Part 2: Fog Flees the Sundowners!
November 12th 2007 06:07
I knocked. No answer. I knocked again. Silence still. I hear my heart thumping in my chest, the rest of the place was as silent as a grave, and then, upon that wildly inappropriate thought...................... ............................. ......................,
“You were told to go straight in!” a slightly chilled voice said behind me. I gasped out loud as my head swivelled to meet her steady gaze, I had forgotten how sneaky nuns were…
The retirement home was run by nuns, obviously. Love nuns, nowadays. There was a time I was terrified of them, but that's another tale to be told.
The interview was interesting, a blur now, for even though the nuns here did not wear habits (their 'penguin' garb if you like), they still maintained that air of authority, that stirred old faded memories of my time with the inaptly named, Sisters of Mercy.
The central complex was a combination of main entertainment area, dining room, offices, commercial kitchen and a few other poky rooms I did not enter. The complex was surrounded by small roads, which linked several communal residences, occupied by a dozen people, and numerous villas, where some had independence to a higher degree. Then there was the hospital. It gloomily loomed above on a small hill, positioned as if to say, (with insane witch’s evil cackle);
THIS IS WHERE YOU’LL ALL END UP!!!
'Why do you want to volunteer at the retirement home?"
It was a fair enough question, but a little stumping all the same. I should have said, 'coz I wasn't fit enough to ride in the rescue boat, but didn't. I really wanted to captain the rescue boat, but as I had no license, that was out of the question. Besides, I could not cope if we had to recover a body....far too gruesome for my little fragile psyche!
Mercifully, I did have the common sense, at the time, not to use the revulsion of recovering dead bodies as an excuse. I could only imagine what that would have been like to hear within the boundaries of a retirement home, so utterly inappropriate, and so like my off beat black sense of humour, always waiting in the wings of my consciousness, to send myself up at the wrong time! Self-sabotage can be an art form too.
No, I told the truth, I didn’t blurt out a tangential thought process this time, which was a relief.
My answer initially came from a disembodied personage. I heard it, but it felt like it was someone else speaking, until I finally came back into the room mentally; "I just thought it would be nice to give back to the people who helped make our community the way it is and it's a way to thank them for their effort in past wars."
Well, not the abhorrent war on Cronulla beach, which happened a couple of years later!
Anyway, the 'head nun', (I am not sure what they are called officially in this situation, certainly not Mother Superior, now that is a title to be reckoned with, especially at the age of six!), then said we would go on a tour and meet some of the residents.
Feeling suddenly pressured, I politely replied, ‘Oh, lovely! Which day would you like to do that?” I wanted to hear, ‘next year!’
Instead I heard the words, “Right now would be excellent!”
We walked towards one of the communal residences, and with each pace, I felt a little more apprehensive.
“You were told to go straight in!” a slightly chilled voice said behind me. I gasped out loud as my head swivelled to meet her steady gaze, I had forgotten how sneaky nuns were…
The retirement home was run by nuns, obviously. Love nuns, nowadays. There was a time I was terrified of them, but that's another tale to be told.
The interview was interesting, a blur now, for even though the nuns here did not wear habits (their 'penguin' garb if you like), they still maintained that air of authority, that stirred old faded memories of my time with the inaptly named, Sisters of Mercy.
The central complex was a combination of main entertainment area, dining room, offices, commercial kitchen and a few other poky rooms I did not enter. The complex was surrounded by small roads, which linked several communal residences, occupied by a dozen people, and numerous villas, where some had independence to a higher degree. Then there was the hospital. It gloomily loomed above on a small hill, positioned as if to say, (with insane witch’s evil cackle);
THIS IS WHERE YOU’LL ALL END UP!!!
'Why do you want to volunteer at the retirement home?"
It was a fair enough question, but a little stumping all the same. I should have said, 'coz I wasn't fit enough to ride in the rescue boat, but didn't. I really wanted to captain the rescue boat, but as I had no license, that was out of the question. Besides, I could not cope if we had to recover a body....far too gruesome for my little fragile psyche!
Mercifully, I did have the common sense, at the time, not to use the revulsion of recovering dead bodies as an excuse. I could only imagine what that would have been like to hear within the boundaries of a retirement home, so utterly inappropriate, and so like my off beat black sense of humour, always waiting in the wings of my consciousness, to send myself up at the wrong time! Self-sabotage can be an art form too.
No, I told the truth, I didn’t blurt out a tangential thought process this time, which was a relief.
My answer initially came from a disembodied personage. I heard it, but it felt like it was someone else speaking, until I finally came back into the room mentally; "I just thought it would be nice to give back to the people who helped make our community the way it is and it's a way to thank them for their effort in past wars."
Well, not the abhorrent war on Cronulla beach, which happened a couple of years later!
Anyway, the 'head nun', (I am not sure what they are called officially in this situation, certainly not Mother Superior, now that is a title to be reckoned with, especially at the age of six!), then said we would go on a tour and meet some of the residents.
Feeling suddenly pressured, I politely replied, ‘Oh, lovely! Which day would you like to do that?” I wanted to hear, ‘next year!’
Instead I heard the words, “Right now would be excellent!”
We walked towards one of the communal residences, and with each pace, I felt a little more apprehensive.
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Comment by Krystal
feelings
Comment by Ash
Flashes of memories
How much does that suck that you were taken on your tour there and then? I can just feeeeel you cringing and doing that inward eye roll thing.
Looking forward to meeting the...erm.... inmates!
Ash
Comment by Mountain Fog
Infognito
Screen Trek
QUOTE ME NO QUOTES!
am going to write that today...been a little late with my writing spree today because my pug dog decided to explode with diarrhoea last night, then again this morning...ON MY BED!!!!
Spent the morning disinfecting, washing, scrubbing her in the laundry sink, and her bottom...ewww....my doona is on a ladder in the backyard recovering from my intense hand scrubbing...whew!!!
The vet says, no tucker till 5pm....then only freshly cooked chicken breast, no skin...little bit at a time...she eats better than I do!!
cheers
fog
Comment by Tracy
Movies and Life
Brilliant storytelling as always!!
Hope Stella is feeling better,
Trace de Face
Comment by Mountain Fog
Infognito
Screen Trek
QUOTE ME NO QUOTES!
I filled you in on Stella on the part one page.
Keeping my fingers crossed she will get better!
Oh, yes I thought the toothy dice were fun too...at first I was going to make them knuckles, like the game I played as a kid...I actually knew kids who had real animal's knuckles to play with...a revolting thought.
cheers
fog