People who care for the young and old surely must be closer to sainthood than most. Given how little workers are paid at early childhood development centers, child care facilities, retirement homes, nursing homes, day care facilities for adults, and Alzheimer's centers and how much physical labor and emotional output they give, it's a wonder anyone takes on the arduous job of caring for the young and old in other people's families. If they have no family left, holidays can be the worst. And for me, I've never made it through a Valentine's Day gig without getting choked up. Today was no exception, and it wasn't just because, as Ruby pointed out at the YMCA where I dropped Grayson, I am "Preggo emotional."
My contract said the gig was in Westminster. My notes from Ray, the activity coordinator, said the gig was in Wheat Ridge. The GPS couldn't find it, but eventually, after a half hour driving in the wrong direction, it located the Senior Resource Center at a Denver address. Though my detour had me short of time, I knew I could make the brunch opening if I cut my unloading time in half. When I reached the intersection of Sheridan and 33rd Ray had referenced, I spotted a small retirement center on the right and a woman getting out with her Valentine's Day garb on. Well, her sweater was red anyway. She had been driving 15 miles under the speed limit for the last 10 miles and I was eager to unload, so I grabbed my seat bag and stand and marched inside.
There were no lights on and the place smelled of stale cafeteria food and cigarettes. It was a nursing home, which tend to be some of the more depressing places I play as the residents are mostly immobile mentally or physically and are never getting better. This one was almost as bad as the one where I played in front of a huge smelly loud cage of screeching parakeets who were gainfully competing with the regular outbursts from the equally boistrou audience. Since having a two year old, I've been much better at tuning out background.
A nurse came up to me and introduced herself as Maria. I said, "I'm here to play for your brunch." She said "Oh, our power is out. we have lunch in here," and led me to a dark room half full of grimy tables and vacant eyed people in wheel chairs. When I rolled the harp in, one lady called out "You've got to be kidding me." I said, "Nope. It's a special day. I am going to play harp for you today! Is that ok?" She said, "like a symphony harp?" I said, "indeed." And started setting up. These people live every day in this dank excuse for senior care. The least I could do is play my little heart out for two hours and maybe make the food taste a little better. I pulled open one of the blinds so I could see my music. Another guy rolled in and yelled, "what the hell is that?" Maria said, "It's a harp. And that's no way to talk to our guest". She said to me, "Hon, it looks like you could use help setting up. When's that baby due?" I said, "I'm half way done making it, so I guess it just gets harder from here on out, right?" She said, " My daughter is due any day now." I said, "Oh congrats! Is this your first grandchild?" She said, "No it's my eleventh!" I said, "Wow! I bet you do a lot of babysitting." She said, "Every weekend. All ten of them. I love it, having family around. And they love their grandma. It's like a big party!" It sounded like a big headache to me.
I figured I was still a little early, but I could get started. A crowd had begun to gather from the hallways where they'd been lurking. The first lady teetered over and grabbed the closest seat and pulled it closer. The man in the wheelchair rolled over and said, "How much does that thing weigh? How long did it take you to learn to play that?" He was about to ask another question when a young bearded fellow walked up and said "Wow! This is great! The residents are going to love this! We've never had a harp. In fact, I bet most of them have never even seen one before. Do you do this often...come and just drop in and play for people?" I said, "well today Ray invited me to play for your special valentines brunch". I thought, he had a point. I should drop in more often. If only concert harps were easier to just drop in with. He said, "Who is Ray?" I was starting to feel uncomfortable with this line of questioning. Surely everyone knew all the staff in a little place like this. "Oh, he's your activity coordinator." The guy hesitated. "Hmm. Actually...I'm the activity coordinator." Still clueless, I said, "Oh, you must be Ray then! It's nice to meet you. I think I'm ready to go! Will they be serving lunch soon?" He said, "actually I'm Gary. Which makes me wonder if you might be in the wrong place. Where were you trying to go?" I said, "The Senior Resource Center." He said, "oh, I think that's just down the street." I looked at the time on my phone in a panic. I was supposed to start at 11:15. It was now 11:04. I leaped into gear apologizing the whole time to the dejected looking crowd. I didn't think it was possible for them to look more miserable, but the first lady scowled and said just audibly, "Go figure" like that was the story of her life. Harpists were always wandering into her abode and setting up and promising sonatas and then rushing out just as she'd begun to accept that occasionally good things can happen in life. I felt like such a sleaze.
