Lemonade Lost: Notes from The Shrine, 12.30.2024

Tea and coffee, please. And hot sauce.

Helen's daughter Pat serving a few drinks. Bob Miller, aka The Hot Sauce Guy, passed away on the 26th. He was an OG. He sat at the second-to-last table on this side of the dining room. With the late Tom Brown and with Neal, who made it out of here.

It was only during the long Covid lockdown, when residents couldn't leave their halls, that I came to learn that Bob Miller took hot sauce with every meal. He was on B hall along with my dad. By then Bob had mostly lost his voice but he never had to ask for the hot sauce, it went with saying.

There are lots of visitors today. This is the first time I've seen Pat in the lunch room in a while. The first time since I was chided for serving drinks. I wanted to ask her about it. She has also been told not to serve drinks but I guess she doesn't care, which makes me feel a little better.

I've been taking my dad to main dining as much as possible but after his near-choking incident at the Christmas Supper, I've decided I won't take him to the main/communal dining room anymore. I don't want any more scenes. Back to the Dammert dining room it is.

For a while I've been meaning to mention Father Maes's return to Dammert. He's been back for weeks now, after having done a brief rehab stint in Dammert early this year, right after my dad moved in. I'll never forget Father Maes finding those spots of sunlight through the skylights, or through the glass door at the end of A hall. He would sit in the beams and read, beatific. But he's slower now. He looks thin and weak. He is wheelchair-bound. He could walk or at least get around with a walker once he moved back to St Francis after his short Dammert stint. We saw him sitting outside a lot. He would always say hello.

Lester is here, awake. Susan, or Susie, is back. I haven't seen her since the last Covid lockdown. She had that catchy laugh. But she's out of sorts today. She asked where her visitors went. She wants out of the lunch room; to go see her visitors. But they don't exist. The CNAs ask her to wait until her food arrives. They'll check again to see if any visitors have arrived to see her.

The OGs still here, in this main Dammert dining room are: Helen (Pat's Mom), Helen Dooley (mayor's mom), Jackie, Tony Hill, Bob Smith (dad's first roommate), and Father Madigan. I might be missing one but that's it.

Lester's son is here. The food arrives but Susie is refusing to eat. She is on a lounge chair nowadays. I've never heard her like this. There is something wrong with her legs.

Before lunch my dad and I had a profound moment when Jack's wife stopped us as we wheeled through the main building.

"Do you remember me?" she asked my dad.

She stooped to put her hand to my father's face. I told her I remembered Jack.

"Well, everyone does," she said, "he used to scream so much."

Which he did. And I began to say, "Yes, but he also played a lovely piano."

Which he did but she did not hear me; she had already begun to move away.

I officially met Kent, Lester's son, at lunch. He is also Gretchen's son. I offered my condolences. Lester and his wife Gretchen both caught Covid in the last wave. Gretchen never recovered. Kent brought Lester in and they sat with us at the lunch table. We shook hands, or made to, across the table when I knocked over Lester's lemonade. Classic. Helen's daughter Pat went and got me a clothes protector, which did well to absorb the spill...


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Notes from The Shrine: The Return of Bob (1.8.25)

Everyone would like some popcorn.
—Bob

Bob walked into the main Dammert lunch room today. He hasn’t been eating in this dining room for a couple of months. It’s me, Bob, Lester, and Dad all at one table. Old times and new.

The snow brightens the room. They don’t seem to be offering Bob any coffee. He was sitting in here before we were. They said he just wandered in and sat down.

Brad got me some coffee. Bob is singing. LaDosha comes in, asks about Bob, goes out.

I have a feeling Bob wandered in because of how bright it is in this room. He can’t see very well but he might have been attracted to the light.

Dirk comes in, goes out. Bob mumbles clearly about coffee. He is missing it.

“How about a couple of coffee cups?” he says. “Isn’t there a week….”

Brad is taking the drinks cart around. A wheel squeaks.

“Coffee,” Bob says. “Please bring some coffee.”

There’s a new lady. She says to the not-so-new woman next to her, “I’m a wreck.” The other lady says, “No you’re not.”

“That’s cold,” says Bob. “For the kids…”


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Notes from The Shrine, 8.7.24: A Bear Came Over the Tracks

Outside in the courtyard at Shrine with my dad. Brad had a mask on but no-one said anything to me about any new Covid restrictions. Within ten seconds of my clapping his shoulder to announce my arrival, Dad asked me to take him outside.

The lawn crew is edging walkways and borders.

”Where are we, the Shrine?” he asks.

”Where do you think we are?” I say.

“I think we’re there. I’m just guessing.”

The edger drones on, throttling up and down, back and forth, in and out, left to right. My dad’s eyes are blue, red, and watery.

”You want to go out there even with that lawn equipment going?”

A rhetorical question he does not answer.

It’s cooler. Way cooler. The two-cycle engine quiets for a moment, just a moment. And the rest of the soundscape steps slowly out from wherever it was hiding. The whir of crickets. Voices from inside.

”You’re not gonna see much in the sky,” he says, “ A few birds, that’s it.”

There’s the song sparrow, reeling off its spell. Nothing happens. They’ll be back to mow, and then again to blow. Maybe we’ll be at lunch by then.

The sky is cloudy. It might not even be eighty degrees, a stunning turn of events. Church bells. I’d go to that mass sometime. There are people in there who know me. Maybe they don’t know my name but they know my face and they know I’m here for my dad. That’s all I know to feel welcome. That is enough. Knowing more would break the spell. Question me, question them. See ya in another life, brutha.

”You want anything to read?”

”No, I just like to enjoy it out here,” he says, “I got papers in there I read.”

Remember back when my parents said they saw a panther, from the St Francis entrance? They said they saw a panther go through some grass, at the edge of the back parking lot, and into the woods. I thought it must have been a dog, or possibly a bobcat…


Read more of this account from early August 2024, right before Covid swept through Dammert…

Notes from The Shrine 3: Let’s All Sing Some Songs

We are sitting in the lunch room.  Me, my dad, Bob, Father V.  We are all drinking coffee. Bob is singing along with the music that’s playing.  Patsy Cline.  He is not quite singing the words but he is howling, slow crooning, lamenting.  

The song is “Baby, Baby.”  Once it ends he says, “Yeah!  Write something else!”

Lunch is grilled cheese, tomato soup, fries, and applesauce.  Nothing wrong with that.  My dad is eating well. Bob gets an extra sandwich but he hasn't gotten through the first one yet. It's a warm nursing home lunch room now gone quiet except for Patsy Cline singing “Always” one afternoon before the approach of some very bad weather.

The song ends and Bob exclaims, “Yes, indeed!”

Then he makes to get up from the table.  “Well, the wife is wonderin’ where I’m at,” he says, and my dad laughs.  

“I know she does,” Bob says, trailing off.  He doesn’t get up after all, stays seated.  He sits with his back to the wall, looking toward the wall of windows on the west-facing side of the lunchroom.  Bob's problem is his sight.  He can still get around just fine, using his walker, but his vision is failing.

“Look at the clouds all the way out,” he says, “I think they’re going to be there a while.  I think we played football together...”


Read the full journal entry here...