So I had a trip to Shady Lanes rest home a few weeks ago. It's the new place my grandfather and his wife live now. It used to be a hotel but they rennovated it into a seniors resort. Each room door has a mailbox and the seniors decorate the door and the walls beside the doors like it was the outside of their houses. Their names are on the doors too - I guess in case they forget where they live.
My grandfather and his wife have joining rooms - each with a single bed, TV, loveseat and a few other things. There was shit on my grandfather's bathroom carpet. He uses a walker with wheels to get around when he has to - but spends most of his time in a chair napping.
When I got there it was about 80 degrees farenheight in his little room - he was wearing a cardigan and complaining he was cold. Needless to say it was a different kind of experience. It made me feel mortal to say the least. But the seniors they just seemed to "roll with it" - shit and all. I wonder often what they think deep, deep inside. What is really going through their heads? Is it any different then ours, besides maybe just a little bit more foggy?
Don't worry - if we are lucky we will all get a chance to find out.
The intercom goes off and a woman's voice greets us: "good afternoon Shady Lanes residents dinner will be served in fifteen minutes - there is a choice of roast chicken or teriaki beef, thank you."
On this que my grandfather begins to prepare for the ardorous task of getting himself out of his big chair and over to his wheeled walker. He totters around a little burning away the next ten minutes while we all just stand around waiting - sweating in our clothes. Finally his shit is in gear and we are out in the hall. As my grandfather makes the turn out of his room and into the hallway other patrons slowly diffuse into the corridor and it is soon filled with hunchbacked blue-hairs riding hard and senior-fast, on their wheeled walkers. As slow as the process is you know they are all rushing. You know they are rollin' with the shit so they can dig down on the free eats in the nearby cafeteria.
Yea - from what I can tell the seniors they just roll with it. I guess the little things become the big things when you get tired just trying to get your leaky ass down to the Shady Lanes cafeteria. There is knitting displays and other crafts for sale on the trip to the slophouse. I try to convince myself I should buy something - but there isn't anything worth while. My grandfather ambles along in tandem with other members - he doesn't talk to any of them but they all seem to share some sense of silent camaraderie.
Once we get seated teenagers start to bring out the food. They are removed from their task and there doesn't seem to be any human element in what they are doing. The clash of the emotionally stunted teens and the seasoned aged gongs at my senses as I watch them interact. The food is hard to swallow but the gang of geriatrics seem to take it in at break-hip speed. The coffee is weak and tepid, the decor garish colonial, ala silk flowers and pastels.
Yeah - the seniors they just roll with it. They just keep on keeping on I guess.
The experience is a sour one and the whole time I'm there I wanna leave. I wanna just get out and hope that I never end up here - but I know I will. I just roll with it and take one for the team. I just roll with it and tell them It was good food and a great place. Just so it helps them to think it is. Just so I do my part to make things a little better for them. I will go back a hundred times and I will hate every second - but I have to go - I want to go. Just to give them something normal. Just to let them know that I know, I too, am going to be there - with my shit on the bathroom carpet.
