Lady Justice and the Quirky Arlo Quimby by Robert Thornhill

Author:Robert Thornhill [Thornhill, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-02-07T05:00:00+00:00

Needless to say, Jerry was thrilled.

“A nursing home gig! Cool! I’ll have to review my book of old fart jokes.”

That remark made me wonder if I’d done the right thing.

When Dad learned about the party, he insisted that he and Bernice should attend. He said that there were very few people who reached the ninety club, and since he and Bernice were charter members, they should be there to welcome him.

It’s difficult to argue with that kind of logic.

We arrived at the Misty Meadows Senior Living Facility a little before six o’clock. It was much like the Shady Rest nursing home where I had spent a week undercover, getting the goods on a shady doctor who was scamming Medicare.

In one wing were the small apartments for folks could still care for themselves, and in the other wing were the rooms for those who needed special care. In between were the dining hall and a large room where residents went for bingo and ice cream socials.

Arlo met us at the door and led us to the bingo room. The residents were already there along with their wheelchairs, walkers and canes. Arlo had spared no expense. Every resident sported a pointy little party hat.

Arlo led us to a man seated in one of the wheelchairs.

“Grandpa, these are the friends I was telling you about.” Then to us, “This is my grandfather, Silas Quimby. He’s ninety-years-old today.”

As I shook hands with the old gent, I could tell that even though his body was slowly failing, he was still sharp as a tack.

“I’m Walt Williams, Mr. Quimby. I’d like to introduce you to my friend, Jerry Singer, and these two are my dad and his friend, Bernice. Jerry’s the master of ceremonies today.”

Quimby shook our hands. “Call me Silas. Okay, young man. Let’s see what you’ve got!”

Jerry went to the center of the room and surveyed his audience.

“I’m a bit confused. I thought Walt told me we were going to a nursery for a nine-year-old’s birthday party, now I’m told it’s a nursing home for a ninety-year-old’s birthday.

“I guess my hearing’s just not what it used to be. Looking around, I suspect we all can relate to that. Father time marches on, our bodies change, and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it. We can either mope around and feel sorry for ourselves, or we can laugh and make the best of it. Something tells me that those of us who can laugh are a lot better off.

“I found a couple of poems online that kind of sums it all up.”

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