “Why the hell would I be sleeping? It’s 6:00 am. The best part of the day. A brand new day, anything and everything is possible. Hell, I might even have a good bowel movement today.”
Harry, “I’m watching the birds. It’s spring, my favorite season. Everything is green and alive. Remember when you were in the Boy Scouts and we built that birdhouse? God, I think I was more proud of it than you. When we were done you got your merit badge and I was ready to hang it on our big Elm tree in the backyard. But you said,” ‘Dad I want to donate it to the scout fair.’ “I said what for? And you said,” ‘The money they raise is going to help the less fortunate in the community.’ “I remember it as if it were yesterday when you said,” ‘Dad there’s folks out there that don’t have a home and family like we do.’
Martin, “I remember that I came home from school and the damn birdhouse was hanging on the Elm tree in the backyard. You said you went to the Scout Fair and bought the freaking thing. You said,” ‘You see, you can have your cake and eat it too. The poor got their money, and I got to keep our birdhouse.’
Harry, “Yeah, there’s more than one way to skin a cat.”
Martin, “Hey I stopped at the old Chinese store on the way home today. I swear, they can pack more merchandise in a 2,000 square foot store than an entire Walmart. If Lee Wong’s store doesn’t have it, then you probably don’t need it. Look what I found?” (hands over a package of BBQ corn nuts). “Remember these?”
Harry, “Oh yeah, I haven’t seen these things in years. If I could only find my dentures I’d eat them.”
Martin, “Erin said she found them in the refrigerator.”
Harry, “What! What kind of fool would do something like that?”
Martin, “Huh, I don’t know, who do you suppose might do something like that? The Tooth-fairy maybe? She put your dentures by the sink in your bathroom. And by the way, try and remember too flush after ya go. Okay?”
Harry, “Don’t lecture me about my bathroom habits. You might have forgotten sonny boy, I’m the one who use to change your diapers and toilet trained you. And you weren’t the fastest one in family to learn how to use a toilet.”
Martin, “Okay, okay. Enough with the fond bathroom memories. When I saw those corn nuts I swear I had a flash back of you wearing your company shirt with those corn nuts in your breast pocket. I remember how on rainy days I’d walk out in front of the school and there you’d be in your work truck waiting to give me and my sisters a ride home. You’d hustle us into the cab of the truck. You’d have us skootch all together on the floor board so that no one could see you giving us a ride in the company truck.”
Harry, “I’d loose my job if I got caught giving rides in the company truck. It was a strict policy. I’d drive twenty or thirty miles from my work route to pick you kids up and drop you at home. You kids would be laughing and giggling, thinking it was a funny game of hide and seek.”
Martin, “I never did thank you for doing that. Why didn’t you just have us walk home in the rain?”
Harry, “That wouldn’t be right. My family has always come first. That’s the way it’s alway been. That was my job, still is my job. My kids are alway my kids. I’m here to protect and take care of you three kids, and mom too. And that’s not just putting a roof over your head and putting food on the table, but to teach you right from wrong. We had ourselves some good times. I sit sometimes and just think back on those days. I can run them in my head just like a movie. A movie of my life and I get to be the hero and the handsome leading man”. (Laughs).
Martin, “It’s funny how a little thing like corn nuts can bring back some old forgotten memories. Why don’t ya let me help you get down the backstairs and we can go sit on back porch. Get ourselves some fresh air and watch the birds.”
Harry, “One of these days I’m gonna put on some work clothes and rake those leaves. I’ll get them in a big pile and burn them like I use to at our old house. I like the smell of burning leaves, it smells like the end of winter. I’m ready for another spring. Son, I wanna thank you and Erin for letting me live here. I wish I could do more to earn my keep.”
Martin, “Dad, no thanks necessary. You made a lot of sacrifices for me.”
Harry, “Where there’s love, there are no sacrifices.” (Nods his head in appreciation of his comment) “Gee, I should have a job writing fortune cookies” (Laughs).
Martin, “I’m gonna go get your teeth and we can share this bag of corn nuts.”
(A bedstead lamp switches on in Martin and Erin’s bedroom.)
Erin, “Do you hear that? There’s someone walking around in the Front room.”
Martin, “I think it might be dad again. He gets a bit confused at night. I’ll go and check on him.”
(Harry is wearing a baseball hat, his robe and a pair of cowboy boots. He has a flashlight attached to his walker.).
Harry, “Martin, where’d you put my hunting rifle? There’s someone outside my window. I can hear them walking in the leaves and banging against the house.”
Martin, “You don’t need your rifle. It’s just the wind rustling the leaves. There’s a branch that sometimes bangs against the house when it gets windy. Come on, let me help you back to bed.”
Harry, “Bullshit. Get me my goddamn gun. I gonna run off who’s ever trying to get in here.”
Martin, “Dad, it’s just your imagination playing tricks on you.”
Harry, “Listen——Listen——-Don’t you hear it. You wait here boy, I’m gonna go out there and chase them off. Stay in here with Erin.”
Martin, “Dad——settle down.” (He puts one hand on Harry’s shoulder and the other hand on his walker. “There’s no one out there. You aren’t thinking straight.”
Harry, “I’m the head of this family and I’m not gonna let anyone fuck with us.”
Martin, “Okay dad. How bout this. You give me the flashlight and I’ll go in the backyard and check to see if there’s anyone out there. Go back in your bedroom and look out your window. I’ll tap on the window to let you know that the coast is clear.”
Harry, “You make sure and take my deer rifle with you. If I hear gunshots instead of you tapping on my window, then I’m coming out there too.” (He turns to go peers out the window).
Martin, “Sure, thanks dad. (A few minutes later you can hear tapping on the window and Martin hollering ‘Coast is clear pop’).
Martin, (Martin enters Harry’s bedroom). “We’re all good now, right? There’s no one out there. Come on, let me help you get back in bed.”
Harry, “We make a pretty good team. Remember we use to have that pair of boxing gloves? Do you remember what I use to tell ya?”
Martin, “I sure do. Keep my chin up and my eyes forward on my advisory. Be prepared for anything. Don’t take a butter knife to a gun fight. Never put myself in a position to get sucker punched. Don’t go looking for trouble, but if it finds me, kick its ass. You say ‘You may not get the first punch, but you damn sure better get in the last one.”
Harry, “Keep that advice in mind.” (Harry puts his hand on Martins cheek). “You’re a good boy Martin. I know we had our up’s and down’s when you were growing up. I was old fashioned and hard on you at times. That’s the only way I knew how to prepare you for this world and how to teach you to be a man. My father was from the old country and didn’t speak english worth a damn. He was a man of few words. He’d say in Spanish, ‘Obras son amores y no buenas razones.’ “The translation is something like” ‘Acts are love and good reasons aren’t’. “In other words ‘Actions speak louder than words.’ “I hope my actions set a good example for you. When I’m gone you’re the only legacy that matters to me.”
Martin, “I didn’t always understand your ways when growing up. But now that I’m older and raised children of my own, I see things different. You were always a good father and good provider. You’ve gotten softer as you’ve gotten older, maybe time does that for a reason. I love you dad. I hope to be half the man you are. You taught by example. Always a hard worker, honest and a man of his word.”
Erin, (Fixing Breakfast). “How’d it go with dad last night?”
Martin, “He was fine. He get’s a little confused at night. His dreams and reality get mixed up. One minute he can be so aware and normal. And the next moment he can be almost like a child again. No one teaches you how to get old. It’s a solitary journey.”
Erin, “If he’s in a nursing home, at least he’d be around people his age. He’d have people to visit with and play games and do activities.”
Martin, “Dad doesn’t like old people. He says they’re slow in the head. He doesn’t see himself as old. He wants to do yard work. He’s still pissed that I didn’t let him renew his drivers license. If he had a way to get downtown, he’d be at his favorite tavern shaking dice for beers. It’s not fair how age makes us give up the things that once defined us.”
Erin, “Getting old isn’t for sissies? We’re all gonna get older, but it’s not easy to do gracefully. He’s gonna have to face it. It’s a battle you can’t win.”
Martin, “I think Dylan Thomas had it right.”
‘Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.’
“My eighth grade english teacher Mrs Cummings had the whole class memorize that poem. I always thought it was kind of morbid to have a thirteen year old memorize a poem about growing old and dying. Maybe Mrs Cummings knew that this Dylan Thomas poem would come in handy someday.”
