"Sprout"

I wrote an apt post about "sprout", mostly about my bloody fantasies about a groundhog who is decimating my garden, but my heart just isn't in it.  Well, my heart is definitely into dead groundhog fantasies, but the groundhog will probably continue to live despite my frustrations.  I'm also waging a war against maple tree sprouts, but I guess that's as bad as talking about groundhogs.  I am an excellent farmer of maples, nightshade, coltsfoot, dandelions, etc., but maybe not so great at actually achieving vegetables.  Grrr.

I'll talk about going to a nursing home instead.  Right up there with hospitals and funeral homes, nursing homes prick unpleasant memories, and I avoid them -- which makes it all the more remarkable that I had a good time at one this weekend.

My 86-year-old friend has been struggling to live independently, and breaking her arm put an end to her negotiations on the subject.  Technically she's in rehab right now, but it seems unlikely she's going back to her condo once her arm is healed.  Yes, I know, this all sounds as bad as dead groundhog fantasies, but give me a moment to explain.

First, it was an absolutely glorious day, when snow-haters decide to move back to Ohio because it's so balmy and beautiful.  Poofy clouds in a bright blue sky, birds singing, and good will towards all.  I alleviated some of my nursing home dread by going with another friend who spilled a steady stream of political damnations to which I could nod and agree while laughing at her colorful observations.

We wound our way through endless halls of the pleasantly lit nursing home, smiling at the room full of parrots and tanks of fish.  This is a Jewish home (which is odd since my interred friend is ultra-Catholic), and I was interested in all of the Jewish art adorning the walls.  There were some old testament themes, some men's portraits showed yarmulkes, but mostly it was just art.  Some of it good, some not, but it's always good to see real art.  Somehow I missed the large sign that I wasn't allowed to bring in food or drink, and got chided for my probably-not-kosher cup of iced tea.

We finally found Helen, who asked about my recent writing, and who definitely wants mentioned in my pending book.  (I assured her that of course she's included!)  We chatted and laughed, commiserated with her injury and her inadequate lunch, then rolled her down a million hallways flanked with windows, gardens, and sculptures for a Judy Garland concert.  I learned I apparently know all of Judy Garland's songs and trivia.

The singer encouraged her audience to sing along.  Some of the old folks are alert and able.  One woman had on a colorful, vintage hat decorated with flowers, and I smiled at her chair dancing to the music.  One man looked about a breath away from coma -- but he faintly sang the songs too.  Part of me couldn't help but notice that the singer didn't hit every note exactly right, but as she made her wide, welcoming, inclusive gestures to the old people, she won me over.  There must be a special place in heaven for nursing home singers.  Well, if Jewish people have heaven?  (Quick google search was inconclusive.)

I left the nursing home happy.  That's a first.  I hope never have to live in such a facility, but may all the people who do need a home like this be serenaded with Judy Garland songs, and blessings to those who make old people's lives better.

And a P.S. regarding wildlife, a robin broke into my house and pooped purple mulberry juice on the linens I just washed yesterday.  I think I'm losing the battle with wildlife!