At the corner of Grove and Spring Streets, I paused. Maggie dropped her fish and panted while I stepped back to survey the building from a different angle.
It’s a lovely setting surrounded by trees. Porches and patios invite the residents to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine. Quiet and serene, the building stands removed just far enough from the hubbub of busy our tourist town. Expanses of lawn buffer it even more.
When I’m inside, I’m all yes.
When I leave, I wonder.
I looked at the porch with its flower box. To the left was the dining room. I had eaten there a couple of weeks ago with my father. We were just visiting, but I was impressed. Tables for six or eight, set with white linen table cloths and real china. Real food, not institutional. Servers who were both pleasant and competent. A little jazz played in the background.
“They take turns choosing what kind of music to play,” the administrator told me. “Also, people sit at the same table for about two months, but then we rearrange the seating plan so cliques don’t form and they all get to know each other.”
Every resident’s room is unique in configuration. Some have window seats. All have walk-in closets, high ceilings, and private bathrooms that include showers with seats and grab-bars. The rooms are spacious and cheerful.
I just never wanted to see my father leave his home.
But this isn’t an institution. It’s almost more like a sanctuary.
“We have lots of activities for the residents,” the administrator said. “We get tickets to the Hall of Fame Classic baseball game and sit in the grandstand so they are shaded from the sun.”
Dad would really enjoy that.
“Next week we’re going on a boat ride on the lake and maybe having a picnic on one of the beaches.”
I would like that.
From this corner, it still looked lovely.
I guess it’s time to finish the application for him.