“I’ll tell ya what, ole dad is going down swinging. You gotta admire that. He’s not one to sit around and watch daytime TV or play bingo.”
Harry, (Enters the kitchen wearing his pajamas. The shirt buttons are buttoned incorrectly. His pajama pants are inside out “Did anyone feed Whiskers this morning?”
Martin, (Erin glances over at Martin). “Dad, Whiskers passed away ten years ago. Remember?”
Harry, “What are you talking about? He sleeps on the foot of my bed every night. I feel him jump on the bed, I can hear him purring and moving about.”
Martin, “I’m sure he does.”
Harry, “Funny thing. I wake up in the middle of the night and sometimes I could swear I feel your mother next to me. You sleep with someone next to you for over fifty years, you get use to the rhythm of their breathing. Sometimes I could swear I smell the faint scent of the perfume she use to wear. You might think I’ve gone crazy in my head, but I wonder if maybe she’s visiting me and still checking in on her family.”
Martin, “I don’t think you’re crazy dad. I’ll take care of the cat. Why don’t you go and get dressed. Put on a new shirt, you’ve worn the same one for the past three days. You have five or six new shirts in your dresser you’ve never worn, they still have the price tags still on them.”
Harry, “I haven’t worked in this shirt or even broke a sweat when I’ve worn it. It’s still clean. I’m saving those new shirts until I need them. People these days got way too much crap. Folks don’t know what it’s like to do without. Waste, so much waste. I bet Erin has enough clothes in her closet to outfit an army. Hell, me and my two brothers shared a bedroom that was smaller than her walk-in closet.”
Erin, “Well if you like, we can move you into my closet. (Laughs). Do you want some eggs or your usual oatmeal?”
Harry, “Well maybe a little oatmeal and a couple of eggs over-easy, two strips of bacon and toast——-with butter and jam.”
Erin, “Do you want me to break out the good silverware? I swear you’ve got the appetite of three men. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll cook your breakfast, but you let Martin help you put on a fresh shirt.”
Harry, “Fine, whatever you say sergeant. Has anybody seen my suspenders?”
Erin, (Sighs) When I was cleaning I found them in the China Cabinet. I put them back in the top drawer of your dresser. I swear, getting you dressed is like participating in a scavenger hunt.”
Harry, “Who the hell put them there?”
Erin, “Oh I don’t know. Maybe it was the clothes fairy?”
(Martin and Erin eating breakfast).
Harry, (Harry hollering from the other room). “Oh Jesus, help me. Martin, help me.”
(Martin runs to the Harry’s bedroom. Harry has fallen and is on the ground. Martin is bending over him).
Martin, “What the hell happened?”
Harry, “I don’t know. I was making my bed and all of a sudden I lost my balance and fell down. Do you see my glasses?”
Martin, (Helps put his fathers glasses back on). “You don’t have to make your bed. We can do that for you. You’re gonna break a hip or an arm or bust your head open. Are you alright?”
Harry, “Me and mom always make our bed. She just went to the store. She’ll be back any time now. She’ll be worried if she finds out I fell down. I don’t think I can get up. Can you help me to my feet. She can’t see me like this. What’s wrong with me?” (Harry stares into space). “Get the hell away from me. I ain’t going with you yet. Tell them to leave me alone Martin.Tell them it’s not my time.” (Harry is waving his arms as if warding off an invisible adversary).
Martin, “Don’t be afraid dad, I’m here. There’s nothing to be afraid of, I’m here with you.”
Harry, “They’re saying they have mom and they want me now. Can’t you hear their voices. Oh god, these demons disguised as angels. Get the fuck away from me. Don’t you see them?”
Martin, (stares into the darkness and yells) “Leave him alone you son of a bitches.” (Puts his arms around his dad. Harry hold on to his son). “Look, you’ve cut your head, it’s bleeding. Come over here, have a seat on the bed. I can help you bandage up your head.” (Harry is mentally out of it). (Martin stammers out loud to himself). “I don’t know what to do with you dad. I don’t know what to do anymore. You were the one who always had all the answers and knew what to do. If I had a bad day, or if I had a problem at work, or if I needed a loan or someone to believe in me——-you were always there. You always knew the right words to say. I sure could use some of those words of wisdom right about now.” (Martin hollers). “Erin, quick bring me a wet rag, a band-aide and some Neosporin.”
Erin, (Enters the room with a startled look on her face). “Oh my god, what happened?”
Martin, “Dad had a little accident. He fell down and it made his head bleed.”
Erin, “Dad, you know we can make your bed for you. We can help you get out of your pajamas and into your shirt and pants. You need to let us help you.”
Harry, “What’s next, are you guys going to wipe my ass for me. I’m not old enough to die, but too old to do shit for myself. I wish I’d just not wake up one morning. I’m no good to myself or anyone else. I’m getting to be nothing but a goddamn burden.”
Martin, “Here, let’s get you back in bed for a little while. You aren’t a burden, but god you can sure be a stubborn pain in the ass sometimes. You just have to slow down a bit. You’re gonna have to accept that there are some things you can’t do for yourself. We’re gonna have to consider some other options.”
Harry, “Look here, I might be old, but it’s still me inside this bag of old bones. It’s still me, don’t you see me? I can still fix things. Set me down with a hammer and a bag of walnuts and I can crack and shell them for you guys. Give me a screw driver and some WD-40 and I can oil all the door hinges and make sure that they’re hung square. I ain’t dead yet, so don’t put me in a goddamn home.”
Martin, “I still see you dad. You still got a lot of life left in you. I just want to do what’s best for you. Erin and I can’t be around twenty four hours a day. What if you fell down and we weren’t here, it wouldn’t be good. I’ve been meaning to tell you that for our thirtieth anniversary Erin and I are taking a trip to Hawaii and we can’t leave you here on your own. We may need to temporarily have you stay at an assisted living facility while we’re gone.”
Harry, “Hell no and that’s final. I’ll stay right here and look after things. You ain’t putting me out to pasture like some old bull. You mess with this old bull and you’re gonna get the horns.”
Martin, “Like it or not, you’re gonna have to prepare yourself for a temporary change in your living arrangements. Please don’t ruin our trip by making us worry about you. You might even like the change.”
Martin, (Changes the subject).“Maybe tomorrow we can work on those doors together. There’s nothing more aggravating than a door that sicks when you’re trying to open it. You know what a squeaky door gets, don’t ya?”
Harry, “You can keep your smart remarks to yourself.”
Martin, “Do you remember when we built that tree fort in the backyard? Me and my buddies would have sleep overs up there. I got my first kiss in that treehouse.”
Erin, “Hey, you never invited me to come up to your treehouse.”
Martin, “If I’d of known you back then, I’d of invited you up and even taught you our secret hand shake.”
Harry, “I’m getting a little bit tired, I think I’ll take a quick nap.”
(Martin tucks Harry into bed and then he and Erin head back into the kitchen. They pour coffee and then have a seat at the kitchen table).
Erin, “Is he going to be okay?”
Martin, “I don’t know anymore. I never thought it’d come to this.”
Erin, “What did he say about falling down?”
Martin, “He said he fell down making the bed. When I went to see what was wrong, he was already on the floor. He was really confused. He saw the grim reaper coming to take him away. He thought there were demons disguised as angels flying around him. He said mom had gone to store and he didn’t want her to know he fell. He had this look on his face that I’d never seen before.”
Erin, “What do you mean?”
Martin, “I’ve seen my dad’s face when he’s had a belly laugh. I’ve seen his face when he was pissed off. I’ve seen his face serious and stern. I’ve even seen his face once cry when we had to put our family dog to sleep. But I’d never seen this look on his face before, never!”
Erin, “What was the look he had on his face?”
Martin, (Shakes his head). It was fear. He had the look of terror on his face. It scared me too. He’s always been so strong, quick minded and in charge of himself and the head of our family.” (Wipes a tear from his eye). “He’s beginning to realize that he’s losing control of his body, his mind, his life. What kind of cruel trick is this that god plays on us? I look at him sometimes and I think to myself, who’s that stooped over old man wearing my fathers face. He should be driving a golf cart with a cigar in his mouth and a beer in his hand. That can’t be him stumbling around behind a walker. I remember what mom use to say,” ‘If you have your health and your family, then you have everything’ “She sure got that right.”
(Harry starts creeping with his walker towards the kitchen. He stays out of sight and stands by eavesdropping on their conversation).
