No, the reason I want to write is because I love the way the page looks as it fills up with my words. I like to see my thoughts looking back at me from the computer screen. I want to tell the stories that I share every day in my classroom -- I want to write them down before I forget them.
Many years ago I worked in a couple of different nursing homes. I was
an Activities Director. It was a challenging yet rewarding job but, ultimately, one
that sent me back to school to become a teacher. But when I was employed at the
nursing homes I met some of the most unique individuals. I was sure that
someday I would write a book and tell the stories of the ladies and gentlemen
that I had met. There were some strong characters to be sure. And some were
sweet.. and some were .... well, just plain ornery. But the stories I could
tell.....
I do remember one story that I have told
to my classes often. This year I mentioned that one of our pets at home is a goldfish.
The kind you win at the carnival. I explained to my class that we had one of
those that was over 5 years old! They seemed unimpressed but I pushed on to
tell them that those fish typically live only a few days because they are bait
fish intended to be fed to other fish. It is usually just a big sad story a few
days after winning them as the ritual flushing occurs.
For the nursing home residents, throughout the year we would plan
some big events that had themes. One time we planned a Bridal Fashion show and I
and many of the other workers wore our own wedding gowns to the delight of the
residents. Another big event was our Senior Prom. The residents really looked
forward to the dancing, the music, and of course, the unique decorations we
managed to pull off.
For one special event we
had an ocean theme. As we brainstormed decorations, the activities staff agreed
we could place fishbowls on each dining table for a centerpiece. We would buy
the inexpensive carnival fish to put in each bowl. The residents were amazed to
see the tiny goldfish swimming around as dinner was served. The fishbowls were
a colossal hit. The residents could not stop talking about those fishbowls.
After the event, we gathered up all the glass fishbowls onto a gray
serving cart and rolled it back into the Activities/Bingo room. All the fish
were moved into a large fish tank found in the craft closet. We didn't give
them another thought until the next day when residents began arriving for bingo. A few of the more vocal residents
pointed out quickly that several fish were floating on the top. Bad luck for
them, we guessed! They were plucked out and flushed posthaste.
A few hours later, residents gathered again in the Activities room
for cards. It wasn't long before we were being notified of more fatalities in
the fish tank. Not wanting to dwell on the sad topi, we again quickly removed
the goners. The residents remained cheerful noting how much fun it had been to
see them on the dining tables.
By the next day, there were many dead fish floating on the top of
the tank. We all did our best to remove
them before anymore residents saw them! This was starting to get depressing! Day
after day we scooped out the dead ones and before long, in spite of having
purchased hundred of goldfish, there was only one left. This fish was hardy. He
was the sole survivor. None of us could figure out why it was still alive but
it was. Even the residents noticed. One of the maintenance men eventually asked
us if he could have the fish for his apartment. We quickly agreed not wanting
to have to share the gruesome tale with the residents when the final flush was
needed. He named that fish Rocky.
I don't know how long that fish lived. I guess my story sort of
stinks without knowing that but like our own fish, it wasn't supposed to happen
at all. We really look at our fish with wonder. How is it still alive? No idea.
But that will to live is something to think about. It seems to be a powerful force. Maybe the
residents took some solace in the fact that, in spite of all the others, at
least one had managed to hang in there.
Those are the kinds of stories I don't want to lose. There were
really special residents like Martie, who always had a white neck brace collar
on, and my little piano player, Edna with the squeaky high voice and the slow,
slow, shuffle, shuffle walk and Michael, who was the unofficial mayor of the
home.
If we don't write down the stories, we lose them. I really am
going to try harder to remember more of them. That's my story and I'm sticking
to it. For now.
