One of the ladies living here in on the continuum care campus had a birthday and her kids bought her four tickets to the local circle theater so she could taken three friends with her. I was shocked that I was invited. Sure, we took a painting class together and we occasionally sit at the same table for dinner or lunch and our chit-chat is pleasant and warm. However, if she saw what I wrote about back when she had a hissy fit over something a painting teacher said that caused her to throw her canvas in the trash, I would be ostracized from her circle of friends. And don’t think that doesn’t bother me. I’ve read and reread that post and its followups a dozen times making sure I represented what happened accurately in case it’s ever discovered. She’s really a nice person and I like her but she gets her feelings hurt extremely easy to the point you have to weigh all your words around her. I used to think it’s was because she’d lived a china doll life on the Monopoly Board equivalent of Broadwalk while I grew up on Baltic Avenue. But getting to know her better during the circle theater event I found out that’s isn’t true. Her elegance, sense of decorum and tenderness come from some place else. She lived in an upper middle class neighborhood and worked as an executive secretary for some of the most important business owners in town but didn't come from wealth.
After the play we went back to her place for dessert and she told us about how she had been on the same Resident Council that I was invited to join and rejected the idea of setting up and run their newsletter. At their second meeting the guy in charge was going around the room telling the ten people present what he thought they’d each be good at contributing and he didn’t say anything to or about her. So afterward, she sent him an email resigning from the group and told him why for which he apologized later on and asked her to reconsider. She told us all the experience she’s had in the workplace which really could have translated into useful skills in the Resident Council, but she was truly hurt and on the verve of tears retelling the story. Honestly, I don’t know what to make of this. If it had happened to me I would have chalked it up to the guy being in his mid eighties and it being an honest oversight but she obliviously processes things differently than me. Aren’t human beings interesting in all of facets and foibles? I don’t think I’ll ever tire of trying to figure out what makes us all tick.
Back to the theater: If my memory isn’t playing tricks on me I think I’ve only been to a circle theater one other time in my life and that was only 4-5 years ago. It was a funny production at the Michigan lake shore and full of obscenities that wouldn’t go over well with my current collection of neighbors. I’m really surprised that I’ve been able to keep my tongue from throwing out a few curse words here and there. As a former caregiver to a husband who spent time working in a factory I had perfected the use of the ‘F’ word in well placed situations. And although I’ve moved away on from reading all the military romances I was struck on last winter where every pages was filled with swearing I still can’t bring myself to be offended by an occasional obscenity. I actually quit reading them because I was afraid some of those four letter words would roll off my tongue too easily here and I’d die of embarrassment. I don’t think I’ve heard a single ‘damn’ or ‘hell’ since I moved it let alone a hardcore curse word.
This time I saw a production of On Golden Pond and the story comes from a 1981 movie The official synopsis for the film reads: “Cantankerous retiree Norman Thayer (Henry Fonda) and his conciliatory wife, Ethel (Katharine Hepburn), spend summers at their New England vacation home on the shores of idyllic Golden Pond. This year, their adult daughter, Chelsea (Jane Fonda), visits with her new fiancée and his teenage son, Billy (Doug McKeon) on their way to Europe. After leaving Billy behind to bond with Norman, Chelsea returns, attempting to repair the long-strained relationship with her aging father before it's too late.” I remember not liking the movie much but I just found out that the film is a top favorite of my youngest niece, giving me something else to examine closer when I can't sleep. In this production the accent was on humorous one-liners and the bond the boy and the old man were able to form.
All and all, it was a great way to spend the afternoon. We had wonderful seats, didn’t have to walk too far and the strawberry shortcake our host served was just like everyone’s mom used to make. There is a sick kind of joke going around here since strawberry season started and they added it to our menu. Only instead of the traditional biscuit drenched in berries and whipped cream that we elderly people are used to the chef makes little bullet shaped cakes and drizzled them with what looks liked pink toothpaste. He started topping it off with one slice of strawberries and when people started complaining about the lack of strawberries the one slice went up to two. The sick joke is that after our meals we all make the poor waitresses tell us what’s for dessert and then we ask her how many strawberries are on top. We had some new, cute little college girl waitresses who have dutifully gone back to the kitchen to ask our question of the chef. The waitresses have caught on to the routine now but we still ask and then we pass on ordering the strawberry shortcake without strawberries and laugh about it. ©