Erin, “Honey, you’re gonna have to sit him down and really make him understand that he’ll have to stay at an assisted living facility when we’re on vacation and maybe remain there permanently. He’s getting to where he needs more care than we can provide.”
Martin, “I know, I know. It’s just that I can’t imagine him not being with us. I can’t bare the thought of dropping him off with strangers.”
Erin, “He’ll probably be happier there. He’ll be around people his own age. They have activities, games, get togethers. They can help him shower and get dressed. They’ll make sure he takes his med’s.”
(Harry continues to spy on the conversation).
Martin, “I don’t think he’ll go. I know my dad, he’s stubborn. He’d turn that rest home into ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s nest’. (Laughs) He’ll be banging some of those old ladies and taking money from the old men playing poker. He’ll be selling shots of Jameson out of his room.”
Erin, “My friend Anna put her mother in a nice nursing home and she loves it. Well, maybe she doesn’t love it, but she’s acclimated now. They have good meals, a recreation room and exercise programs. I think they also have a pool table. There’s all kinds of things to do to fill their day. Maybe we could set up a walk thru at one of these places and see what he thinks.”
Martin, “I don’t know. He’ gonna think that we’re deserting him.”
Erin, “It’s just getting too hard to take care of him. He doesn’t shower or change his clothes. He’s unsteady on his feet. I’m afraid he’s gonna hurt himself. He’s become so absent minded. A couple of times he accidentally left the stove on. We have to keep the thermostat at seventy five degrees’s because his circulation is so poor. It’s just one of those sad facts of life, he needs more care than we can give him. I know it isn’t easy, but it’s for the best.”
(Harry turns around and heads back towards his bedroom).
(Phone rings. Martin answers the phone).
Martin, “Yes, Uh-huh my fathers name is Harry. He’s where? He said he’s going home? No, he lives here with me and my wife. No, we weren’t plotting against him. He’s old and gets a little bit confused at times. No, no, we didn’t hide his dentures or steal his suspenders. Yeah I know he has a bandage on his head. He fell down and bumped his head. No, you don’t have to call Adult Protective Services. We love dad, he’s just a bit forgetful. He’s no longer steady on his feet. Can I come and pick him up? Okay, I’ll be right over. Thanks for looking after him.” (Stage goes dark).
(Lights come on. They enter the front door and are back home again. Harry’s dressed in an old suite with a fedora hat. Martin is carrying Harry’s battered suite case).
Martin, “Jesus Christ dad, why the hell did you run away from home? And then you tell the police that we’re not treating you well. That’s bullshit. They were about ready to arrest me for elder abuse.”
Harry, “When you thought I was in bed the other day, I was spying on you and Erin. I heard you guys saying how you were gonna lock me up in an old folks home. I told you before, I doin’t have old timers.”
Martin, “Shit, it’s not called old timers it’s called Alzheimers’s.”
Harry, “Bullshit is right. I say bullshit on you and your secret plan to have me put away. I’m not like some old car that you can put in a car crusher and sale as scrap metal.”
Martin, “Dad, we aren’t shipping you off to a junkyard, we’re just trying to find a situation where you would be comfortable, safe and happy.”
Harry, “A situation? Is that what you’re calling it. If that makes you feel better than fine. Go off to Hawaii and ship me off to the trash heap. I’m tired of this life. I wish I’d just die and be done with it.”
Martin, “Dad, don’t talk like that. It’s just that I’m worried about you. I want what’s best for you. Erin and I can’t watch you twenty four hours a day. We have to go to work and leave you here alone. I call to check on you three or four times a day. If you don’t hear the phone or for whatever reason don’t answer , then I have to run home and see if you’re okay. I can’t keep doing that. At least be willing to check it out when we go on our trip.”
Harry, “Sometimes I forget to put my hearing aids in and I can’t hear shit without them. I don’t like getting old. It’s the shits. I’m nothing but a pain to everyone. I’ve laid in bed and tried to will my heart to stop. But the goddamn thing just keeps beating like a big bass drum. I’m ready to go—-I swear. I’m too young to die and too old to be of any use. I get turned around sometimes and can’t hardly recognize myself in the bathroom mirror. I bang myself on something and I end up with these blue and purple goddamn bruise marks up and down my arms. (Takes off his glasses and rubs his forehead). “How did this happen. When did I become so old and useless.”
Martin,”The days must get long here. I’m sure you get bored. You hate TV and it’s hard for you to read with your poor eye sight.”
Harry, “Sometimes it feels like this world has gone to shit. I use to watch the news and read the paper, but I don’t bother these days. Nothing but bad news repeating itself. I wish I could do yard work the way I use to. I like to work, it makes me feel like I’m contributing. I’d give a million dollars if I could go hunting or fishing one more time. Remember how we use to duck hunt?”
Martin, “Yeah, every October and November. we’d get up when it was still dark. God, it would be cold and foggy. There’s a certain smell in the morning when the fog and dew clings to the cattails, smells earthy, like damp dirt. We’d be silent, and then suddenly out of the fog we’d hear the sound of those mallards heading our direction. You’d always give me the first shot, and if I missed sure as shit you’d always get them before they got out of range. You were always a better shot than me.”
Harry, “Mom would make us a thermos of coffee and when she wasn’t watching I’d top her off with a little brandy. A little something to take the chill off.” (Laughs). “I don’t talk about it, but I miss mom everyday. It always feels like there’s somethings missing. Sometimes I even forget she’s gone and then suddenly it will hit me that she’s not here anymore. I’ll hear that one of the grandkids accomplished something and I catch myself wanting to run to her and share the good news. Things have never been the same sense she passed on. You live with someone over fifty years and you get to know each other in a way young couples can’t yet understand. Ever wonder why old couples are sometimes so quiet?”
Martin, (Laughs). “I thought they’d already said everything that needs to be said, or they’re just sick and tired of one another. They’ve probably heard all the stories one to many times.”
Harry, “Don’t get smart. No, they’re quiet because they already know how the other person feels—-thinks. They can see it in one another’s face, in their eyes. Now that’s a rare and beautiful thing. She knew me, I knew her. To know someone that way, well, that’s love. I miss that comfortable feeling.”
Martin, “I’ll make you a deal. If I take you fishing, you’ll agree to check out that assisted living facility.(Silence) Come on, what’s the harm. Maybe you’ll catch your limit.”
Harry, “Okay, I’ll go, but you’re not dropping me off if I don’t like it there. And, if it checks out, I’m only agreeing to stay on a trial basis, just while you’re on vacation.”
Martin, “Okay, let’s shake on it.”(Extends his hand and they shake). Why don’t you go and change your clothes and will have some lunch. Put on one of those new shirts, please.”
(Martin walks into the kitchen.)
Erin, “I know this is really hard for you, but we’ve got to do something. He’s becoming more and more difficult to take care of. If he runs away from home again and gets hurt, we’d feel guilty.”
Martin, “I made a deal with dad. If I take him fishing, he agreed to stay at the assisted living facility while we’re on vacation—-for a limited time on a trial basis.”
Erin, “What! Are you freaking nuts. Men, I’ll never understand them.You guys never grow up. What did you guys do, make a pinky promise?”
Martin, “Don’t be ridiculous, we made a man to man handshake on it. This is progress.”
Erin, “He could trip and fall in the river and drown.”
Martin, “Ah baloney. You can make us sandwiches and a thermos of coffee and we’ll have a great father son day.”
Erin, “Yeah right. Are you gonna pour some brandy in it? Don’t you think I knew what you guys were up to back then. Drinking brandy and handling guns. Now if that’s not a recipe for a disaster, I don’t know what is.”
Martin, “You knew about our little secret? It was strictly for medicinal purposes, something to improve blood flow and increase body temperature.”
Erin, “God all mighty, men are nothing but big children. You guys go fishing, but only if you promise to be sober.” (She extends her pinky). “Pinky promise?” (They join pinkies).
Martin, “Well here’s his suitcase. Do you wanna see what a grown man takes with him when he runs away from home?”
Erin, “Sure, probably only the necessities, booze and a Swiss Army knife.”
(Martin sets the suitcase on the kitchen table and opens it.)
Martin, “Okay, let’s see what we got here. (Opens the suitcase and starts taking out its contents.) “Bottle of Jameson and a Swiss Army knife. Wow, looks like you nailed it.”
Erin, “Men, they’re so predictable and so basic.”
