The residents in the village have fairly active social lives. It's a great thing, and something I'm trying to make more people aware of - there are far too many older people remaining in their huge family homes, unable to cook and clean for themselves properly, and camped alone in front of the tv, with only daytime soap stars for company.
Contrast that to our village. The less active among them head into the communal lounge areas, or meet in each others' apartments for a cup of tea and a catch-up. Even the meal times are a social event. Nobody is ever lonely in this place unless they want to be.
A few people socialise outside the village, and it's mainly the younger, fitter ones. Ted puts a bet on the horses now and then, and toddles off to church every Sunday. Ransa is a regular volunteer of some sort (I'm not sure where, but she mentions "reading to the ladies", so perhaps it's a nursing home). We always know when Elsie is going out for the day, because she will refuse to drink any liquids at breakfast time. Wouldn't want to have to locate a public toilet during an errand, would we?
Doris, the amputee, should probably be one person who doesn't venture far. But she is a real social butterfly. She has a veritable army of friends who are either visiting for Sunday lunch, or taking her out for coffee. Her favourite café is one in a neighbouring suburb; I know which one, because she brings me their home-made chocolates after every outing there.
Then we have the bus trips. Once a month we book a bus and take them on some outing. The destinations are always somewhere obscure or else sound boring - the only way to gather interest is to take them somewhere they haven't been, and everyone has been to see most local tourist attractions over the course of the last 75 years.
One month they were going to see some heritage garden, then heading for a picnic on a beach boardwalk. Yawn yawn, so I wasn't too upset that I had to stay at the village while Carlotta got to go. The morning was a hectic foodfight in the kitchen, preparing sandwiches to go, thermoses of coffee, and all manner of takeaway delicacies in plastic containers.
By contrast, once the bus left, the place was quiet and very calm. Lunch was a sandwich platter - no messing around with cutlery or desserts - all very cruisy and peaceful. Until the bus returned, and the chatter was like an electric current.
Nora had suffered a Terrible Accident, oh wasn't it terrible, did you see it? and was it terrible? and on and on and on went the village grapevine. I sought out Carlotta to get the scoop.
Nora, it emerged, had merely tripped up the bus stairs, right after the first stop. I don't make light of her injuries - she is old and frail, and took a large amount of skin from her shins, making quite a mess with the blood - but she would certainly survive. But the Oscar-winning performance was from dearest Marjorie, who happened to be sitting in the front seat and witnessed the calamity unfold.
Carlotta had been helping "herd" other residents towards the bus and didn't get to see the fall. The first she knew of it was the moan and the heap at the bottom of the bus door. And then Marjorie began her refrain. "She went down! Down like a sack of potatoes! It was awful! She looked just like a sack of potatoes!"
Marjorie, of course, promptly forgot what she'd seen. People were all discussing that Marjorie had witnessed the event, but when asked what happened to Nora, she just gave them a blank stare. It didn't matter how many people asked, she hadn't a clue what they were asking about. It was only later in the week that someone else commented they'd had a fall, "but not nearly as badly as poor Nora on the bus!", that Marjorie seemed to awaken.
"She went down! Down like a sack of potatoes!" yelled Marjorie from her solo spot at the corner table. "We're having baked potatoes for lunch today. That's what she looked like, just like a sack of potatoes."
Showing posts with label Carlotta. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Carlotta. Show all posts
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Someone's thirsty
Ruby is an active lady who is always off and doing something or other. She has her own courtyard and it is filled with flowers, and she can often be seen there with her watering can and a smile. She seems way too young to need this place, being perhaps in her late 50s or early 60s. She is obsessed with good health and frequently asks for extra of the healthy items, for instance, an extra piece of fruit, or more salad on her plate.
Around July, we started running out of orange juice every week. The kitchen supervisor remonstrated the staff for drinking it. Most of the staff looked at each other in disbelief, wondering how a few glasses of orange juice warranted a lecture, and why the supervisor didn't just order a few extra litres. And then the milk and cereal started running out. Carlotta had to run to the corner shop one morning when it became apparent there wasn't enough milk for everyone's cereal. Again, the reaction was to chastise the staff for drinking the milk and taking the cereal, and then for taking the bread. My goodness, this was getting ridiculous. What staff member needed food that badly that they were taking bread and cereal home, we wondered. The last thing we suspected was a resident. They get their meals included anyway - a full breakfast, a hot lunch, three courses at dinner, morning and afternoon tea with cake and biscuits - why would they need extra food?
