New Language

I sped over to see Dolly, who now lives twice as far away, about 80 miles, after work yesterday . I found her sitting in her room. Just sitting. No TV turned on, no stimulation whatsoever. She was glad to see "me", or rather she was glad to see "Georgia". She introduced me as "Georgia" at dinner.

The hall is set up so the residents' rooms are circled around a big open area where they all gather for meals (at like, 4:30pm). The women at Dolly's table are Jean, (who actually lived in the same town as Dolly!) and who really likes to talk about the orchard they used to own... Loudly. She is a no-nonsense midwest farm woman, with thick ankles and support hose. You know the kind. She also wears socks on her arms, with cutouts for her fingers and thumbs. I can already tell she is a mix of obligatory politeness ("The food is good here." "I felt at home right away.") and disgruntledness ("Is somebody coming to get me?!" "I've been waiting a long time.") One thing I like about her: When she tells stories about her husband, they always call each other "babe". One anecdote went something like this: "My husband said, "You're going to go to the beauty parlor every month. That's your wedding present, Babe. I get a haircut every month. Why shouldn't you go to the beauty parlor every month?" Jean, it has already become apparent, can be dominant. During my first visit she invited us to visit her room, straight across from Dolly's, to "see her dollhouse and photos"(!). After we weaseled out (Dolly and Pip and I went off to explore the building instead) she sat in her doorway and stared into Dolly' s room for some time.

There is a quite large and sober woman named Georgia who likes ice cream. She has gotten ice cream both times I have joined the group for dinner. She is a non-participant, but yesterday she became active when Grace, who is 102 years old, dribbled some baked beans down her chin. "She has food on her chin!" said Georgia forcefully. "I guess I'm the only one who noticed that!" Grace's beautiful young granddaughter, who was visiting from Toronto and had, I'm sure, already noticed and dismissed as unimportant the food dribble, dutifully wiped it clean. Grace is totally deaf. Like a petite little sprite, she sits at the table completely isolated from the other women because she can't hear them. She usually keeps her eyes down, but when she does connect with you, she is sweet and apologetic. "I won't be joining in the conversation because I can't hear!" Dolly, who can't remember from one moment to the next, keeps trying to ask her things, like "You didn't want your jello?" She interprets Grace's lack of jello-appetite and informs Georgia, "It must be all the excitement of having company."

There are a couple of old men in Dolly's hall, but they seem particularly "out of it", or maybe retirement communities are the one place in the world where women really dominate. One of the men has startlingly beautiful blue eyes, with which he makes contact with mine each time I pass. I have never heard him say a word. The other wears big thick glasses and is constantly slumped down in a wheelchair. He stayed in the common area for at least an hour after dinner yesterday calling loudly, "Bring me some chicken pot roast! I want some chicken pot roast!" We were in her room playing solitaire, which turned into a fiasco. I guess Dolly isn't ready for numbers yet, or cards, either. She still has a lot of trouble reading her watch. And while I'm at it, she has no idea what the cord with the red button is for, no matter how many times we remind her that it is for calling the nurse! The game of solitaire became simply an exercise of placing red and black cards in the right sequence on the stack, which was fun in itself. We cheered when all the cards were in four piles as the gruff voice demanded from the other room, "Where did you put the chicken pot roast?"

Dolly and I walked down the hall a couple of times and it was obvious she is much stronger. When we got back to her room she was tired and I was ready to leave (even though she said sadly, "Can't you spend the night?"). The voice outside her door had left chicken pot roast behind and begun its' nighttime call. "Come get me! Somebody come get me!"

Listening intently, Dolly and I began to giggle, and she quipped, "Yes! Please come get him!" But his demands echoed down the quiet hallway, past the elevator and the nurses' station and into the night. "Come get me! Come and get me!"