Honey, Margaret, & Carol

Honey is a woman I met at an Assisted Living home I visit.  I don't know how old she is.  Workers sometimes will prompt me to ask a resident how old he or she is, because the resident will sometimes answer like he or she is young.  "Oh, I'm 32," or something like that.  However, the echo of the chidings during my youth are loud, and so I still feel like it's very rude and improper to ask someone how old he or she is--regardless of someone being senial.  Am I right?



Honey, is Honey's nickname.  Though I'm sure it wouldn't be a stretch for parents now to name their child that.  I find Honey to be entrancing.  Actually, when I stare at any of the women residents, I can be entranced.  The men, too.  Did you know that--I think it's 3x--women are 3x as likely to "catch" alzheimer's or dementia?  Did you also know that there is no "t" in alzheimer's--so don't say it.  My mama corrected me with that.  Thank you, Mama.

I feel exhausted today.  Yucky.  For a month now on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, I typically spend several hours at this Assisted Living home in town.  I was real jacked up about this opportunity at first because I intended on giving hand massages to the residents (I love massage therapy).  However, after the first day at this Assisted Home...I realized this wasn't going to work out like I thought it would...

My interest died when I realized I had to go to the residents, instead of them coming to me in a little room I wanted to decorate and make a "sanctuary."  No.  It was I who had to be the responsible one and go to a wheelchair or another resident I find sitting on a couch, approach them humbly, and ask them if I may rub their hands with creme.  Some say no.  Some say it would be alright.  Right-I was writing about Honey.

Honey is a resident where love for her comes more easily, than it does with other residents.  She's funny, but I'm pretty sure she doesn't intend to be.  This happens often at Assisted Living homes.  Honey has conversations with herself and her trademark sayings are: "I'm dying.  Oh, I'm dying, somebody help me.  I'm dead.  I'm dead, I'm dead," (or something like that).  And it's kind of eerie, but mostly funny because she says it with a straight face, and if she was dead, she wouldn't be saying she was!

So I just wanted to document some memories with these characters I am meeting.
--Ty  ;-)

oh, also.  I find it interesting that these residents consistently ask me if I'm married or where my kids are.  I suppose it's because family is the most important thing in life, right?  It's what we all search for: soul mates and family dinners.