Monday

Today I went to viewing #3. The son of the deceased is the tummy toucher, and when I spoke to him he never made eye contact with me....because he kept looking at what appeared to be my chest region. I thought he was looking at the ugly red chafe mark I got from my running bra during my 15-miler, but Assistant says not so much. What the heck is that?!? Besides creepy, weird, and inappropriate?? People are so weird.

Anyway! I'm glad the viewings and general sadness are over. I'm looking forward to a much better week....which includes leaving for Boston on Friday. YAY! Hubby ran his last long one on Saturday, so besides his normal Boston Marathon jitters that he gets this time every year, he's ready. (Speaking of Hubby....I got mail today in his name but with my office address. How bizarre.) The weather for marathon day is supposed to be decent, but it looks like rain the day of the 5K. Oh well, I don't care if it's pouring. I'm running a 5K PR across the Boston Marathon finish line! (I'm hearing Big & Rich saying "can I get an Amen-ah")

Some Resident Nuggets:
*Gladys had a birthday. When I told her happy birthday she said she couldn't believe she was 92 and I couldn't believe she remembered she was 92! She looks incredible for her age and I told her so. She said she figures she looks young because she always stayed active. "What did you do?" I asked, thinking how cool it would be to find out she had been a runner. With that ever-present twinkle in her eye and an even voice, Gladys replied "Oh, the normal. You know, beating the tar out of boys."

*WorkerBee made Pearl's bed for her and found a hammer under the pillow. (now I'm hearing the Beatles ... "Bang, Bang, Pearl's silver hammer came down upon her head....")

*Apparently Mr.-Reminds-Me-of-a-Tim-Conway-Character, who moved in last Friday, was finding it difficult to access his mail box. All I overheard was "how in the hell does this son-of-a-bitchin' thing work?"

Nothing makes me laugh like a 90-year old with a potty mouth.

And in this corner...

I swear I don't have any favorites. Really. I don't. I love ALL our residents. There are, however, those few who seem to touch my heart at a little deeper level than others. Gladys is one of them.

Gladys has early stage Alzheimer's. Her short term memory is shot, but her beautiful and loving personality has remained in tact. She will tell me ten times within one hour that she likes my dress, but always with a twinkle in her eye and a smile on her face. She loves people.

She also loves to put things in her purse. Butter pats. Crackers. Empty make-up containers. A million kleenex. You name it, it could be in her purse. It is packed full of, well, everything but the kitchen sink.

A while back, Gladys forgot her purse after Exercise Class. A couple of the ladies (read: old hens) saw the purse and seized their opportunity. Operating under the ruse of returning the purse to Gladys at her apartment, they made a quick side-trip to one of their own apartments.

As I rounded the corner, I could sense the mischief. Just picture this! Two ladies, both in their late eighties. Flushed pink cheeks, whispering, and giggling like a couple of sixth-grade girls who just called the local tavern asking to have Hugh Jass paged. "What are you two up to," I ask. More laughter. I think one of them might actually have a stroke or something. They say they are just returning Gladys' purse. More laughing. "Why are you laughing so much?" I ask. Finally, the less mischeivous of the two spills the beans.

They had taken the purse and put it on the bathroom scale. Total weight: 8 pounds.

Gladys is 91 years old, and probably weighs about the same as her age. I am most impressed with her athleticism. Seriously, she takes that purse EVERYWHERE. It's like doing 8-pound hand weights all day long!