Martin, “Okay, what else do we have here? Wedding photograph, a picture of him with his hunting buddies.” (Stops to stare at the photo). “If that doesn’t resemble a drunk gang of fools, I doin’t know what does. A guitar pick, his wings from his pilot days in the air-force. A roll of twenty dollar bills with a note on top stating ‘Three hundred and sixty dollars’. Here’s the watch they gave him when he retired and his prized piece of memorabilia, a baseball signed by Joe DiMaggio. One change of clothes, trousers, shirt, underwear, socks, three ham and cheese sandwiches. A key to the front door of our old house, a key to his 1966 Ford step-side pickup. Cheap cigars, Brill Cream and Old Spice after shave.” (Martin smells the old spice). “If there is a scent that reminds me of dad it’s the peculiar mixture of tobacco, Brill Cream and Old Spice. That’s what the cab of his old truck smelled like. It’s a funny thing. You can take what comprises an entire lifetime and stuff it into a single suitcase. I think dad was packed and ready to go. Everything a man would need for a long journey. I guess all we take with us is a suitcase containing our memories.” (Martin shakes his head) “What am I going to do with you dad?”
(Martin and Harry sitting in canvas camp chairs with their fishing poles cast into the river).
Martin, “Look what I found? (Pulls out a couple cigars and two tallboy beers). Swisher Sweet cigars, your favorite and an ice cold beer. I promised Erin that we’d stay sober. One beer isn’t going to get us drunk.” (Martin grimaces and holds his thumb.) “Damn I stuck myself with that freaking hook again. How do you tie that stupid fisherman’s
Harry, “Here, give me that. Even when you were a kid you’d get in a big hurry and get things all tangled up. Fishings all about taking your time and relaxing. Life goes by fast enough without rushing through it like someone chasing the wind. Here, now bait the damn thing and throw it out there and see what happens. Ain’t that just like life.” (Lights his cigar and casts his line).
Martin, “Dad, I think I got a big one tugging on my line. (Martin stands up and Harry gets out his fish net. After several minutes of excitement he brings his catch up from the water). “Geeez, nothing but a stinking piece of driftwood. Yeah, ain’t that just like life, a bunch of meaningless excitement leading to inevitable let downs.”
Harry, “That’s no way to talk about fishing or life. Sometimes ya catch your limit and other times ya get skunked. You’ve got a good life Martin. A woman who loves you, a good job, a nice home, a family and your health. What the hell else is there? The trouble with the world today is that everyone wants peaches and cream. Well it ain’t all peaches and cream. Me and mom had our share of hard times, but it only brought us closer together. We lost our home in the 55 flood and had no flood insurance. Nothing left but mud up to my ass, chickens in the tree’s and dead animals scattered in the yard. We spent three years in a little three room shack while we cleaned things up and were finally able to get back into our home again. I Got laid off my jobs a couple of times. I had to damn near beg the banks to give me a thirty year loan at a 15% interest rate. Goddamn highway robbery. Banks and Insurance Companies take advantage of people in desperate situations. Mom had to have surgery and that wasn’t cheap either. We found a way to send all three of you kids to college though. But non of that shit mattered cause we’re family and we stick together. If it weren’t for your mother I’d of been penniless and out on my ass. She was always positive, seeing the good in everything and everyone. Once that goddamn cancer got a hold of her, I didn’t know what to do. I’d of sold my soul to devil if it meant I could have fought that battle for her. It took her slow and it was miserable. I just sat in a chair next to her bed and watch her waste away, She never once complained, always worried about me and you kids. At the end it got into her bones and she was drinking that morphine like soda pop. There are no guarantee’s or promises in this life. You got to take each day as it comes and find ways to love what ya got and not worry about what ya don’t have.(Silence) You’ve got a good life now and don’t forget it. I’ve had a good life too.”
Martin, “Yes sir, you got it right. You made a lot of sacrifices for your family and we may not say it all the time, but we appreciate all you’ve done for us. I hope to someday be half the man you are dad.”
Harry, “I use to say to you kids, I didn’t want you to be as good as me, I wanted you to be better. I’ve always wanted you to have the things you wanted. You’ve done well, and I’m proud of you son. But you sure can be a pain in the ass sometimes.” (Laughs).
(Harry’s line begins to bend and shake) “I’ve got something, by god I’ve got one on my line. (Martin tries to take the pole from Harry).
Martin, “Here, let me help you.”
Harry, “Get you goddamn hands off my rod. I got this. This ones a fighter alright.”
Martin, “For gods sake, don’t let him get away. (Martin reaches down and helps scoop the fish into his net).
Martin, “That’s one big ass German Brown. I know what Erin’s gonna be cooking us for dinner. You landed him dad. That’s a keeper for sure. What do you say, ready to pack it in and call it a day?”
Harry, “Oh hell no. Evening is when they start to bite. You got another beer in that ice chest. I never made no dumb ass promise about sobriety. Grab one for yourself, I won’t snitch on ya.”
Martin, “Okay, but here’s the deal. Next week we’re gonna sign you into that assisted living joint for a trial period. Erin and I’ve been planning our trip to Hawaii for a long time and we can’t leave you on your own for that long. They require a minimum one month stays. Consider it a test drive. You may even come to like it.”
Harry, “Yeah sure, if it makes you happy. If it makes you happy locking your father away in a home for old timers. But I’m not staying unless they have a jukebox, free beers and lap dances.”
Martin, “You gotta keep an open mind. These places are just like living in a fancy apartment. They have good food and all kinds of activities. They have a recreation room with a pool table, movie nights, popcorn, the whole works.”
“Harry, “I don’t need movies or popcorn. Those places are nothing but big waiting rooms.”
Martin, “What do you mean a big waiting room?”
Harry, “Old people are abandoned in these places, while their relatives are waiting for them to kick off. I know three of my buddies who got put in one of these places and they were dead within six months. Probably better off that way. Ya know what I realized the other day, I’m the last one alive from my hunting group. All dead, all of them. I miss them all everyday too. Good times, now just memories. Sometimes when I’m day dreaming, I see them as if they’re right there in front of me, young and full of life. I play back those memories as if they were a movie. I look at their faces and listen closely to the sound of their voices, remembering the way they laughed. That’s all I got left of them. I don’t want to forget those things. One thing they don’t tell you about getting old, is that it gets to be lonely.”
Harry, (Points out at the river). “See there. The flies are starting to land on the surface of the water. That’ll draw the fish to the surface to feed. Timing, it’s all about timing. You don’t come to them, you wait for them to come to you. I love this place. The smell of the river, a breeze from up stream, the sun falling behind those peaks. Hear them crickets? God isn’t it just beautiful. You got to promise to bring me back here again when you get back from your trip. You can have your Hawaii, but as for me, I’ll take Valhalla Cove any day. Do you know what Valhalla means?”
Martin, “No, I sure don’t.”
Harry, “It’s where the Vikings went when they died. It was their version of heaven. That’s sure the right name for this place. It’s a little slice of heaven on earth. When my time comes you can bury me right here on this river bank. Valhalla, yep that way I can go fishing anytime I like.”
(Martin and Harry walk into the assisted living facility).
Harry, “I don’t like the smell of this place.””
Martin, “Why do you say that?”
Harry, “It smells of death. They probably have people passing away so often around here that they have the corner on speed dial. Don’t forget our agreement, one month, you promised. Then I can come back home. What’s the name of this place?”
Martin, “Sunny Homestead.”
Harry, “They always give these places such rosy ass names. Names like ‘Golden Years Rancho’, ‘Happy acres’ . Why don’t they call them what they really are. How about ‘Deaths Door Hacienda’, or ‘One Foot In The Grave Manner’ Why sugar coat it.”
Martin, “Don’’t be so damn morbid.”
(Facility representative greets them).
Maria, “Good morning gentleman. My name is Maria and I’m the activity director. We are so glad to have Mr McGill living here with us.”
Harry, “No, I’m not living here. You’re just babysitting me until my son gets back from his trip. I don’t plan on living here with you and all these old people. I still have my faculties about me. I’m not some drooling idiot, shitting his pants. At least not yet.”
Maria, “Why of course not. There’s so many fun things for you to do here that you’ll just love it and will never want to leave. I have my handy dandy monthly activity calendar right here. We have arts and crafts, movie night, chair exercise——workouts you do while seated. We have bingo, singalong Fridays. Everyone enjoys our ice cream socials on Sundays. We even have square dancing for those who are ambulatory. You look more like one of those hip fellas who might enjoy our yoga chair class. We have several of the church groups that make site visits. What do you think of that?”