One staff member was a bit more clever than the rest of us. Alison resented being blamed for the theft, and so she did some thinking. It was only the Royale's bar area which always seemed to run out - even though the staff spent very little time there. And Ruby, living close to the lounge area, had spent way too much time there of late, always with some other legitimate reason, like washing her cutlery - when she had her own kitchen. So she became the suspect for the missing food. The kitchen supervisor put a lock on the bar fridge.
We couldn't prove who was taking it of course, so we just put up with the inconvenience of the lock, and got on with life. The next week we had eight litres each of orange juice and milk left over. Sheesh - Ruby had been drinking eight litres of each, per week.
Around July, we started running out of orange juice every week. The kitchen supervisor remonstrated the staff for drinking it. Most of the staff looked at each other in disbelief, wondering how a few glasses of orange juice warranted a lecture, and why the supervisor didn't just order a few extra litres. And then the milk and cereal started running out. Carlotta had to run to the corner shop one morning when it became apparent there wasn't enough milk for everyone's cereal. Again, the reaction was to chastise the staff for drinking the milk and taking the cereal, and then for taking the bread. My goodness, this was getting ridiculous. What staff member needed food that badly that they were taking bread and cereal home, we wondered. The last thing we suspected was a resident. They get their meals included anyway - a full breakfast, a hot lunch, three courses at dinner, morning and afternoon tea with cake and biscuits - why would they need extra food?
One staff member was a bit more clever than the rest of us. Alison resented being blamed for the theft, and so she did some thinking. It was only the Royale's bar area which always seemed to run out - even though the staff spent very little time there. And Ruby, living close to the lounge area, had spent way too much time there of late, always with some other legitimate reason, like washing her cutlery - when she had her own kitchen. So she became the suspect for the missing food. The kitchen supervisor put a lock on the bar fridge.
We couldn't prove who was taking it of course, so we just put up with the inconvenience of the lock, and got on with life. The next week we had eight litres each of orange juice and milk left over. Sheesh - Ruby had been drinking eight litres of each, per week.
If the shoe fits...
Dennis had a recent fall, and his wrist got sprained, so he has it in a bandage. Because of this, the carers have been helping him dress each morning. Most residents can do everything for themselves, but if they have been sick, etc, the carers will shower and dress them. Carlotta was in the kitchen one morning and found out that the carer on duty hadn't bothered to help Dennis, so she went up to his room and found him struggling to get himself ready for lunch. She told me this story about dressing Dennis.
As she said to me at the time, raising five children is no different to dressing older people, and these are just grown up small children. (I don't think I've heard it said that way, but I get the idea.) So she helped him dress and came back to serve morning tea.
When she saw me, she said, "Remind me to talk to the carer about Dennis. I think his foot is swollen. It was hard to get his shoe on." Of course, we were busy with scones and coffee, so we both forgot. But later on at lunch, Dennis was suddenly calling Carlotta towards him, and he held his left shoe in one hand. It was then that she remembered the swollen foot, and wondered if he had somehow hurt it more.
"Now, Lottie, I want to talk to you about my shoe!" he exclaimed. Carlotta walked over and listened to see what was wrong with his foot.
"This morning, you helped me with my shoes!" And Dennis paused again. If you want to talk to Dennis, you need a lot of time. Everything he says is measured and carefully planned. And slow.
"And this shoe, you had trouble getting it on!" Carlotta looked at his foot for any signs of swelling, but the socked foot looked just fine. "And I was walking to lunch, and I thought, 'Gee, something is hurting my foot there!' "
At this point the suspense was killing Carlotta. "Dennis, did you hurt your foot? It was very hard to get your shoe on, but we managed to push hard and get it on."
"Well, Lottie, that's what I wanted to talk to you about!" continued Dennis. "Something was hurting my foot when you pushed it on! But you were talking to me, so I was distracted, and I forgot to tell you that it was hurting when you were pushing the shoe on. You're a strong girl, Lottie. And then I was walking to morning tea, and I thought, 'Gee, something is hurting my foot!' And then I came to lunch, and it was still hurting, so I just took it off here, and see what I found!"
Dennis reached into his shoe and pulled out a bunch of housekeys. He had put them in there so that he would stop leaving them at home by mistake. Carlotta just stood there, wondering how someone could walk with keys in their shoe and put up with it for more than two hours.
And probably wondering how someone could get distracted enough by a mundane conversation, to forget to tell someone that it hurts like hell as they're manhandling your foot into a shoe full of keys.
As she said to me at the time, raising five children is no different to dressing older people, and these are just grown up small children. (I don't think I've heard it said that way, but I get the idea.) So she helped him dress and came back to serve morning tea.
