New Home

 My new home consists of 45 brand new faces that I’m only beginning to know as we speak. In many respects, it’s the same as before. They are mostly old people. We all have our individual disabilities and quirks. They are mostly people an entire generation my elders, like the others, in the other place. No one is hurrying me to do anything.

They’re all human beings, a lot like me. I’m finding the WWII generation is getting to be a little before my time. If one wants to find the sharpest needle on the tree, one is looking in the wrong place. The idea is to arrange to make as many friends as possible, one person at a time. The other day I made friends with one of the sharpest minds in the place.

I’m doing pretty well.

What I found is that I fell twice today, and had an awful time trying to talk.

There don’t seem to be too many women who like younger men here. Maybe one or two who notice a guy like me. What a relief that is. The other thing is that there’s a girl my own age here. She was curious about the expression, One, Two, Three Club. That’s an enlisted man’s club in the 1960’s, back when I was in high school. There were a lot of dance clubs at the 60’s, during the war

Then there’s our ten ton Lizzy, who has the most frank crush on me of anyone I’ve met in all my days. I mean, it’s OK that she likes me and so on. I mean, who wouldn’t be flattered to get a little attention. She succeeds at keeping her hands to herself. She was talking about it one day. She works on the staff, happens to be married, has kids, the whole bit.

I get some security from the idea of her inhibitions. She hasn’t tried to jump my bones yet.

The staff eat separately from the residents, except for ten ton Lizzy. We residents find our own meals in our own dining room, served on a tedium of cheap, china plates, rickety old coffee cups, and drinking glasses that happen to be way too large for me, personally. The table settings are more than adequate. I’m only poking fun. This doesn’t inhibit ten ton Lizzy from helping herself to our snacks.

We get along well enough around here, to make life as pleasant as possible for each other, eating three meals a day in the same place. There’s no one around here who will spirit us away to Never Never Land or introduce us to the most beautiful fairies. I enjoy my time in my private room, with my laptop text editor and a multitude of ideas coming and going in this old laptop of mine.

It seems ole ten ton Lizzy is eating something or other, as if that’s the news. Either that or she’s always sitting down, with her alembic 400 lb Heine, and her mainstream fiction in her lap, as though she’s doing her job. I’d report her, but I kind of like the lady. It’s so inspiring to watch her stuff her face all the time. I can’t help wondering when her heart’s going to give out.

Ten ton Lizzy’s supposed to be working, (clocked in alright), but is always finding her comfort, either in the resident snacks, her own food, or some book she seems to eventually forget. Maybe we should give up picking on her when she’s not here. I’m not going to tell her about a heart attack she’s building with all that food she’s gorging on. She seems comfortable enough letting the day pass.

Sometimes, it only seems silly to write anything other than what I’m doing.

I’m expected to live here long term, which means that sometimes, someone or other is going to rub their back against a tree, like the proverbial animal. We all have our troubles to bear. So far, there’s only been one person who needs to comfort themselves with bark every now and then. Otherwise, the folks here seem to be pretty well civilized, for the little bit of an institution we have here.

I have the diagnoses I do, with all the medical terms associated with each, to add to the general mix, the way I have mine. I find the idea that other people have medical problems, with all their own medical terms to go along with them, to be a comfort to me. There don’t seem to be any people who don’t have at least one medical issue.

The place where I used to live around this area, had 100 residents, wall to wall. There were some nice people there, who could be really counted on in a pinch. Some people there, were just as hell-bent on my destruction as anything else. I’ve been working on document after document, before and since my move, but none of them seem to quite measure up.

I can’t imagine what I will do without that woman with the Masters Degree in Gerontology, who could always come up with some sort of workable solution for every problem she was faced with. She had brilliant solutions to all my problems in that way. She was a rare gem. She had some real honest to goodness red hair, too. An exceptional beauty.

But then, one can’t find a more desirable place to be, without letting go of it’s predecessor. I have a larger room here than I had before. Plus, all the bully’s have been left behind. I’ve lost my friend at the barber shop, as well as my friends in housekeeping. The spaces are more manageable over all, than they were with that sprawling building I thought I would never get away from.


About geostan51

I'm a wordsmith and a craftsman. I've been known to hand crochet just about anything escept granny squares. I've got about twenty titles in my name on the Kindle Store at
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