Harry, “I suppose you don’t have a bar in this joint or free lap dances.”
Martin, “Dad, don’t be rude. He has an interesting sense of humor.”
Maria, “We do have Mexican Dinner Night and we serve virgin margarita’s to the more ruckus among us.”
Harry, “What if I wanna go uptown and watch a ballgame or something.”
Maria, “Oh no, that’s frowned upon. Residents are only allowed out of the facility if they are checked out and checked back in by family members or approved visitors.”
Harry, “I told you Martin. This place is a fucking prison sentence. I wanna go home. They’re gonna treat me like a goddamn criminal. The only crime I’ve committed is getting old.” (He starts to stubble back towards the front door.)”
Maria, (she gives a silent signal to one of the male staff members to intervene). Mr McGill please give us a chance to show you how nice it is here.”
Harry, “Call your goon off me. I’ll stay for one month, but it’s only because my son has begged me too.”
Maria, “We do take field trips in our mini bus to town. We go to the mall, to the Rose Gardens and one time we even attended a play at the community playhouse. That group of actors are so very talented.” (A shameless plug for community playhouses).
Harry, “I don’t like plays, I don’t like malls and I hate Rose Gardens. Have them drop me off at the Indian casino. I once hit a royal flush there for fifteen hundred bucks. I bought the whole bar a round of drinks.”
Maria, “No we don’t take trips to the casino. We do have pinochle Tuesdays. We also have Monaco Night where residents can win tickets and then cash them in for fun gifts. It’s a real hoot.”
Harry, “Yeah it sounds like a real barn burner.”
Maria, “Well let me show you around a bit. There’s the recreation room that the men love. They can get a bit rowdy in here at times. There’s the big screen TV room that’s great for sporting events. There’s the cafe, the coffee shop, the beauty parlor and the patio. We have cookouts on the patio in the summer. We have a piano here that some of the women like to play hymns on. Then of course we have your room all ready for you.”
Harry, “I suppose you have bars on the windows. That’s the only kind of bar you’re gonna have in here.”
Martin, “Dad, that’s enough. You’re embarrassing me. You’ll like playing the piano.”
Maria, “We even have a Kazoo band that puts on performances. They’re really quite good. Do you know how to play a Kazoo?”
Martin, “No, but maybe that pretty nurse over there can show me how to play my Kazoo.” (Makes a gesture grabbing his crotch, then hakes his head in disgust). “Oh lord, this is going to be a long month.”
(Martin and Erin dressed in Hawaiian outfits).
Martin, “Thirty years of martial bliss, we’ve made it baby. We finally made it to your dream vacation——A toast to the ocean, to love, to us.”
Erin, “Thirty years——time sure has flown by. Do you realize that this will be the first time in a long time that it’s just you and me? Right about the time the kids left home your dad moved in.”
Martin, “Yeah, time has flown by fast. We’ve gone from changing baby diapers to hopefully not changing dad’s.” (Laughs).
Erin, “Now that’s not funny. I think your dad is going to like the assisted living facility.”
Martin, “Why do they call it a facility? It sounds so cold, sterile and depressing. There has to be a better marketing term. Why not something like ‘New Horizons’ or ‘The End Of The Rainbow.’ No, that one sounds too final.”
Erin, “Your dad’s gonna be just fine. He’ll acclimate and end op liking it there. They’ll be things for him to do. He can reminisce with other residents. We’d both rather have him at home with us, but that’s just not realistic anymore.”
Martin, “Ya know, in twenty years I could be in the same situation as dad. I wouldn’t want to be a burden to our kids. If it got to that point, I think I’d take matters into my own hands. Make me a promise. If I get old, feeble and can’t live on my own, do me like an old dog.”
Erin, “What, take you to the Vet and have them de-flea ya, give ya an enema and vaccinate you for rabbles.” (Holds him close and gives him a kiss). If they ever put you away, they’d have to move me in right there next to you. We’ll always be inseparable. Let’s just enjoy each day as if it were our last. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Look at that beautiful sunset.”
Martin, “We’ve got something special. Mahalo my love.”
(Cell phone rings).
Martin, “Hello. What? Dad, what’s wrong? Slow down, slow down. They what? They confiscated your pocket knife? (Pause) The orderly stole your Jameson? (Pause) Jesus freaks visit and try and scare you into joining their religion? (Pause) You wanna come home? (Pause) They only let you play poker for penny candies? Now you’re stuck with twenty dollars of worthless Jolly Roger candies? Okay, okay. Just relax. We’re coming home from Hawaii in five days. We’ll be home for a couple of days and then we’re going to Lake Tahoe for a week. I’ll meet with Maria before we leave for Tahoe and straighten things out. Just hang in there. I’ll see ya in five days.”
Erin, “What’s wrong?”
Martin, “I was afraid of this. He wants to come home. He scared, he’s pissed off, he’s homesick.”
Erin, “It just takes time for him to get use to his new surroundings.”
Martin, “He’s slowly having to give up his freedom. His body has betrayed him, his mind is failing him——he’s doing his best to fight off all this aging bullshit. He doesn’t want to admit that he has to depend on other people to help him, especially having to depend on strangers. He has a lot of pride. He doesn’t want to appear weak or soft. That activity director Maria, she doesn’t seem to understand that you can’t treat dad like a child. His self respect is all he has left. You rob him of that, then you might as well put him out of his misery.”
Erin, “We’ll, when we get back have a meeting with Maria and explain to her how she needs to be sensitive to dad’s mental state.”
Martin, “Maybe they’ll allow me to take him out for the day.”
(Martin meeting with Maria in her office).
Martin, “I got a call from dad and he was a bit panicked. He said he had his pocket knife taken and that one of the staff members stole his bottle of Jameson.”
Maria, “I’m sorry, but for the residents safety, we don’t allow knifes or any kind of item that may be a danger to them or others. As for the alcohol, that’s strictly against our facility policy. Alcohol can affect the med’s they may be taking, plus it can may lead to negative and inappropriate behaviors.”
Martin, “Dad would never hurt another resident. He’s always carried a pocket knife. He uses it to fix things or too clean under his fingernails. And the Jameson, well he sometimes has a shot if his arthritis flares up or if he needs it to help him fall asleep.”
Maria, “I’m sorry, but those are our polices. We create a dynamic and fun environment here, but for the good of all the residents we also maintain a very controlled atmosphere.”
Martin, “Yeah, I guess you can’t have the patience running the insane asylum. Sorry, that kind of slipped out. I have some of my dad’s sarcastic humor. Other than those issues, how’s he doing?”
Maria, “He caused some issues at first but he’s gradually becoming acclimated. He tried to leave a few times but we keep him monitored closely. He was taking money from some of the other gentleman at the pool table, so we had to ground him from playing. He use to play the piano and the women really enjoyed it. He sure knows how to play that boogie-woogie style. A couple of the women seemed to have had a crush on him. But he made it very clear that he’s only had one love and that’s all he’ll ever have or need. Lately he doesn’t come out of his room very often. He just sits in his chair staring out the window. He says he’s watching old movies——whatever that means? He doesn’t eat much. He keeps insisting that you’re coming soon to pick him up and take him fishing. Boy, he thinks the world of you. Brags on and on about you. He tells everyone that you have a big job and a beautiful home. Says you’re smart, clever, but can’t tie a fisherman’s knot to save your life.”
Martin, “Which reminds me, do you mind if I take dad out for a few hours today?”
Maria, “Oh no, that would take us back several steps in his acclimation process. It would be very bad. He wouldn’t want to come back and it would be emotionally overwhelming for him. He’ll be here with us for a month, in let me see? (Thumbs through Harry’s file). Nine days. And by then he should be stable enough to go for an outing.”
Martin, “I’m sorry, but I’m taking him for an outing today. He needs to know that I haven’t abandoned him.” (Stands up and heads for the door).
Martin, (Enters Harry’s bedroom. Harry’s back is to the door, he’s staring out the window. He hears someones footsteps entering his room).
Harry, “No, I don’t want lunch. I don’t want to sit in the TV room, or do Yoga. I don’t want to square dance or string beads. I don’t want to attend a fucking painting class unless theirs a hot nude model. Just leave me alone.”
Martin, “Well, I see you haven’t lost your snide sense of humor.”
Harry, (Turns around abruptly). “Martin, Jesus Christ, I knew you’d come back for me.”
