Adventure in God’s Waiting Room part 2

I’m changing the name of these postings.  My wife suggested it and it occurred to me it would be a great name for a blog about life and adventure.  After all, aren’t we all in God’s waiting room?

Retirement Village or City of the Dead

Last night we were back at the Gulf watching an extended family light and launch the little hot air luminaries to the setting sun.  Buoyed by hot air the little miniature balloons were sent on a one-way trip into the Gulf.  

Launching?  Dreams, good byes, hopes or just having fun?

I’ve read of cultures that write the names of loved ones lost the previous year on them.  Or perhaps you just want to send your prayers, cares and wishes to the universe on the beginning of the new year , this might be a good start.  It sounds very solemn, peaceful and almost religious.

This extended family was just having fun, cousins talking to aunts and uncles, mothers and dads, sis and brother, all laughing and getting splashed by waves as they tried to launch each one.  I’m sure they were creating memories and drawing closer to each other.  Hmmm, maybe it was religious after all.

First Sunset of 2015.  What lies ahead?

The first sunset of the 2015 was underwhelming.  I had hoped for some insight to how the year would unfold, but Dame Fortune revealed nothing to me.  Maybe that is the message.  The year 2015 isn’t written and we each have chances to take and fortunes to dare!

Back at the retirement village, I’ve seen too many people to claim I’m staying in the city of the dead.  Still, it’s eerie to sit at the entrance to the floor and at 5 pm never see anyone.  The darkness closes in on you and all you can hear is the bubbling of the fountain below on the third floor.  Occasionally the automatic doors whoosh open, but you never hear footsteps.  Maybe the sensors see things mortals don’t.  It’s peaceful and a little spooky.

The residents pass me in the hall or notice me at the coffee/bagel breakfast bar and give me a curious look.  I’m too young they think (maybe, I could have made a fortune and hired a doctor to keep me young) to be a resident but they’re not sure.  Maybe I’m visiting and then again, well, who knows.  I’m sure they are thinking that youth is wasted on the young.

There’s a small pond outside and I enjoy feeding the birds.  There are common ducks (a few), and several orange faced Common Moorhens.  I’m sure , if it could, that bird would not choose to call itself that if anyone have consulted with it. 

The flock arrives for feeding!

There also several small white, long legged wading birds with a longish curved bill.  They.re not in the bird book I found.

The pond is also home to several large soft-shell turtles.  These guys must be the SEALs of  the turtle world.  All you see are two eyes and a nose above the water.  They approach the target under water, pause to check six, and gulp! the prize just disappears without a ripple.  Mission successful, one fed turtle.

Last night was movie night.  That’s not an experience to miss.  The movie was “Father of the Bride” with Spencer Tracy.  It was interesting to see how Hollywood saw or at least portrayed the upper middle class family in 1950.

Question?  Does anyone still wear a suit when eating dinner at home anymore?  Do you ladies still wear pearls to eat with the family?

It was also interesting to experience the movie with the old folks.  One woman thought the movie was too loud and when it was made softer, she wanted closed captions.  Everyone wants a different volume and didn’t hesitate to speak out, preventing anyone from hearing anything.  The collective wisdom of the audience decided that while a room temperature of 74 degrees was too cold, they could tough it out.  Several wondered where the popcorn was.

Me?  I had a beer.  I needed a second one.

Thinking about a Christmas or Birthday present for a retired parent or favorite aunt?  Let me suggest silk long underwear, electrically heated slippers and a megaphone. 

They would be useful for movie night.


Part One

Adventure in Gods Waiting Room

Any trip to Florida in the winter is an adventure.  Especially over the holidays when everyone is double nuts to enjoy every minute even if it kills them.

Where I-77 crosses from West Virginia into Virginia is the East River Mountain Tunnel.  Last year a rock slide on the Virginia side closed the north bound lane.  This year flashing signs warned the south bound tunnel was closed.  Cars were already backed up into a parking lot.  I could picture some tragic accident involving several cars which would close the tunnel while they checked the structural integrity of the mountain.  A process which could take 3 days  (it was the holidays after all) and would result in a parking lot reaching north to the Ohio river.

Fortunately we were in the right lane and could duck off at an exit which dumped us off where only God and our GPS knew where.  And they were not very expressive about it.

Between the tablet and the GPS (Thank God for technology!) we found ourselves driving up the side of the mountain in a fog and snow storm on route 598.  The route put us back on I-77 below the tunnel only to find the entrance closed by the state troopers.  Seems the interstate was closed while a construction crew moved a large overhead road sign about.   Closing the tunnel was a natural pinch point for this same operation.  At least there were no fatalities there.

So Close!  

We finally arrived at my father’s apartment.  We knocked on the door and it opened to be greeted by chemical warfare. Great clouds of BenGay and cat urine rolled out the door and damn near knocked us on our collative asses.

It was good to see my Dad.

One is my dad the other Santa. Take your best quess.

I finally convinced him to crack a window to let a little fresh air in.  No sooner had I done that then Lilly, his cat, rushed out of hiding and launched herself at the window ledge.  Prostrating herself with her nose out the screened opening I was afraid her whiskers would irreversibly lock in to the window screen.  My father claims Lilly likes to lay on the window ledge.  It is my contention that the cat is simply hoping for some stray air leakage around the window.

