Days, Times, Memories

I went to the Welcome To Our New Residents reception. Even though I have my own permanent nametag, I was given a sticky name tag showing I was a newbie. I chose lemonade over the champagne and added some lovely fruits and veges to my plate. I found a seat next to a couple I had met my first week here. She is from Brazil, still with a heavy accent, although she has been here for decades. She and I, each, have made a point of getting to know people. She is one of those who remembers names and connects with anyone in her path. I, being me, look for those who seem to be alone or, at the least , separate from the loud voices of people with low hearing abilities. As we sat there, people we knew came by with surprised looks. “You are both new residents? I thought you had been here a long time.” ‘No’, I thought. ‘We just didn’t waste time tiptoeing around waiting for life to find us.’ Of course, I simply smiled, keeping my snarky thoughts to myself.

I skip lunch, feeding myself from my own fridge (a lot cheaper), but I make a point of going to dinner in the Pub. It’s smaller than the dining room but offers the same fare. As I walk in there sits a table for four. It is filled with the same four men every day. Four Navy veterans (Vietnam), glued to that table only by their service and content in that arrangement. One of them was a ship’s captain who rests in his official seat, stone-faced as I stop and give them a ‘Good evening, gentlemen.’ I believe they all served aboard vessels, which accounts for their rigid responses. THEY CAN’T HEAR ME! Over the weeks they have grown accustomed to my daily pause and salutation. They acknowledge me with their eyes and, sometimes, a slight nod and, occasionally, the faintest hint of a smile. They see me walk in and probably think, “Oh, here comes that ‘pain in the donkey’” but I also notice that, if I’m distracted and don’t stop, they send glances my way during their meals. If a college game is on the big TV screen, I pop over and ask who they are rooting for. For some reason, the other team is usually Oregon so I declare my preference for the West Coast team, not because I like Oregon, but because I’m still a new transplant surrounded by Easterners. I stand there in silence, waiting for their response of preference, usually one or two words, and then I smile, telling them to enjoy the game.

I have been dabbling in different opportunities. The Tai Chi class meets Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. It is hard! The movements are tougher and you move faster than I did in the California senior classes. I am determined to persevere. Let’s see if my body agrees. The lady next to me gave me instructions, personally and constantly. Someone else may have become huffy-puffy, but I just smiled and said ’Got it. Thank you.’ After class, I asked her if she had been a teacher. She had. No surprise there. I like her. Our teacher…? He is in his 30’s, maybe, with a pony tail and those loose, patterned pants from India. I think he believes he is on the next level, somewhere in the stratosphere above, touching down on Earth to help us poor seniors who may still have time to reach toward our own next levels. That may be my judgemental perception. I do appreciate his willingness to show up each time. I just wish he would wear some underwear under those thin pants.

On Saturday and Sunday afternoons, I play Bridge. Each foursome is a set of wonderful women I am appreciating getting to know. Each one has their own special quirk they were probably born with, but are now more prominent. One lady takes a long time to order her 13 cards and then will, invariably, announce that she only has 12. We have her recount, and she usually (always) finds the 13th. We play 12 hands (games) and quit around 4pm. Another lady will then complain that they always play until 4:30, and she doesn’t have anything else to do until dinner. The third person, who also plays both days with me, becomes slightly agitated with both of them. I must admit, it is kind of fun watching them all act like pre-teens arguing about which Twilight actor is cuter.

Everyone I talk to has glowing stories about their children and grandchildren, hinting at perfect lifetimes and happy endings. But, the more you talk to them, the more you see of the lives they lived and the sacrifices they made for their perfect families. Most of them are happy with what they did. Many of them are also perfectly happy with their freedom from responsibility. Being perfect Southerners they would never admit that.

The men at the Veteran’s table are simply silent. The women are willing to talk about any and everything, except for what I believe they hold deep inside. In that way, they are silent too.

Virginia Apgar became a doctor in the 1940’s, a time when women were looked down upon in such an esteemed profession. Later in her career, she devised the Apgar Score to evaluate “blue baby” newborns. It is still used today and used worldwide. When she was asked how she had thrived in a man’s world she responded,

“Women are like tea bags – they don’t know

how strong they are until they’re in hot water.”

I believe that also works for men. Men have to be strong in a man’s world.

Women have to be strong in a man’s world.

Enough said.