Martin, “What would I do without my favorite fishing buddy. I want to spend the afternoon with you dad. Let’s get out of here.”
(Seated in Martin’s car).
Martin,”I have our fishing gear in the trunk. How about we head out to the river and see if we can catch our limit?”
Harry, “That sounds like fun, but what I’d really like to do is go home.”
Martin, “Dad, I can’t take you home today. Erin and I still have reservations for our trip to Tahoe. We’ll be back in ten days and once we get back we can talk about if this assisted living faculty is the right place for you.”
Harry, “I don’t want to go fishing, I want to go home. I’m talking about the home where your were raised. Sometimes I feel like an old kerosene lamp that’s running out of fuel. My memories start to go dim and then they flicker in and out of focus. Certain places take me back and refresh my memories. I was thinking about our old house the other day and I actually couldn’t remember what color it was. Isn’t that funny? I remember the three birch trees in the front yard and the four steps leading to the front door. I remember coming home from work and the smell of pot roast greeting me when I opened the front door. Mom sure could cook pot roast. She’d have those potatoes and carrots in the same pot soaking up the delicious juices—-crispy on the outside, soft on the inside. I miss her cooking. Oh my god, and her baking of cakes and pies.
Martin, “Stop, stop. I’m gonna drool on myself.”
Harry, “I can still see that big ole walnut tree in the backyard. I just can’t remember the exact color of the our house.”
Martin, “I haven’t driven by the old house in a long time. Let’s take a ride over there. I remember that one summer you and I painted the house. I got mad because I wanted you to pay me for helping. You said families members don’t get paid for helping one another. Families look after one another. But, when we were all done you gave me a hundred dollar bill. I’d never seen a hundred dollar bill before. I thought I was rich. But even more valuable than that hundred dollars, you taught me a good life lessen.”
Harry, (Points at the house). “Yellow with white trim. I should have remembered that. Yellow was always mom’s favorite color.”
Harry, “It looks smaller than I remember.”
Harry, “It was even smeller before I finished the attic and added those two dormer windows. Man, if I could go back in time, this is where I’d go. So many Christmas and Thanksgiving get togethers celebrated right here. I’d give a thousand dollars to mow that lawn again on a hot July afternoon. Then have myself a cold beer while barbecuing some New York steaks. It’s funny how some memories are attached to certain places. It’s like being haunted by old ghosts of days gone by. We sure had a good life right here——as perfect as a Norman Rockwell painting.”
Martin, “I remember you telling me once that the best complement you could give another man is to say that he raised a good family. Well, dad, you raised a good family.”
Harry, “Thanks. Want to know something? Even back then, I always knew I had it good. It was the best time of my life and I loved everyday of it. Thanks for letting me see our old home one more time——ghosts and all. You can take me back now. I can now come back here again anytime in mind when I need a fond daydream.”
Martin, “I’ll be back in ten days and I promise, we’ll come up with a better living arrangement together. There’s got to be a something better than this. We’ll put our heads together and come up with a game plan.”
Harry, “Yeah sure. The place I’m at has too many goddamn rules. I know I can’t do a lot of things I use to do, but I still need a reason to wake up in the morning. Have you ever heard of the French saying——-raison d’être?’
Martin, “No, what’s it mean, what’s the translation?”
Harry, “In French it means, ‘Reason for Being’ That’s what I feel like I’m missing. Ya get older and it’s easy to lose reasons to carry on. The kids are grown and moved on. I no longer have a job to report too. All of my good friends have passed on. My dear wife has gone on ahead of me. It’s hard to find a reason to get out of bed. I stare up at the ceiling and ask myself what am I going to do today what am I going on for?”
Martin, “Come on. You’re still good at stirring things up. You have that activity director not knowing if she should shit or go blind. That’s reason enough to get out of bed.”
Harry, “The day I stop stirring shit up———well——-do me a favor.”
Martin, “Sure, what dad.”
Harry, “You’ve got my deer rifle, right?”
Martin, “Don’t talk like that.”
Harry, “Would you want to keep living if you’re drooling, shitting your pants and not able to recognize your own family members? If I get to be like that, well, just take me on a field trip to the river and bring the rifle. Leave me there on the bank and I’ll take care of the necessary business. You’ve got to promise me that.”
Martin, “I would never do that.”
Harry, “If our roles were reversed, I’d do the same for you. Please. I’ll rest a lot easier if you promise me this.”
Martin, “Who the hell knows what tomorrow may bring. But I promise that I’ll honor your wishes, whatever they may be.”
Harry, “Know this, I’ve always been proud of you and I love you more than you’ll ever know. You’re my boy.” (Put his hand on Martin cheek).
(Five days have elapsed. Martin is at the nursing facility to pick up Harry. He’s at the reception desk).
Martin, “I’m here to pick up my dad, Harry McGill.”
Receptionist, “Let me call Maria. She’s been trying to get a hold of you.”
Martin, “Oh yeah, I lost my phone when I was skiing in Tahoe. White phone, white snow, that suckers gone until the spring melt off.”
Maria, (Waves Martin over to her office. Reception buzzes him in). “We have an emergency on our hands. Your father has made an escape and has taken eleven residents with him.”
Martin, “What? This place is a locked facility. How the hell could he escape. He’s not Houdini, he’s an old man using a walker.”
Maria, “Well, apparently he bribed the night watch staff person to leave the back door unlocked. One of the residents who backed out at the last moment said he bribed the night staff person with three hundred and sixty dollars. He must have stolen the mini bus keys while he was flirting with the CNA.”
Martin, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Maria, “We might have a real situation on our hands. I called 911 and there’s an all points bulletin broadcasted to the police and sheriff departments. He’s been really depressed lately and telling some of the residents that being trapped here was making life not worth living. The resident who stayed behind said the group was talking about going to place called Valhalla. Apparently, it’s a place where the Vikings went to die. They made some kind of pact. I’m afraid he may have convinced some of his fellow residents to perform a mass suicide. Do you know what that means for our marketing? We’d forever be the facility known for allowing its residents to run off with a madman and kill themselves.”
Martin, “Madman? Who the hell wouldn’t go nuts imprisoned at your concentration camp. You’re worried about marketing! Who gives a shit about Marketing, this is about saving the lives of my father and eleven other human beings.”
Maria, “Do you have any idea where he may have taken them?”
Harry, “I have a good idea where they may have gone. I’m heading out to find them.”
Maria, “I’m coming with you.”
(They arrive at Valhalla Cove).
Maria, “I hope we’re not too late. I will be pressing charges against your father. He belongs in a jail or an insane asylum and not an assisted living facility.”
(They arrive at Valhalla Cove.The river bank is lined with residents sitting in canvas chairs holding fishing rods).
Martin, “Dad, what’s going on. Is everyone alright? Are you alright?”
(Harry is wearing a fishing vest and using a cane, not his walker. He’s wearing a fishing hat with fly hooks attached).
Harry, “Of course we’re alright, in fact we’re better than alright, we’re great.”
Maria, “How can you be alright? You’ve kidnapped eleven people and selfishly talked them into a mass suicide. You’re like some kind of Jim Jones cult leader. The police are on their way and buddy boy you’re going to be arrested.”
Harry, “You’re the crazy one. Everyone came here by there own choice.”
Maria, “I was told that you made these people make some kind of pact with you to go to heaven——-to go to Valhalla like the Vikings did when they died.”
Harry, “Yeah, we made a pact to go to Valhalla, known as a place the Vikings went to die, also know as heaven. This place right here is called Valhalla Cove and it’s as close as you’ll ever get to heaven on earth. They made a pact to give me fifty dollars to cover the cost of fishing rod rentals, snacks, beer and to pay our bus driver. George over there had his grandson come and chauffeur us in the mini van. I would have driven, but my eyes have gone to shit, although I can still tie a pretty good Parachute Adam fly.”
Martin, “Why didn’t you get permission.”
Harry, “We don’t need permission from her or need a hall pass. We’re all living on borrowed time, so why not do what we want. We’re all here today, gone tomorrow. Carpe Diem. We are seizing the day. For the amount of money they charge us to stay in that prison, they should be providing trips to Disneyland and weekly fishing trips. I feel younger just being out here in god’s country.”
Martin, “For someone can’t remember what day of the week it is, you sure can remember a lot of fancy words———Carpe Diem———raison d’être.”
