It seemed like it took me forever to get out and look for a photo today. I should probably start going for walks in the neighborhood, taking my camera with me, and looking for photos that way. I’m sure it would be better for my health.
Last night Cindy and I picked up Flo’s friend, Peg, and went to the Christmas dinner at the nursing home where Flo is living. It was quite an evening. I’ll give you the high lights, from my point of view.
We arrived at the nursing home early, according to Cindy, ten minutes before the dinner was supposed to begin. When we walked into the dining area we found Flo sitting at a table with three other people. We were supposed to have a table, but there was none with Flo’s name on it. We were given the option of eating in the director’s office, or in an alcove off of the main floor. We opted for the alcove since there were two other tables there, and you could see and hear many of the other tables.
The dinner was buffet style, and as luck would have it, the tables in our area were the first to be served. In fact, our table was the second to go through the line. The food was OK. I wouldn’t expect anything better considering it was institutional food. There was a choice of fried chicken or ham, sweet potatoes, green beans, and a number of side dishes that were carried in by the guests. We brought a dessert. Going through the line Cindy asked a server if the piece of chicken she was offered was a breast. Why, yes it was, she was told. The server told her wrong; it was a thigh. It was a large thigh; but it was a thigh, and Cindy doesn’t like thighs.
It was announced early on that after the meal was eaten, the staff would clear the tables and then there would be entertainment. Cindy and Flo finished eating and repaired to Flo’s room so that Cindy could cut Flo’s hair. While we waited for their return Peg asked me where the trash cans were, because she wanted to clear our table. I repeated what I had heard, that the staff would clear the tables. She didn’t believe me, so she called over a member of the staff and asked them. The staffer told her the same thing I had told her, and Peg accepted that. Then she told the staff person that they could now take her plate and plasticware. The young man looked a little surprised, but took it and disposed of it. A few minutes later the staff began clearing all of the tables. One young woman started to squeeze between the back of my chair and the chair of a person seated at the table behind me, so that she could pick up dirty dishes. When I started to scoot my chair forward, she turned and said to me, “You don’t have to do that, sweetie.”
Aside: I dislike being called sweetie or hon by anyone other than Cindy or a few very close friends. I think it is rude coming from anyone, especially a waiter/waitress, a sales clerk, or a drive through attendant. It assumes a familiarity that doesn’t exist…especially when the person speaking is young enough to be my daughter, granddaughter, or worse (much worse) old enough to be mother. OK, back to last night.
A moment or two later I felt the young woman trying to squeeze back between the seats. This time I didn’t move. I glance at Peg and saw her eyes widen. Then I felt scraps of food hitting my side as they fell to the floor. Peg had it right when she told me that I was lucky the scraps had not fallen into my hair, or that the staff person hadn’t dropped a cup of liquid. The staffer assured me, as she wiped food from my jacket, that she was not part of the entertainment. I silently agreed.
After that we moved to the main floor where we met Cindy and Flo for the entertainment. We ended up sitting just in front of a person who appeared to be a DJ. I was partially correct. He played music, but he also sang along to the Christmas songs he was playing. His voice was good; it wasn’t great, but it was good. I didn’t catch his name, and that is probably a good thing, because if I knew it, I would probably be checking on him on the Internet today. Cindy liked him, but to me he had a smile that would make me want to keep between him and any of my grandchildren.
Some of the people there probably thought Cindy was part of the show. She sat almost beside the singer/DJ, facing the rest of the guests, and sang along with him. She was smiling and swaying to the music, occasionally beating time to the music with her hand. I’m surprised no one asked for her autograph.
As I said, it was quite an evening.