Page 26 of Together in Harmony
Sheila fills me in with her adventures. Joining the community bingo, a young man coming to play piano in the common room on Saturdays. “And darling, you would not believe the sexual shenanigans these old people get up to! Patsy and I are much younger than most of them. But these old dears are sneaking in and out of each other's rooms like no one's business!”
Didn’t sound too bad to me.
Better than I imagined retirement home life to be, to be honest.
“But what about you? Have you seen anything more of those rockstar boys next door?”
“Actually, I went on a date with the bass-player,” I tell her.
“Patsy! She went on a date with the bass player," I hear my aunt relay to her wife.
“How exciting. Are you seeing him again?” she asks me.
“I am, I think. But before that…”
“Yes dear?”
“I have a date with the drummer.”
“Oh my goodness, you’d fit right in with our retirement community,” she cackles.
After a few more minutes I say goodbye and slowly go back to work.
“All those cat biscuits won’t pay for themselves,” I tell Einstein, trying to put men out of my mind, and concentrate on the important stuff.
HARMONY
Wednesday blends into Thursday and I keep my head down and my door locked.
My only distractions are the frequent text messages from both Asa and Lennox.
At one point Asa sends me a video link.
It’s a press conference on the Hollywood walk of fame. Asa stood next to his star and talked about his collaboration with a guitar manufacturer. His star was just a few feet away from my father’s.
The footage shows my dad’s star had several bouquets set on top of it. Since his stroke, my dad has become even more idolized. If only people knew.
When I read about his stroke, against my better judgment, I'd gone to LA to the hospital where he was being treated. But I had not been allowed in. There was a list of approved visitors, I was not on it. Even when I’d explained to the hospital staff, and they'd gone to double-check, I was still not allowed in to see him.
Not a lot else I could do but return back to San Francisco.
My eyes blur, and I blink away the moisture. My father does not deserve a single tear. I put my head down and power on with my spreadsheeting.
By Friday morning my data bundles are finally sorted, and my next three poems are ready for my blog. I’m working on a new collection of nature-based poems.
A Whole Logger Love
Your beard, your plaid, your butt, your belly
The whole combination turns my gut to jelly
Sweet timberland hunk
Lumber-jack my trunk
You Chip
And you chop
