Most of the time I love going to work. I know most people can't say that. But I do. Most of the time. But every once in a while I have a day, like today, where it's just really hard to find the energy in the morning. The strange thing about this place, though, is that most of the time, even when that happens, I find it after I get here. I know most people can't say that either. I hope I never forget how much of a blessing it is to come to a job that, 9 times out of 10, has me leaving in a better mood than the one I came in with.
But like I said, today started off a little rough. For one thing, I must've been still half asleep when I got dressed this morning, because after being at work for a couple hours, I started to realize that my outfit was, well, not as cute as I originally thought. I pretty much looked like Nanny McPhee. But you know, I think I got more compliments from the residents today than I ever have before. I don't know if they could tell I was feeling self-conscious, or if they could somehow understand what bizarre fashion rules I was trying to apply in my half wakened state at 6:00 in the morning, but go figure, they liked it. They're pretty cool like that.
***
Now on to the serious stuff. I find myself being given a great deal of relationship advice in this place. Something about being a single, 21-year-old woman makes them think I need to get the ball rollin' on this whole "finding a man" business - so they love to offer their wisdom. Actually, they would probably offer it whether I was single or not, but that's okay. Most of it isn't half bad:
"Don't be too smart, don't be too dumb. Just be nice. Be his friend. You know, my husband was never the type to let his hands wander all over me. He was nice. He was quiet. He let me speak first. If you need to, kick him in the ass and say goodbye. But if you're gonna marry him, wrap that chain around him and hold on tight; don't let go. But if he's not it, wait till you find someone who is. And in the meantime just behave as if you were an old woman. Don't stress about it. You've got enough spunk to entertain yourself for a time."
Easier said than done, I'm afraid. But sound advice none the less.
***
One of our residents is 100. I would say she's one of the ones who seems like she's reached that point where she feels that she's lived as long as she needs to. It's not that she wants to die, but she's ready to. She is really quiet and just likes to sit in her room and look out the window. But she does love visitors. She'll talk to you like she's known you for years even if it's the first time you've ever walked through her door. She's one of those ladies that feels like she could be a grandmother to the entire world. Here's something she told me today:
"Isn't it funny how the smallest moments are the ones you remember? The things you don't think much of at the time are the ones you look back on and smile over. When I was a girl, I would look at the chickens and the geese on the farm. They would squawk back and forth at each other. I remember I asked my mother one day, 'Do you think they understand each other?' 'Oh yes,' she said, 'they're speaking their own language.' I always wandered what it was they had so much to say about."
I thought it was funny that I was actually thinking the same thing the other day. Not about the chickens and geese, but about how the small, obscure memories are the ones that mean the most. For me, it wasn't secret bird languages. It was the way my dad taught me to make brownies when I was a little girl. Sure, it's technically as simple as reading the directions on the box (I hope you didn't think I was referring to homemade brownies. Do people actually do that??). But the way he taught me to shoot the metal things from the mixer into the sink, or to crack the eggs, how to measure accurately, etc. It was never about the finished product. It's the time I spent in the kitchen helping my Dad. That's what I look back on and smile about. And, if I do say so myself, I make a pretty good brownie.
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