Dinner and a show

So yesterday evening, when Dad and I were in the nursing home feeding my mother dinner, another elderly lady sat at the same table opposite us. She was tiny and perky and sparkled with intelligence. And my goodness, she loved to chatter. (I don’t know her name, but for purposes of this blog post, I’ll call her Jane.)

The CNA (certified nursing assistant) who was sitting with Jane was trying to encourage her to eat her dinner, but Jane would have none of it. She kept telling the CNA to turn around and look in the courtyard outside the dining room windows, because the universe would tell the CNA the best way the rainbow unicorns could adjust her elbows, or something similarly nonsensical. The CNA – who was the soul of patience – kept trying to get Jane to eat her meal, but Jane kept demanding answers from the CNA about why she wasn’t letting the magical marbles fix the overhead lights. And I mean she was demanding answers.

And so, I’m sorry to say, Dad and I start to giggle. We were trying not to be too obvious about it, but as Jane’s observations got more and more creative, we started laughing harder and harder.

And then – really, it could hardly get better – Jane burst into a unique rendition of “Onward Christian Soldiers,” belting out the tune with lyrics touching on sidewalk bricks and telephones. To be honest, she had a very decent singing voice (certainly better than mine).

Well, Dad and I lost it. Just lost it. We were laughing so hard, I kept having to wipe the tears from my eyes with a bandana.

And then, those rainbow unicorns really DID adjust some elbows, so to speak. My mom started laughing too. And I mean full-out laughing. She was giving great big belly laughs, just like she used to. She wasn’t laughing at Jane; she was laughing with Dad and me. It was a magical sound.

When Jane finished singing, the entire dining room burst into applause which, to be honest, I don’t think Jane really connected to her singing. She just kept demanding why the CNA was allowing those purple salamanders to lodge in her hair.

“Dinner and a show,” I remarked to the CNA, wiping my eyes.

Dad and I finished feeding Mom her dinner, then took her down the hall to the “activities room” until she got sleepy enough to put to bed.

But we agreed we’re going to try and sit at Jane’s table whenever we can. She’s a gem.