Smiles show up

WILD DAZE

 

Walking down the picturesque lane again, I see my mother sitting alone on a newly painted, but dry, white wooden bench. She makes a lovely picture until I see her picking small, invisible pieces of something off her sweater. It doesn't surprise or worry me as I've seen her do it many times. Just loud enough for her to hear me without becoming frightened, I call out to her. 'Hi Mom. It's Caroline come to visit you.' A smile makes her eyes shine. My hopes for at least a bearable visit rise. I hug a stranger, sit down beside her and help her remove whatever she wants taken off. A good sign. Mom calls me by name. 'Caroline, what are you doing here? Where are the children?' It's useless to explain they are grown, have given her three grandchildren. As usual, I make up a story, concoct a fictitious name for their school and explain how well they are doing. My little fibs make my mom happy so my visit has purpose.

 

An attendant wheels an elderly black man past us. He has a snow white short beard. On his head is a battered dark brown fedora. He tips it to her. 'Mrs. Reagan, how is Ronnie?' He asks. 'Why, Mr. Johanson, how nice of you to ask. Ronnie is well. He is out horseback riding this morning.' 'That's nice, Mrs. Reagan. Tell him to be careful.' 'I will, Willie. See you later.' My mother and I both wave so long to Willie who disappears down the curving lane.

 

New sounds, new noises erupt. Although I never heard shots anywhere but in the movies, on t.v., I fear what I hear is not fireworks. It has to be gunfire. 'Mom, get up. Get up now! If you want your lunch chicken soup to still be hot, I had better get you to the dining area.' Mom doesn't move an inch. I take her arm and give her a tug. She flails and tells me to leave her alone. 'I have to clean my sweater,' she says. 'Give it to me, I'll clean it for you. We have to get to the dining room now.' My voice disappears in the next bang.
Nurses, attendants, cleaning women, wheel residents inside. Visitors panic, head for the parking area and pull out with their wheels screeching. The wrought iron front gates open automatically. One behind the other five or six police cars enter, drive slowly and line up in the front driveway. The officers get out, blow their whistles, motion to the staff, the residents, remaining few guests, to come close. This is all crazy, the whole darn place is crazy. Thru his bullhorn the officer in the white hat asks for quiet. That does not come easily but eventually does.

 

'Ladies and Gentlemen, a bad mistake has been made. Today was to be a special treat for patients and staff but somebody, maybe a lot of people, did not notify Happiness House of today's entertainment. Let's all go together to the amphitheater. The police cars will drive slowly. Follow us. Lunch will be served in the dining room after the show.'

 

I guesstimate at least 100 of us take the ½ mile walk and find seats.
Drums bang. Clowns in brilliant colors tumble, blow horns. Cannons that shoot confetti make the patients dizzy as they reach for them. A beautiful white stallion parades with a clown dressed as a cowboy on its back. I recognize Mr. Johanson's voice above the others. He shouts, 'Ride 'em Mr. President.' Balloons float to the sky. A magician makes his partner disappear in thin air. There are gasps, worried words. And poof, the missing partner is standing on the front porch of Happy House. He waves and calls everyone to come inside. 'Lunch is ready.'

 

I don't stay for lunch but do leave dazzled, in a daze, and will be back to visit my mother next week.