Sitting in the puddle of urine caused me to reflect on my life. Particularly since the urine was not my own.
We arrived at the dementia care facility and wheeled our dear family member into the garden to enjoy some sunshine. On route we passed the activities room where a singer of modest talent was belting out “Margaritaville” to a few dozen facility residents. As we rolled by, our family member shoved her fingers in her ears. Dementia has not diminished her musical scruples.
We parked the wheelchair in the garden. I sat down on a cushioned park bench. As I did there was a loud and prolonged squishing sound. My trousers became instantly soaked. Several cups of suspicious liquid drained from the cushion to the pavement below.
Only then did I notice another facility resident ambling away from the scene of the crime. Her saturated sweat pants told the whole story.
Standing beside me, my ever sympathetic wife could not stop laughing. A duty nurse promptly came to clean up the mess and take the cushion off for laundering. She managed to choke out the words “occupational hazard” between peals of laughter. Where is the humanity, I ask you?
This incident did not register with our family member at all. She chattered away in a happy state and within a world, sadly, all her own. She was clearly energized by the sunshine and a few power naps.
As we went back inside we could hear the entertainer down the hall. He had passed around little tambourines and was lustily leading the facility residents in a version of “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown”. However, the residents soon lost the beat, along with the general plot of the song. The resulting chaos sounded something like: “He was Bad (bang) Bad (bang) Leroy Brown (bang), bad(bang) est (bang, bang, bang) man in(bang) the (bang, bang, bang, bang, bang).”
My wife made me strip off my trousers in the parking lot. I rode home in my undies, humming “Margaritaville”, reflecting on the heartbreaking beauty of this life sublime.
[If you know someone else who might enjoy a lighthearted story to begin their week, kindly forward them the link to WordsfortheWeary. The more the merrier.]
[This story is dedicated to newborn Evelina. May you love this world as much as your namesake.]
Photo credit: Horizons Unlimited
Soaking it in on Golden Pond. Think of it as a flash forward to your own Golden years.
Note to self: Bring my folding camp chair to assisted living.
One of my favorite stories, if only because Jules had the most appropriate response….
At any point, did you think to yourself of the culprit, “urine trouble now?”