I no longer have to pull off to read to check the map. I enjoy driving and going, but GPS Gladys has made it super fun by removing the stressful parts. It tells me the best way, I try something different, she was right, and I turn around. I call GPS Gladys because we have the same sort of relationship. Gladys is my mom’s name, though she’s been called Arlien her entire 93 years. And the answer is, not the microwave, not the washer, not my laptop. I still play that silly game in my head now and then. Remember playing the game, if you were marooned on an island who’s the one person…or, if you were going to Mars and could take one thing? As young marrieds, we’d say, if you were allowed only one modern convenience, what would it be? Washing machine? Dryer? Diaper Service? And Buddy, of course, will be ready to go in the morning. More and more of the residents will begin sharing before we get to the end, I think. She has silk kimono, and her features are similar. She actually looks a lot like the Japanese Ambassador Dolls in my story, only smaller. She brought it in today and sat it on the piano with my doll display. On Monday, the wife of one of the residents (one of Buddy’s favorite guys) asked me if I’d like to have a Japanese Friendship Doll. Several mentioned different remembrances the story brought to mind for them, making this author very happy. The whole family worked at it, and her mother canned the food. One lady said her family made it through the depression without hunger because they had a big garden. The sharp oldster I referred to earlier, told us she remembered her own shoes lined with newspapers cut out by her mother. The shoes needed to last until he outgrew them. His mother drew around his foot on a stack of newspapers to line his shoe. In my story, little Harry Bradley wore a hole in his sole. But his parents talked about it his whole life. One resident said he didn’t remember it, he was only two. The chapters today took us through the Great Depression. Don’t let anybody tell you there’s no difference.” I wondered if he was making a subtle comment on current gender news.
Now there!” he says, shaking a finger at me, “There’s the difference between little boys and little girls. When my sister was out of school, her doll was still like brand new. My sister and my cousin had girl dolls like it. But, when we finished reading, Larry says, “I had a doll once. Turns out, my husband has had conversations with him, about what he’s reading. Always looks nice in a starched, ironed dress shirt tucked into pressed khakis. Yesterday, after the hour, Larry spoke up. One had lived in San Francisco where the story is set he was stationed there in the war. The first day we discovered that one of the ladies, who walks, reads books, sharp as can be, was seven years old in 1926. At the end of the hour, different residents have spontaneously shared memories, based on the story. It’s written for young and young-at-heart readers, as most of my books are. The book I’m reading is Blue-Eyed Doll ,historical fiction covering 1926-1946. I wondered how many could stay awake for an hour. This week we are having story hour from 10:30-11:30 every day until we finish the book. The social director and I decided to try an experiment using my new book. Much of the content in that book came from the very place my mother is now. My first book to be published was Just for the Moment: The Remarkable Gift of the Therapy Dog. Then my parents came and I began going again with Buddy, who is a wonderful therapy dog. My dogs got old and died, and I stopped going.
I had two therapy dogs who visited there and danced for the residents. Even before I moved her and my dad here, I was a regular visitor.
My mom has been at Fidelia Eckerd Living Center in Highlands for two years.