Harry, “Words are sacred to me, they sustain my memories——they define my day dreams. It’s a shame more people don’t know how to use words properly. Without an appreciation for words how the hell are ya gonna tell a good fish sorry.”
Martin, “Speaking of fish stories, are they biting today?”
Harry, “Why hell yes. I told all the these old farts to bring an extra pair of Depends, cause if they get a whopper on the line, they’re likely to shit their pants.”
Martin, “I see you got the barbecue going.”
Harry, “Get a plate and fix yourselves some lunch. But if you’re gonna stay and fish, you’ll have to pony up fifty bucks, just like the rest of us. Go on over to the ice chest and grab yourselves a couple of beers. Oh Yeah, George’s grandson runs a fishing charter outfit and said he’d be glad to take me out fishing whenever I wanted. He said he was looking for someone who could teach his customers how to tie flies. If you behave Martin, I might even allow you to tag along.”
Martin, (Lifts up his beer to make a toast). “Everybody, raise your beer, a toast” ‘To raison d’être, carpe diem and Valhalla Cove———a little slice of heaven on on this spinning blue ball.’
(“Fire and Rain” plays as the actors take their bows). Old
For Haley and Taylor.
Soundtrack “It’s For You” by Pat Matheny
So ya wanna be a writer. Writing takes enormous courage, at least for those who dare to stand in the center-ring and call themselves the master of ceremonies. When I say master of ceremonies, I mean standing in the center-ring with a chair in one hand and a whip in the other—–cracking that whip as you attempt to tame language, coaxing those unruly words to jump through rings of fire. It’s being honest and pure——it’s as insufferable as siphoning ink from an anemic soul. To go to such places you must first face down who you are or who you thought you were–you must be prepared to shine a light on your blind spots and shake hands with your darkest shadows. What’s in there? What’s way deep down inside me, that thing I’ve carried with me from the womb, that shameless thing that’s a part of me like a birth mark in the shape of original sin. If you can go that far down then you’ve earned the privilege to call yourself the zoo keeper of words. You have fed the lion, but you have not tamed him. Beauty, danger and fear are the bars that cage our confessions. A long lost friend once told me “Where the beauty of the soul is, there’s always danger.”
The next step is to put your head in that lions mouth. Choose honesty over insecurity. Allow space for venerability, don’t be anonymous——be outrageous, be original not a trend chaser, be forthright rather than pious and vain——take no-ones word other than your own, search everywhere for yourself and then let it all go, unleash your restrained emotions and when all the stiff mannequins misunderstand you, tell them to fuck off———it’ll be scary, but it’ll make you feel awake and alive—–trust that it will be worth it. Your words are your weapons, surrender is your shield. Make shit happen, even if you have to make shit up as you go along, walk the high-wire, be a fire eater, play the clown, don’t be afraid to make mistakes, it’s how you’ll learn to orchestrate your circus. Be persistent, have tenacity, be a seeker. Be good to yourself, be kind to others, smile, even when you don’t feel like it—-take the body and the mind will follow. .
Life is a beautiful thing——-people like you make this so.
Soundtrack “Cascada” by Jesse Cook
This life, man how it pisses me off, locked in, locked out——-passing me by, I don’t know——— I walk around with this old skeleton key, and every lock I slip it into refuses to give way. Lovers, friends, careers, hopes and dreams—even god, they all seem dead-bolted and out of reach. I wanted it all so bad, I wanted everything, I wanted to know something or someone in a better way, a closer way, cause I’m afraid that someday it’ll be to late——-I can’t find my way in——or is it my way out that leaves me feeling orphaned. Another rainy hungover Sunday, cold black coffee, black and blue marks, questions marks, exclamation marks—-moving on, moving out, falling down, falling apart—-how many overs make an end?
I admire but a few professions. The boxer, the standup comedian and the poet. They perform naked, no props, no cue cards, turning the disconnected nothingness of life into form and art. They allow us to take mundane moments and eye them up close as we tumble them over in our hands, like “curiosities” or “what nots” at a rummage sale——It’s a fine line between junk and treasure, truth and consequence, fate and happenstance, synchronicity and chaos———— the “you’s and me’s” and “what use to be’s”——-I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, because beauty is not so much what’s reflected in a mirror—–it’s what lies behind the reflection.
And baby, how I wish I could call you up and ask you to come over, but that number you once pressed into the palm of my heart at 2:00 am under a flickering failing streetlamp is now disconnected, no forwarding address, you’ve gone underground, unlisted, unavailable, I’m just another one of your gypsy memories——- I wish I were more like you, an emotional hitchhiker, leap frogging my way from here to there at another’s expense.
A prize fighter knows the score. He’ll take the hardest punch you can muster and then throw one back at you just as hard, until someone is so busted up that they can’t answer the bell. His only way out of this is through you. You think you’re tough, then bring it on brah! Sweat, spit, tears, Vaseline and the taste of blood fill his split lipped mouth. Rights, lefts, upper cuts, jabs, body shots——with back against the ropes, the jeers of the crowd fade until all he hears is the sound of his own labored breath——- and from deep down there comes the throb of blood surging through his veins. Don’t get pissed or take it personally if he fucks you up, cause mister, he comes from a neighborhood where there’s only one bone for every five dogs——-
Oh my god, listen to how that comedian weaves rhythm and tempo into a syncopated groove like a jazz tenor player creating tension and release as he steers his ship between awkward truth and twisted absurdity. His riffs cut through tendons and bones with the deftness of a surgeon wielding a chainsaw——-daring those out there in the safe darkness of audience to laugh till it hurts, until tears stream down their cheeks. Killing them softly as he makes them contort and grimace with the intensity of an epileptic orgasm——cause the better part of foreplay is always laughter, and right beneath that G spot lies her funny bone. And I never doubted that Charlie Chaplin had more groupies than Gene Simmons and Elvis combined. If you can get her to laugh, the world is your oyster. Or, if you can get her to laugh, her oyster is your world——-“Drummer!——Rim shot please!”
Then there’s the melancholy poet bending words like forged metal into swords that cut to the marrow as he dissects cumbersome words such as love, and truth, and beauty, doing his best to make you cry until you laugh, cause even the saddest of life conditions eventually reaches a point of hilarity——life——- at its best is a tragic comedy, at its worst, an epitaph marred by graffiti and eraser marks——-
I’ll add one more profession to my list. Magician. He suspends reality as he toys with your sense of certainty. How did that rabbit get into that top-hat? How did his beautiful assistant disappear into thin air? He snaps his finger and a white dove appears, the ace of hearts appears at the top of the deck at his command——his cane becomes a bouquet of flowers. We’re becoming children again, believing in the Easter Bunny, Santa and the Tooth Fairy. Life is magic, like the color blue, like the sky blue, like love at first sight, like the purity of children, like ocean sunsets and mountain thunderstorms————like free candy on Halloween….
But adults lose their sense of wonder. Hope and dreams are the currency of youth. Age causes the investment to become devalued by routine and complacency——somehow discounting the small miracles that appear daily——Why? I don’t know, but it scares me when I see those my age stiffen with rust like the Tin Man——If they only had a heart rather than a brain stuffed with straw. Maybe under it all, they’re concealing a cowardly lion. Fear is the lock we must all learn to pick. It takes a titanic amount of courage to swim through this life, cause an ocean of frozen tears can sink the mightiest of ships.
I argue with god, but I’m not sure if it’s him that I‘m taking to task or just one of the cast of voices that loiter in my head. They mumble to me like homeless bums hiding in the shadows of a urine stenched alley. The chorus of voices implore me to watch my cities burn, to stop rattling the chains across my doors——to give up on you, to give up on me——-to severe all connections with an innocence lost.
I”m looking for love by brail, cause love can’t be seen, it’s only felt—-like music. Every word you speak has the power of a million waves, wearing away my walls and causing my granite facade to cave-in like castles made of sand. And did I tell you that I still love you, it’s not a choice, it’s an addiction, stronger than herion, more like oxogen than a drug, something that comes to me in gasps, and at night I suffocate in my bed. And if your phone rings at 3:00 am, it could be me, just wanting to hear the sound of your voice one more time. The right key turning the right lock is a once in a life time chance, like Sir Lancelot pulling a sword from a stone to become king—-but you cut my hair and broke my crown—–
Make no mistake, this is a world where the keys you’ve been given seldom match the locks that you find yourself stranded behind. It’s a place of paddle locks, deadbolts and door chains with squinty eyed peepholes. If ya want in, if what ya need is behind that door, if that’s where your dream lies, where you passion leads you, then you’re gonna have to kick that fucker in, your gonna have to bust it down, you’re gonna have to throw yourself against it, again and again, with all you might——until you get in, or get out, or get through————until you are allowed passage to that place where you know that you were meant to be, that place where you belong.
