How could I have ever thought a nursing home visit could be dull?

Yesterday My 82-year old Dad and I visited a nursing home in Brentwood, Tennessee.
I had no idea it would become an adventure.

We were visiting a 97-year old lady who told us a childhood story of almost flying with Lindbergh.

I was intrigued.

“How did you meet him?”

“We lived in a small town in Mississippi and he had had some trouble with his plane. He was barnstorming in those days. The propeller broke, and he had to stay in our town until a new propeller was sent. This was before he became famous flying the Atlantic.

He offered to take anyone up for $5.

A neighbor realized it was a grand opportunity for me so he offered to pay my way.”

She looked off into the distance.

“Did you get to go?”

“No, my mother wouldn’t let me. She said it was too dangerous.”

She also told us about being in a serious dormitory fire at David Lipscomb University back in the early 30′s. She woke up suddenly realizing flames were within a few feet of her and there was only one way out.

She would have been killed except for the fact that the girls across the hall had not locked their room. She received very serious burns on her hands as she grabbed their door knob. It was blazingly hot and seared off some of the flesh. But that didn’t stop here from climbing down tied together sheets.

The story telling was interrupted as we looked out the window on a beautiful June afternoon to watch ‘Western Day’ in the courtyard below.

Someone had brought in two baby burros and the older people were sitting around in their wheelchairs petting them. A toddler was trying to climb up on them.

“Well, I guess we’d better go,” my Dad said, “We don’t want to tire you out.”

“Oh, I’m not tired,” she said, but I could tell he was.

We had to ride the elevator with a gentleman who looked like he had Parkinson’s and we made sure he got off his floor okay.

“Are you new here?” he asked Daddy.

“Just visiting,” he answered with relief in his voice.

When we reached the lobby, there was a lot of commotion. People were trying to get inside the automatic doors and one little old lady was almost caught. She was crabbily complaining for someone to come get her through that door. I volunteered while she fussed all the way in.

I looked through the windows to realize a storm had suddenly arisen within less than seven or eight minutes from the time we had left Mrs. Vaughn’s.

The dark sky just didn’t look right, and somebody said something about tornado warnings.
We were stuck and we might as well make the best of it as an energetic black lab passed by heading behind the counter and most likely for a treat, tornado or no tornado.
“You’d better not go out there,” an old man told another old man as he headed out the door.
“I’m going to smoke a cigarette.”
“You’ll get wet.”
“I’ll risk it.”
Would one more cigarette make too much difference now? I guess you could debate that, but I’d let him have it.
Finally, we left and drove back toward Nashville and home. We didn’t hear the tornado sirens until we got home. They were blarring loudly so we turned on the T.V. We don’t head down to the basement any more unless a funnel cloud has been spotted for sure.
I made fresh juice for all of us while I planned my next visit.
I’m looking forward to going back.

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