When she saw me, she said, "Remind me to talk to the carer about Dennis. I think his foot is swollen. It was hard to get his shoe on." Of course, we were busy with scones and coffee, so we both forgot. But later on at lunch, Dennis was suddenly calling Carlotta towards him, and he held his left shoe in one hand. It was then that she remembered the swollen foot, and wondered if he had somehow hurt it more.
"Now, Lottie, I want to talk to you about my shoe!" he exclaimed. Carlotta walked over and listened to see what was wrong with his foot.
"This morning, you helped me with my shoes!" And Dennis paused again. If you want to talk to Dennis, you need a lot of time. Everything he says is measured and carefully planned. And slow.
"And this shoe, you had trouble getting it on!" Carlotta looked at his foot for any signs of swelling, but the socked foot looked just fine. "And I was walking to lunch, and I thought, 'Gee, something is hurting my foot there!' "
At this point the suspense was killing Carlotta. "Dennis, did you hurt your foot? It was very hard to get your shoe on, but we managed to push hard and get it on."
"Well, Lottie, that's what I wanted to talk to you about!" continued Dennis. "Something was hurting my foot when you pushed it on! But you were talking to me, so I was distracted, and I forgot to tell you that it was hurting when you were pushing the shoe on. You're a strong girl, Lottie. And then I was walking to morning tea, and I thought, 'Gee, something is hurting my foot!' And then I came to lunch, and it was still hurting, so I just took it off here, and see what I found!"
Dennis reached into his shoe and pulled out a bunch of housekeys. He had put them in there so that he would stop leaving them at home by mistake. Carlotta just stood there, wondering how someone could walk with keys in their shoe and put up with it for more than two hours.
And probably wondering how someone could get distracted enough by a mundane conversation, to forget to tell someone that it hurts like hell as they're manhandling your foot into a shoe full of keys.
Movie day
Every Sunday afternoon the residents have a Movie Day. This is a major social event. It is also one of the few times that anyone ever uses the Royale's lounge room, as it's the biggest of the four lounges. The residents congregate there and they show a DVD on the big screen tv. The movies are usually golden oldies, but occasionally they show popular mild modern movies, say, The Bridges of Madison County or whatever. Then they have tea and coffee and something exciting, like chocolate biscuits or scones, etc. It's an action-packed afternoon.
This anecdote I wasn't actually present for. It was related to me by Carlotta, who is a Tongan lady who works with me in the kitchen. Carlotta is reliability personified. She's worked there for fifteen years and all the residents love her. She knows what she's doing and nothing bothers her. She is also built like a professional weightlifter.
Apparently this Sunday, Marjorie took it upon herself to attend the movie. I'm not sure that she usually does, considering she'd have been just as happy alone in the other lounge, but I'm guessing one of the carers encouraged her to go. Marjorie has a walking frame (Zimmer) that I refer to as her car. She has told me emphatically several times that she can't walk without it. Indeed, she is a large heavy-set lady who is usually quite unsteady on her feet. A couple of times she's forgotten to bring it to dinner and I've had to rescue her as she's hung onto the doorway of the dining room. She's heavy, all right. It feels rather bizarre holding the arm of someone that you know you can never possibly stop from falling if they actually stumble.
The Royale building has a huge wrap-around verandah at the front, and about 15 stairs leading to its grand threshhold. Yes, you guessed it, Marjorie tried to take her walker up those stairs. The upshot of it is she got all the way to the top with the walker, but then tripped up the last couple of stairs, and fell forwards scraping her shins badly and ending in a heap on the verandah. Arabella and Caroline, two of the personal carers, found her there as they were bringing some of the other residents to the movie.
Arabella and Caroline are both of Chinese background and are studying here on student visas. That's common to almost every single carer: they are all from overseas, all under 21, and all students. Putting it into more accurate terms, Australians are lazy snobs and do not want to work in a service job. Cry foul all you like, it's the truth. There are 3 kitchen staff who are Australian (I'm the first) and the other two are semi-retired women in their 50s. Every time Celia has advertised for staff she has Chinese, Korean, and Indian people apply, and nobody else. Anyway, Arabella and Caroline are both tiny diminutive scraps of humanity. Truly lovely girls with hearts of gold, but a fresh breeze would blow them over. So they heaved and tugged and pulled, but there was no way on earth the two of them could get poor Marjorie to her feet, even when Marjorie was trying to help.
(I wish I'd been there just to see those two girls attempt to get her off the floor. It would have been hilarious.)
