Even unpremeditated consideration of life in mid-January in Canada must
inevitably include an allusion to the misery of the weather, the sodden grey
clouds, dirty yellow light and blackened urban snow. I supplemented the trial by visiting my aging
father at his “retirement” institution on Sunday morning. It is of course ridiculous to label the
singular feature of his residence as one of retirement. He is almost 96 years of age and has been
retired for over 30 years. His room
(hardly up to the elevated nomination of a “residence”) is in the Alzheimer
wing of the hospital. It is impossible
to escape the babbling and occasional wails of the surrounding “residents”
(another nicety). The drably clad nurses
and service staff perform their duties with practiced distance from the disheartening
surroundings. It is useless to
glamourize the scene. It’s not a home or
a residence; it’s an asylum, a last stop, a safe haven for the frail and
failing from the methods of the outside world.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Thursday, January 2, 2014
New Year’s Day (2014)
I can’t imagine having spent a more lethargic day, the celebratory first
day of the New Year. Compared to many mornings we slept late until something
approaching six o’clock. After our typical
matutinal ceremony on the computers and a healthful breakfast of black coffee, fresh
fruit, eggs, bacon, English muffin and granola we succumbed to our indolence
and smothered ourselves once again under mountains of blankets, sheets and
pillows for a most gratifying mid-morning snooze. When we revived before noon we were freed the
nagging obligation to venture out-of-doors by the uninterrupted drizzle. Cheerfully
we capitulated to watching New Year’s Day movie specials on the
television. Of course we broke up the
proceedings long enough for another round of sustaining nourishment.
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