Soundtrack by Coldplay “Sky Full Of Stars”.
Stories and dreams. We all have them, but having someone to tell them to is as close as some of us may ever get to giving them form. Putting such flimsy notions into words and trusting someone with them is such a dangerous propositions. We’ve all been misunderstood and laughed at——-betrayed when least expected, hurt by those most trusted. So we retreat further into adulthood, into becoming conventional and bland. But I never felt that way towards you, cause you allowed me to believe in glory and grace——in fact, you encouraged my groping wishes to wake and be given life, with you I could be an astronaut, free to explore my outer and inner space. I could be a Zen warrior, or a pale version of a cool-ass bluesman, you gave me the swagger of a pirate, the bravado of a rodeo clown——with you, I became wide open and fearless, featureless….. liberated and limitless…….You offered a love that never expires, a timeless space where there is no room for regret or remorse….
They say that the starlight we see is millions of light years old and in fact, some of those stars we hold as real have long ago flamed out. They implode or explode or wink off into the blackness like a dream or story that never reaches its surface. As stars bleed light, so it is for the lonely who hemorrhage hope. You and I float hand in hand above this blue marble, wearing nothing but our smiles— and it’s all so beautiful from a distance.
Where you’re from, isn’t who ya are, but it shapes what you become. And when we were young, all we wanted to do was get out of this place that we thought made us lonely and small (but we didn’t even know what loneliness could feel like—— as foolish as comparing a paper cut to a severed soul) and now we can only go back there in memory or dreams====and if you can still share a memory or a dream with someone——then you can understand that it’s not so bad losing this battle with time.
And don’t let them tell you that time is a river, no——-, it’s like that glassed in machine on the boardwalk where taffy is stretched, pulled and folded back into itself——It will pull the caps off your teeth, stick to the roof of your mouth like peanut butter, it will adhere to the sole of your shoe, eventually becoming a wad of molasses covered in dirt, making you limp, causing each step forward to feel more like a stumble……
I’d once heard it said that “Bad decisions make for great stories”. To me, that’s the most Christian thing ever spoken. Truer than any condemning bible quote, more real than any evangelic sermon intended to save my other gummed up soul. We’re here to make mistakes, to fuck up, to work it out and fuck it up all over again. So don’t feel so bad, it’s what were here to do—–
You’re the worst decision I ever made, but god we have such great stories to share————-
Wanted—A buddy/pal/partner—or a BFFN (best friend for now)
I don’t care about your political views, religious beliefs, tax bracket, sexual orientation, profession, race, gender, visual appearance (picture not required) physical condition (disabilities are a plus) IQ, marital status, your merits or accomplishments, educational background, your favorite sports, interests or nationality——
ONE STRICT REQUIREMENT: YOU MUST BE OLD, VERY OLD, IN-FACT—–THE OLDER THE BETTER!
The following traits, suggestions and activities are not mandatory, but preferred:
- You must not be computer, iPad or smart phone savvy. Preferably, modern technology leaves you hankering back to the good ole days when shaking hands, looking someone in the eye and sharing time and thoughts were a valued pastime (prior to the advent of multitasking and trying to do a bunch of meaningless bullshit at once). Please do not confuse emailing, Facebook postings, texting and voice mailing with the art of communication. Yes, it’s an art, not an exercise in technical maneuvering. Communication requires a commitment of time, patience and compassion—-as does companionship.
- I don’t want to have sex with you. At this stage of the game I don’t even like looking at my own naked body in the mirror. I don’t mind hugs or holding hands regardless of your gender–tenderness is good.
- I am attracted to anarchist, recluses, eccentric’s and those possessing a sense of rugged individualism—-in other words, I prefer those who are off the social grid e.g. “I wouldn’t belong to a club that would have me as a member” Will Rodgers.
- If you express your political and spiritual beliefs by displaying them on bumper-stickers, please do not apply. If you believe the world is flat and that global warming is a farce, you need not apply (I will not suffer a fool).
- I don’t care if you are vegan or prefer a super-sized McDonald’s meal, but—being a fan of ice cream and all things sweet is a huge plus.
- Must enjoy taking slow inconsequential walks while idly commenting about the weather and other such insignificant topics. After all these years, watching the seasons change is still a divine experience worth observing and discussing.
- Must possess a silly, ridiculous and absurd sense of humor. This includes busting out in spontaneous giggles (best reserved for solemn occasions such as funerals, medical waiting rooms and fine dinning venues). Immaturity, lack of social etiquette and refusing to act age appropriate is a total bonus—-at this stage of the game, who gives a rats ass what anyone else might think of you. Must possess the capacity to laugh at oneself and be comfortable in your own wrinkled, saggy, age spotted skin.
- Must not be afraid of silence. Especially while watching children play or when enjoying a sunrise or sunset.
- Preferably you enjoy petting cats, dogs or any other animal that understands unconditional love—-oh yeah, this may include feeding birds.
- Wearing clothing that is colorful, out of style and mismatched is much approved and appreciated. This includes, wild hats, large print moo moo’s, suspenders, onesie’s, bow-ties, snuggies, overalls, fancy shaw’s, jumpsuits, afghans, scarfs, sequins, cat-eye glasses, squealing hearing aids and all things comfortable, expressive and fun.
- Music, music and more music. Turn off the depressing 24 hr news and all the crap that passes for entertainment on the TV. Shut out all the clutter and noise that fills this manic modern world. There is nothing better than spinning an old vinyl record from back in the day. Better yet, breakout the piano and the tambourine and start singing and dancing your ass off. It’s great exercise and nourishes one’s soul.
- After a long walk a group nap is always an enjoyable activity of choice—BYOB—Bring your own blanket.
- Feel the sun on your face, walk in the rain, catch a snowflake on your tongue. No matter the season, there are always new and interesting things to do. Life is never boring, there are only boring people.
Aging requires that we all become more Zen like. God has a funny way of teaching us these simple lessons. The key tenet of Buddha’s teachings is this “Attachment leads to suffering”. Aging demands that we let go of everything——when you get old, you need less and less material crap. A game of dominos with a friend or a Sunday drive to visit family is more treasured than winning the lottery.
No need for fancy cars, boats or planes (can’t operate them anymore and there is no place you really need to go) no reason to own a big house (to much to keep up and no one to share it with) no storage sheds, garages or spare bedrooms full of possessions (just a bunch of crap to dust and worry about losing) no job title or profession (don’t have that to hang your identify on now (it’s just you hiding beneath wrinkled skin and brittle bones) no more vanity (can’t make it on outward appearance, fashion or putting on airs, its all about letting that little inward light shine) no need for pridefulness (age will humble your ass, and force you to realize that you were never as important, smart or pretty as you once thought you were).
You no longer have anything to win or lose, nothing to conceal, to protect, to defend, to covet, to prove, to own, to desire, to lust after, to judge or hate, to atone for, to forgive, to worship, or to define————– and in this state of mind you will discover an all-consuming peace.
You will learn to accept and enjoy living in the present moment. This is mainly due to the fact that your long term and short-term memory is shot to hell—-your entire past is a blank slate. The future is at best tenuous, you’re surprised and pleased to have woken up this morning to find yourself currently alive and still breathing—your future is a mirage. All you have is this precious fleeting moment.
Companionship is based on how you are being treated—right now. You have no grudges, no obligations or biases; in fact, you have no memory of the faces and names of past friends and lovers. Every one you meet, even old friends, once again become new friends. If someone is being kind to you, then you will respond with kindness or visa versa. And, at some point you won’t even remember your own name, or your own face in mirror. Finally, with no motives, hidden agendas or selfish intentions, you are now free to love yourself and all others unconditionally.
If this request for friendship connects with you, I would love the opportunity to make your acquaintance. I can be found most afternoons sitting on a bench at Kiva Beach. I’ll be the guy wearing plaid shorts, stripe shirt, a white bucket hat (Gilligan style) with black socks and brown sandals—-
I can often be heard whistling a little tune that goes like this——
“Row, row, row your boat—Gently down the stream—Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily—–Life is but a dream”. Ain’t that the truth.