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.  ...

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...

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...

This photo is from Pixdaus. While visiting my mother at the nursing home this week, I noticed a woman in a wheelchair who was following after one of the aides as she walked down the hallway. "What needs to be done?" she asked the aide. "Do you need me to make the beds or wash the dishes? I can help. I want to help." "No, the beds are all made, and we have somebody here to do the dishes. You don't have to worry about that here." "But I need to have something to do. I can do something to help out around here. I need something to do." "Well, I'll have to see if I can find something for you then," the aide replied. I don't know if the aide found something for her to do, or what it was if she did, but I hope she kept her word to the woman in the wheelchair. We all need to feel as if we are useful, that we have a purpose, that we can contribute. I saw this photo of a candle in a broken water jug, and it reminded me of that w...