I cautioned my father not to apply any more liniment to his knees as the diners in the restaurant might not enjoy their food as much as they could in the aroma’s absence.  I also called Sharky’s and moved my reservation from inside to outside were the Gulf ocean breeze soon defeated the problem.

Sharky’s is one of the better seafood restaurants in this part of Florida.  People travel from great distances to come to Venice and one of their first stops is Sharky’s.  I had wonderful coconut shrimp and my wife is still talking about her grouper.   

My father had a hamburger.

Next year, God willing, I’m going to take him to McDonalds.

We returned to join the New Year’s party that was scheduled to run from 7:00 to 8:30.  Dad couldn’t wait.

The staff brought in at least 40 bottles of sparkling wine and made the mistake of opening them.  For retirees, these folks sure know how to pack away the booze.  By 8:00 you could only find the non-alcoholic sparking apple juice.  Nobody was drinking that!

The Baby 2014s
Or
Our collective (if we are lucky) future New Years.
(The rest of the empties are under the table)

We made it to midnight to see Taylor Swift outside in Times Square freezing her butt off.  She admitted her choice of a bare midriff outfit was a little too skimpy for New Year’s Eve in freezing weather.  Talented but not too bright.

Happy New Year to Everyone!


Part Two

New Year's in Forida

Some people think I decided to visit my father in Florida over New Year’s because it’s 21 degrees in Ohio and it’s a fine 75 down here.  Let me put the rumor to rest.  It’s true.

It’s also the best time to fit together the holidays and my vacation from 2013 and 2014.

People I rented to pose by Christmas tree

He lives in independent care so he has a little one bedroom apartment.  He has a small ship’s galley-like kitchen, dining/living area as well as a nice bedroom and big walk-in closet.

The complex gives new meaning to warehousing the old.  The facilities are very nice, very clean and filled with healthy elderly.  They have assisted, but no hospital care.  Get to the final stages of life and you’ll find yourself on the curb.  Since they don’t take Medicare money they don’t have to provide the required beds for the terminal.  Things may change; I understand they are building a housing unit for Alzheimers.

The complex, which shall remain nameless, has several large buildings surrounded by small houses of various sizes.  The facility provides at least two meals a day which are part of your monthly rent and rent is in the $2800+ per month range.

My father is in the ‘hotel’ area of complex.  The hallways sport art work on the walls and the residents place decorations by their door alcoves that brighten the hallways.  You find Ohio State flags, teddy bears and statues of dog and cats, at least I think they are statues.  So far no groundhogs.

A neighbor's door

Me?

I’d have a little IDPA target on a stand with moveable bullet holes.  Assuming my wife would put the kibosh on that, I’d buy a taxidermy dog, preferably a beagle.

We are staying in guest quarters in a second, but connected building.  The central core is an open air atrium so the apartments are entered from a covered walkway and face outward to the park-like grounds. 

Very nice in a spooky kind of way

Most of them have screened-in porches, a nice feature in what can be overly sunny Florida.

The central core is decorated with living plants and flowers. They and my wife and I might be the only living things in the building.  We haven't see a single person coming in or out, much less walking around, in several days.  Where is anyone???

The building has a metropolis of death feel to it.  We have not seen a seen another living person.  It’s like living in a mausoleum.  I assume people live behind the doors we see, but I could not swear to it.  

What does it mean when vultures roost on your house? 

One might find, if you could open any door, the dried desiccated remains of former inhabitants carefully stacked on shallow bunks lining the rooms.

We sat out last night on a bench facing the apartment mausoleums and enjoyed a second beer. 

An excellent beer!

It was a little spooky.  Kind of like whistling when you walk through a graveyard.

In the hotel side they have rooms set aside for specific purposes.  You have to be careful not to play scrabble in the women’s craft room, even if there is a complete absence of crafts at that moment.  The residents have a highly developed since of propriety.  The complex has a card room and on one night, one specific night only, they play a game called Hand and Foot.

I’ve played this game for 30 years.  The rules are a bit complicated; different cards have different values and it’s a bit like canasta, requiring you to meld, create runs or books of cards.  I expected the game to have slightly different rules.  Different location, different culture and so different rules.  I wasn’t disappointed in that respect.

So we played.  My father wanted us to play, in fact it’s all we heard about since we arrived.  I was looking forward to a couple nice games with my dad but when we got there he palmed my wife and I off on two older (there are no younger people here) women.  They were very nice, but I’ve never seen someone wear a green-tinted accountant shade to play Hand and Foot before. 

There wasn’t any money involved, but I was reminded of the scene in “The Seventh Seal” where the knight plays chess with death to give everyone in the castle a chance to escape.    These women took it that seriously.

Me?  Well I kept looking for Captain Kirk.  I figured we were playing Fizbin. 

The rules had changes so much that it wasn’t the same game I knew.  Basically the only similarity was we were playing with cards.

We played a couple hands, escaped to my Dad’s apartment for a beer (see above picture)  while we waited for him to finish playing cards with his friends.  When he came back we grabbed two more beers and that’s how we ended up drinking back at the mausoleum.

Post script:

Happy New Year!

I never thought I’d be sitting outdoors (central atrium) and typing.  This is way too nice.