So as Marjorie sat there marooned on the verandah, one of them ran to get Carlotta to help. Even with Carlotta and her strong arms it was proving a difficult task. Carlotta said, "Why don't we swing her legs around and onto the second step, so that we can help her up that way?"
So they did that, but as they tried to help Marjorie up she started yelling. "I'm not going down there!" she screamed. "I want to go and see the movie! You can't make me go back down there! My walker is up here! I'm going this way!" and the woman who could not get herself off the floor used surprising strength to stop them spinning her around towards the stairs.
Ever tried reasoning with a 2 year old having a tantrum? I don't think this would have been far off. Marjorie told me it took them another fifteen minutes to calm her down and get her to cooperate. The movie was delayed. I've no idea whether Marjorie even knew what it was about, let alone enjoyed her day.
Marjorie's now showing everyone her battle scars. "I had a heavy fall yesterday!" she exclaims to anyone who'll listen, lifting her pants leg to reveal an assortment of bandages and sticking plasters. I made the mistake of replying, "Oh, you poor thing," when she told me... I was greeted with a furious, "I'M NOT POOR! I'M MRS SANDERS!!"
...Uh... yes. Of course.
This anecdote I wasn't actually present for. It was related to me by Carlotta, who is a Tongan lady who works with me in the kitchen. Carlotta is reliability personified. She's worked there for fifteen years and all the residents love her. She knows what she's doing and nothing bothers her. She is also built like a professional weightlifter.
Apparently this Sunday, Marjorie took it upon herself to attend the movie. I'm not sure that she usually does, considering she'd have been just as happy alone in the other lounge, but I'm guessing one of the carers encouraged her to go. Marjorie has a walking frame (Zimmer) that I refer to as her car. She has told me emphatically several times that she can't walk without it. Indeed, she is a large heavy-set lady who is usually quite unsteady on her feet. A couple of times she's forgotten to bring it to dinner and I've had to rescue her as she's hung onto the doorway of the dining room. She's heavy, all right. It feels rather bizarre holding the arm of someone that you know you can never possibly stop from falling if they actually stumble.
The Royale building has a huge wrap-around verandah at the front, and about 15 stairs leading to its grand threshhold. Yes, you guessed it, Marjorie tried to take her walker up those stairs. The upshot of it is she got all the way to the top with the walker, but then tripped up the last couple of stairs, and fell forwards scraping her shins badly and ending in a heap on the verandah. Arabella and Caroline, two of the personal carers, found her there as they were bringing some of the other residents to the movie.
Arabella and Caroline are both of Chinese background and are studying here on student visas. That's common to almost every single carer: they are all from overseas, all under 21, and all students. Putting it into more accurate terms, Australians are lazy snobs and do not want to work in a service job. Cry foul all you like, it's the truth. There are 3 kitchen staff who are Australian (I'm the first) and the other two are semi-retired women in their 50s. Every time Celia has advertised for staff she has Chinese, Korean, and Indian people apply, and nobody else. Anyway, Arabella and Caroline are both tiny diminutive scraps of humanity. Truly lovely girls with hearts of gold, but a fresh breeze would blow them over. So they heaved and tugged and pulled, but there was no way on earth the two of them could get poor Marjorie to her feet, even when Marjorie was trying to help.
(I wish I'd been there just to see those two girls attempt to get her off the floor. It would have been hilarious.)
So as Marjorie sat there marooned on the verandah, one of them ran to get Carlotta to help. Even with Carlotta and her strong arms it was proving a difficult task. Carlotta said, "Why don't we swing her legs around and onto the second step, so that we can help her up that way?"
So they did that, but as they tried to help Marjorie up she started yelling. "I'm not going down there!" she screamed. "I want to go and see the movie! You can't make me go back down there! My walker is up here! I'm going this way!" and the woman who could not get herself off the floor used surprising strength to stop them spinning her around towards the stairs.
Ever tried reasoning with a 2 year old having a tantrum? I don't think this would have been far off. Marjorie told me it took them another fifteen minutes to calm her down and get her to cooperate. The movie was delayed. I've no idea whether Marjorie even knew what it was about, let alone enjoyed her day.
Marjorie's now showing everyone her battle scars. "I had a heavy fall yesterday!" she exclaims to anyone who'll listen, lifting her pants leg to reveal an assortment of bandages and sticking plasters. I made the mistake of replying, "Oh, you poor thing," when she told me... I was greeted with a furious, "I'M NOT POOR! I'M MRS SANDERS!!"
...Uh... yes. Of course.
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