It is a careworn place.
A yellow plastic chain loops around the front gate as an extra safety measure to make sure nobody can somehow open the gate (which has a pretty foolproof latch) and wander into the neighborhood. Once inside, the first thing is the television, large and playing a Hallmark Christmas special. No one is watching it. Instead, a few people are dozing in chairs. Caregivers walk through the room, heading to other rooms and other people to attend.
We set up our equipment and a few people awake and look at us with curiosity. We are a curiosity, two guys with guitars, some equipment, bustling away as we get ready to give a little performance. One lady asks who we are and what we are doing. And we tell her that we are here to play a little bit of music for her. She smiles and I can tell that any change to the routine is welcome. I am already sweating as the temperature is warm. Still there are several folks wrapped in blankets. One lady is wrapped in a light blue blanket. Perhaps a coincidence, but she has a light blue felt hat on as well. A few white curls peek out from under the hat and around the base of the crown is a thin white band. I smile as I see her, deep asleep, oblivious to the tuning and checking of microphones.
The aides bring in a couple of wheelchairs. From the kitchen comes an aroma of lunch being prepared. It smells like chicken soup and my stomach growls a tiny bit as I heft the bass guitar onto my shoulder and we start in with the show. By now about six people are in the room. Two of them are asleep, one being the lady in blue.
Out the window and across the street, I can see a house with a bird feeder. About seven mallard ducks fly in and are feeding on the seed that has dropped from sparrows, jays and cardinals who have been feeding above. The mallards mill about the base of the feeder and gorge on the seed. I describe the scene to the people in the room. I joke that they need a feeder at their home, that way they could watch the mallards feed and perhaps even get one for dinner. The people laugh and I then tell them that the mallards have now been dispersed by two squirrels moving in on their turf.
The show moves on and we break into some holiday songs. Everyone now is awake except for the lady in blue. She seems blissful, a tiny hint of a smile. I wonder what she is dreaming about and if we are somehow mixed into that dream, with holiday music, talk of mallards and squirrels weaving in and out with memories and recollections.
The house that has the birdfeeder has an occupant who comes out the front door. It is a woman whose hair has blue highlights. I think there must be some sort of synchronicity happening with all the hints of blue. She is oblivious to the drama of the mallards and squirrels playing out about 15 feet from her. She is on her cell phone, holding it to her ear with her left hand, while she drags on a cigarette with the other. She finishes the cigarette and heads back into her home, only to reappear 20 minutes later, doing exactly the same routine.
We are nearing the end of our show. Everyone is alert, happy and enjoying the wisecracks going back and forth. The aides look in now and then, most likely relieved that we have given them a temporary breather in their schedule. One gentleman gets up to use the bathroom just off the room we are in. He slowly moves to the door, opens it and disappears. He doesn’t reappear until we are wrapping up our last song, his eyes blinking to the light in the room. We finish the song, thank them for letting us play for them. We start breaking down the equipment when an aide comes in to announce lunch. A few of the group gets up and thanks us for playing. Outside the window, the mallards are gone, but the woman is smoking her cigarette and talking on the phone, waving the cigarette around in her hand as she makes a point to whomever she is talking to.
We load up the cart and I glance over to the lady in blue. She still is gently breathing, deep in sleep, that tiny smile on her face. It won’t be long before an aide will gently wake her and get her wheeled into the dining room. But for now, she is somewhere, peaceful and happy, I hope. I murmur a little prayer for her and the people in that warm, careworn, and love filled nursing home.
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