Down at Shady Pines…

No, the establishment where I am presently lodging is not called that, it’s a name I have invented that fits the place quite well.

Considering my advanced years it may well become “Under the Shady Pines,” quite soon, although I have plans to put off the occasion for as long as possible.

Communal living is not new to me, six years in the British Army during WW2 took away every scrap of human dignity I had…and then some.

Here I have plenty of privacy within the bounds of my flat-let although on the odd occasion, and usually when I am least expecting it, the front door handle trembles and a little old white haired lady with difficulty open my door and stands staring around her.

“Lost?” I enquire.

She blushes beautifully. “Oh dear, I am so sorry, I seem to have opened the wrong door….they all look the same to me.”

Naturally my heart melts for her predicament. “No problem Lovey, no problem at all, I think you live two doors up.”

With that she turns and shuffles off down the red bricked pathway.

I hear you all sigh and whisper, “Shame.” Growing old they say, is not for sissies.

I have another regular caller too, her name is Nikiwi and she pops in to see me around half seven in the evening. Apparently it is customary for the establishment to `tuck me in’ before I retire.

Although she is some three hours too early, I bear with it and assure her that I am in good health and hope to get through the night without mishap.

It`s my belief that they should send someone round in the morning to check on ones condition. After a bad night anything could happen but apparently they haven`t thought of that?

Of course we do each have a panic button to be used only in cases of emergency. Mine at the moment is at rest in the bottom drawer of my bedside cabinet, thought the chances of breaking my leg whilst resting in bed is pretty slim, I am willing to risk it anyway.

One of the highlights of my day is lunchtime in the communal dining room. Always good for a laugh, I wait until I hear the `shake rattle and roll’ of the steel food container trolley as the wheels bump over the stone flagged floor.

It’s then that I know it’s “Grub up.” time.

One mad scramble?

Not a chance. It’s a slow time consuming effort for most on wheelchairs and walkers, and those who use the aid of a walking stick usually head the queue. I have no complaints in this area. The food is excellently prepared, sufficient and nourishing, although it could be served hot.

I have two gentleman companions at my table at the present time, George and Mike, both ravaged by leg problems and on crutches. Life I imagine must be a living Hell for them to be incapacitated like that for the rest of their lives.

How truly blessed I am.

Cheers everyone, `til next time,

Geoffrey Kennell, direct from The Shady Pines.