The cook came out and said "yeah, we don't have anything special planned, so I was wonderin!" The bearded guy said, "Here let me help you with that. It looks like you could use some help!" He might as well have said, "It's awkward and embarrassing to be a strapping young lad watching a tele tubby mom try to bend over and do strenuous things like load harps, so give me a job". Which is basically what the book group ladies said, but more directly. Kathrine from New York said, "goodness you're big. And I remember you were huuuge last time, so I'm sure you're gonna be even bigger this time!" Layla said, "I hope you're having that baby soon". I said, "Unfortunately no. I have four and a half months left". This answer invariably warranted a confused then slightly disapproving look. They had told me at coffee after our geriatric (that's what the doctors were calling me...a geriatric "high risk" mom because
I am 35, which is apparently long past the age any prudent woman should be procreating) Tuesday/Thursday morning workout that their doctors all said they weren't to gain more than 25 pounds. I was getting close to the cut off.
So I stuffed myself awkwardly into the front seat, my heart racing but I managed to say I would definitely be back when the bearded man slipped his card into my purse. I zipped around the corner to a stately looking (for Wheat Ridge, which was mostly tri-level low slung brick houses badly designed in the 90s) rock-finished building. It appeared to be the library, and next door was the eluding Senior Resource Center. Ray told me it was a non-profit, which is always a confusing term, when they were clearly making one. The heavily makeup-ed woman at the front desk directed me to the bathrooms, since I'd been driving around for an hour now with the baby sitting on my bladder. The bathroom looked like a spa, with a deep tub, various salves and plush towels. I then zipped out and brought the harp and accessories in one load to the actual room where I was supposed to be entertaining. I somehow still had 5 minutes till show time. The room was plushly carpeted with leather chairs, a fireplace to the ceiling, a built in kitchen, bar, and a staff of many dressed in their finest Valentine's Day themed attire. Ray came up to me and said, "Erin! Great! You can set up next to the stained glass window and the hearth if that's ok? I'm sorry we're running a bit late so take your time! Oh I hope everything goes well. I think it's going to be lovely, but I get so emotional on these occasions." I could relate. The guests had already started to arrive, which is what I always expect of the punctual elderly crowd. They rsvp, show up early, stay late, and enjoy every last drop of the occasion. It's refreshingly reliable. It only occured to me later it was strange a building had full electricity around the corner from another which apparently had none.
A white woman and a black man seated themselves at the sweetheart table directly in front of me and he got his oxygen tank situated. They introduced themselves to each other. She complimented him on his red suspenders. He said "Ain't misbehavin!" She said, "Excuse me?" He said, "The song she's playin. Now there's an oldie!" And he started crooning to himself. As I started on "Everybody Loves Somebody" punctuated by Suspender Man's oohs and oh yeas, I surveyed the room. The day visitors, as they were called here because they were picked up or dropped by their families or caregivers daily to give the caregivers a break and offer intellectually stimulating outings for the day visitors, were dressed in their finest. Bow ties, suit jackets, dresses, salon hairdos. They were having a singer after lunch and a dance, complete with dance cards and lessons. They would have to move all the balloon bunches and rose covered tables. Their caregivers and family had been invited, but if they didn't have a Plus One, the staff seated them in small groups. Ray said Thursdays were usually slow days, but no one wanted to miss the party. When they were still clapping after every song and were onto their third course, I could tell they were having a good time.
Though the day center had a fiddle/piano player perform three days each week, this particular party was fully funded by a new organization I had never heard of. The two women representing the Soul Day Foundation came up and thanked me. I asked, "What does your organization do?" The young woman with the highest pointiest heels and the slim muscular legs laughed and said, "Well, we are new. We think everyone needs a day for their soul every now and again, so we put on special events for seniors, disabled, abused women and children, and any group we find who needs it." I gave her a brief synopsis of my morning, and she said, "It sounds like those folks at the nursing home sure could use a Soul Day! Can I get your card? Maybe we could put one on together." Then she went back to the three photographers and videographers interviewing her. I hoped she would. We would. They needed a Soul Day like no other.
As I loaded up, one of the serving staff chased me down in the lobby and said, "We all just loved your playing! I was tellin my girls that you played a song that I use as my alarm every morning! Yes, you played my ring tone!" I guessed it was probably Claire De Lune, but she didn't know what song she wakes up to every morning. At least she gets to wake up to a lovely song and not a toddler yelling "moooooommmm! I pooped in my diaper! Come get me!"
As usual, the Valentine's Day gig brought bittersweetness. Seeing all the singles and couples navigating some of the hardest kinds of love, caring for each other after one had lost their faculties, or just sitting together as strangers, remembering the one who had known them best. And the accidental visit to a place where it seemed love had been all but lost, just made me want to go home and hold my family who show me love daily, while we all still can.