Last Thursday was the annual family picnic at Quiet Oaks. The evening started with a talent show put on by the residents. Several ladies read parts of the slightly off-color “Alphabet of Aging” (google it), and a small group put on hats and followed the Events Coordinator as she led them in chair exercises to a jazzy tune. One gal, not in a wheelchair, really got her groove on and had us all hooting with laughter!
There were a couple of singers–uniformly bad, but “A’s” for effort. One was Mother, who sang a duet with the social worker, “Let Me Call You Sweetheart.” I tried to take a video but have not figured out the upgraded OS for my iPhone and totally botched it. Below are two fuzzy pics–one of them singing, and the second of her basking in the applause afterwards.
During supper (which she thoroughly enjoyed), she asked “Did Mom make it here?”
“No, I haven’t seen her.”
We went outside to listen to a band made up of old codgers (my age) playing pop and country with the volume turned up so loud I lasted only a few minutes. I don’t understand why that seems so “necessary” or how people can stand it. We left, and I wheeled her around the grounds as it was getting toward dusk.
“Do you want to sit over here (a ways away) and listen to the music, or are you ready for bed?” For the third or fourth time she told me she couldn’t go to bed because she had promised two different men she would sing with them for some sort of program and she couldn’t miss it.
“But you already sang, and you were wonderful!”
“I did? Did Mom hear?”
She’s still 16 and misses her Mama.