herbiehancock

   Sometimes when I visit my mother in the nursing home I see a short, frail woman in a wheel chair named Erma.  She has light gray hair curled softly about her face that poofs up just a little higher than it should on top.  She wears glasses that are too big for her face that sit perpetually perched part way down on her nose (which is also too big for her face).  I remember reading somewhere that our noses and ears continue to grow throughout our lives even when the rest of us has stopped.  It seems to me that must be true judging by the ears and noses on the folks at the home.  Behind those too big glasses, Erma's eyes always seem to be in a squint and full of suspicion for those around her.    Nearly every time that I have seen Erma, she has been cradling a doll baby in her arms.  The little pink doll wears a pink and white dress and white ruffled bloomers and is wrapped in a small green hand towel for a baby blanket.  ...

He read a few verses from the Bible and told a couple of stories, but what brought the light into their clouded eyes, what caused them to sway in their wheelchairs and tap their toes, what brought smiles of recognition to their faces were the songs that he sang.  As the words and music to old gospel hymns like "Rock of Ages," "What a Friend We Have in Jesus," "Blessed Assurance," and "In the Garden" filled up the dining room of the nursing home, the residents who had come to the church service were transformed.  Those who minutes before probably couldn't tell you what day it was or perhaps not even their own names were singing the lyrics to the songs they had grown up hearing in church. Memories from long ago were triggered by the familiar notes coming from the piano keys. Some sang out in loud clear voices, some mumbled the words, some sang beautifully, some sang off-key, but they sang.   The music touched them in ways that it seems nothing ...

I thought I'd share a few moments with you that made me smile recently. My Mom Wow man at the nursing home seems to have taken a shining to my mother.  My mother finds him annoying, and she avoids him as much as she can.  The other day I was pushing her down the hall in her wheelchair and Wow man was coming towards us from the other direction. There was no way to avoid him, so we kept going, but he leaned way over towards her, talking to my mom and making funny faces at her trying to get her to laugh.  My mom just scowled at him.  Many of the residents at the home have personal alarms attached either to their wheelchairs or to their clothing.  These residents are at risk of falling if they try to stand on their own.  The alarms go off if they move too far out of their chair which warns the aides to check on them. Anyway, Wow man was trying to make mom laugh when he leaned too far out of his chair and set his alarm off.  It was very loud and sudden, an...

This is another character sketch of one of the people at the nursing home where my Mom lives. I did earlier sketches of Vivian and of Harold . Dan Dan is a rather short man. When sitting in his wheelchair in the nursing home dining room, it seems like his head is barely above the edge of the table. However, he always sits leaning forward and way over to his left side. So, perhaps, that is part of the reason he appears to be so short. Dan has a round head that looks disproportionately large for the rest of him. He also has a large nose and large ears. His eyes, however, are very small. One might even say they were beady looking. He wears little, round, gold, wire-rimmed glasses. His hair is just a fringe of dingy gray strands above his ears and around the lower back part of his head. His bald head has several large brown liver spots which are quite noticeable. His hands are slender and delicate looking, held together with paper thin bluish skin. They too are covered in liver...

This is another character sketch of one of the people at the nursing home where my mother lives. I wrote about Vivian in an earlier post. Harold I've seen him many times, but I have only heard him say three words: "hey," "here," and "yes." When he does say them, it is always with a very soft voice, barely audible. He smiles and laughs readily though. He has a sweetness about him, an aura of kindness if you will. Most days, he is properly dressed with his silver hair neatly combed and in place. This particular day is apparently not going as well for him as usual, though. His hair doesn't look as clean as it might, and it is sticking up in odd places. Although he is wearing pants, he is wearing a pajama top instead of a shirt. It is buttoned up crookedly--the wrong holes with the wrong buttons so that there is an extra button sticking up by his neck with no hole to match it. He looks disheveled and uncomfortable. He is confined to a wheelc...

When I was in college, the professor of my fiction writing class would sometimes have us try our hand at writing character sketches without actually writing a story about the characters. He just wanted us to get a feel for describing them. The following is a sketch I wrote of Vivian. She is one of the women who is a resident at the nursing home where my mother lives. I often visit my mother during the lunch hour, so I have had many opportunities to observe Vivian. * * * * * Vivian Vivian is blind or nearly so. She wears very thick glasses with big black rims, but she appears to see very little even while wearing them. She sits in a specially designed wheel chair that reclines slightly. Her feet are elevated. One is wrapped in a soft blue boot and propped on a small pillow. She is not able to maneuver the wheelchair on her own and must be wheeled down to the dining hall of the nursing home by one of the aides. Because of the design of her wheelchair she is unable to be pu...

Wheelchair Joust Riding their wheelchairs like silver steeds, wearing no armor, just sweat shirts, sweat pants, and house shoes, two old gray men roll down the hallway at the nursing home straight towards each other in a slow motion joust. They creak along in a bizarre geriatric game of chicken. At the last moment, one steers slightly to the side. There are miscalculations and their wheels collide. They look surprised and then suddenly angry. Each grabs the armrest of the other one's chair tugging and pushing and swearing. The air turns blue with their spewed words of frustration. Frustration more than just tangled wheels. Frustration at being old, at lost years and lost freedoms. Frustration at missed opportunities and days that are numbered. Frustration that causes a rage that runs deep and sad. A young aide notices the jousters. She gently pulls back the chair of one, untangling the wheels with ease. Just as suddenly as the old men flared, their fire is put out. They sizzle and ...

At the Nursing Home A turtle of a man-- brown, leathery skin, wrinkled neck, bald head, tiny eyes-- and a mouth like a beak (because he had forgotten to put his dentures in that morning) traveled down the hallway. His teeth were still sitting on the nightstand by his bed. Not much snap left in them anymore anyway. From inside the hard shell of his wheelchair, he pulled himself slowly down the long white tiled floor with just his shuffling feet in scuffed leather slippers. His hands held the elbows of his arms pulled up tight against his stomach as if he were holding something to his chest that he didn't want to share. He crept along the white hallway the way a snapping turtle can sometimes be seen crawling down a road. Neither knowing his destination. No one else knowing either. Although, he moved by inches, time was flying quickly by him like a bird in the air above him. It swooped just by his head so close that he felt the breeze from its wings on his ears. He raised his head tr...