After a somewhat energetic appointment with a dental hygienist , I called into the Mcdonald's drive through for a coffee. It was mid morning.
On impulse, while my coffee cooled I drove up past the Monastery at Pantasaph and pulled up outside Auntie Glad's nursing home.
The new manager met me at the door and shook my hand formally. She wanted to know who I was.
She asked me to wait as she thought Gladys was having a lie in after being somewhat poorly.
I waited in the small dining room, where one deminuative resident eyed me carefully from her wheelchair.
" who are you here to see?" She croaked
" Gladys Jones" I replied
" Her room is next to mine", she told me " She's had a wee infection!"
" oh dear" I said smiling weakly.
The manager appeared and told me that Gladys would recieve me in her room.
I didn't stay too long, for Gladys was slightly vague and tired but she recognized me and sounded like her old self when I informed her there was a funeral in the village this afternoon.
" Mr Endres' funeral !"
Mr Endres had helped run his wife Yola's family shop for many years
Now the Welsh love a good funeral and Gladys is no different in that respect and immediately she was giving thought to what she would wear for the service, plans I managed to divert with some more chatter about the Flower Show committee and Gay Gordon's recent death.
I even toyed with the idea that I may take her to funeral myself, but thought against it as she was not quite well enough.
Next time, I thought, if permission was granted
As I left , I smiled at the woman in the wheelchair, who was now sat at the lunchtable.
She smiled back showing a wide expanse of gums
" We're having butterscotch angel delight for pudding today" she told me
On impulse, while my coffee cooled I drove up past the Monastery at Pantasaph and pulled up outside Auntie Glad's nursing home.
The new manager met me at the door and shook my hand formally. She wanted to know who I was.
She asked me to wait as she thought Gladys was having a lie in after being somewhat poorly.
I waited in the small dining room, where one deminuative resident eyed me carefully from her wheelchair.
" who are you here to see?" She croaked
" Gladys Jones" I replied
" Her room is next to mine", she told me " She's had a wee infection!"
" oh dear" I said smiling weakly.
The manager appeared and told me that Gladys would recieve me in her room.
I didn't stay too long, for Gladys was slightly vague and tired but she recognized me and sounded like her old self when I informed her there was a funeral in the village this afternoon.
" Mr Endres' funeral !"
Mr Endres had helped run his wife Yola's family shop for many years
Now the Welsh love a good funeral and Gladys is no different in that respect and immediately she was giving thought to what she would wear for the service, plans I managed to divert with some more chatter about the Flower Show committee and Gay Gordon's recent death.
I even toyed with the idea that I may take her to funeral myself, but thought against it as she was not quite well enough.
Next time, I thought, if permission was granted
As I left , I smiled at the woman in the wheelchair, who was now sat at the lunchtable.
She smiled back showing a wide expanse of gums
" We're having butterscotch angel delight for pudding today" she told me
thank you for the auntie glad update; I was thinking about her yesterday.
ReplyDeleteangels have no teeth
ReplyDeleteQuality time, with angels on earth.
ReplyDeleteYou need to be a certain age to still be excited at the prospect of Angel Delight.
ReplyDeleteI'm 51 and I love butterscotch Angel Delight (Don't like the other flavours though). My step daughter is 36 and also loves that flavour. :-)
DeleteI grew up with it too, but when i stole it from the cupboard, i would make it into a drink rather than a mousse
DeleteHad it so often as a kid I can't face it any more. Same with arctic roll.
DeleteDear Auntie Glad. Of course she would immediately want to go to the funeral.
ReplyDeleteauntie glad sure is hanging in there! i miss her.
ReplyDeleteI picked strawberries from my garden last year and bought some meringues and fresh cream from the shop to give to a local care home. I hope that it relieved the monotony of what they usually had for tea. I bet that butterscotch angel delight was the highlight of the week for many of the residents.
ReplyDeleteI was just wondering about Auntie Glad.
ReplyDeleteThe indomitable Auntie Glad. You are good to keep her so.
ReplyDeleteLovely to hear news of Aunty Glad. We were allowed angel delight as a treat as children, with hundreds and thousands sprinkled over the top. I love butterscotch angel delight to this day!
ReplyDeleteHow fitting, John. There they are, queuing and waiting at death's and heaven's door, being comforted with "Angel's Delight", albeit Butterscotch flavour. Make mine a truffle.
ReplyDeleteMay there be a John in all our lives who still takes an interest in us when we can't see the horizon for dust any longer.
U
This post made me almost unbearably sad. It was the last paragraph that did it.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad Auntie Glad is still hanging in there, though.
I know .. I keep telling myself how lucky she is that John is there to visit .
DeleteTo be fair there are several from the village that visit her more regulary than i
DeleteBless her heart, I wish I could visit with her too.
ReplyDeleteLike many other who commented, I was thinking about Auntie Glad.
ReplyDeleteThank You for the update.
cheers, parsnip
I truly enjoyed seeing the little old ladies and gentlemen at my father's nursing home, the ones who still had the brightness in them. They gave me hope that I might not just run down and die but keep the spark until the end.
ReplyDeleteI also enjoyed this post because you reminded me of that, John. I hope Aunty Gladys is feeling better soon. Infections take the stuffing out of a person, especially an elderly one.
Given the prevalence of the name Jones in Wales you could have been sent in to see anyone. My mom's name was Gwladys Jones and I remember being in a pub with my cousin (Jones) and all six young men we were with were called Jones - Jones the Post, Jones the Bread. It was really funny. Anna (not Jones)
ReplyDeleteGladys' husband was called Bob "Railway"
DeleteWhen I lived in Brighton a few years ago, an old chap from a nursing home just up the road, fell over outside my house on his way back from the shops. My son and I saw it happen and rushed to help him. We managed to sit him on a chair from our house and got him as comfortable as we could, then called the nursing home. He was most concerned that we shouldn't look in his shopping bag, and kept saying "there's nothing to see in there". When the nurse arrived to get him she discovered that his shopping was in fact a load of beer.I think he thought he might be able to smuggle it in without the staff catching him. She told him it would be a good idea to call an ambulance to get him to hospital for a check up. He was most insistent on not going to hospital as it was liver and bacon for supper at the home and he had no intention of missing that, especially as lots of the other residents didn't like it and it meant more for him.
ReplyDeleteJean
What a great story this is!
DeleteMy Mom's in a nursing home so believe me, I understand the importance of dessert, often the only delectable portion of the meal. I quit telling her years ago about people or public figures who have died (unless they are close relatives) because I don't want to depress her with a constant litany of death. She lives surrounded by it as it is.
ReplyDeleteAuntie Glad is so lucky to have a friend like you. Many people have few or no one to visit them.
ReplyDeleteAuntie Glad continues to stay in touch as best she can. What a determined woman she is.
ReplyDeleteWhen I visit my father's veteran's facility, I am usually greeted by the news of someone's death in his ward. I really don't think most at that stage in their lives have a problem with the news....they know they are near death.
Thank you for that jimbo
DeleteI had to google Angel Delight. [what a great name for a stripper at a ''gentlemen's club''!]
ReplyDeleteI did, too. Looks rather tasty, actually. That old dear must realy like it, if she's hanging out in the dining room at mid-day in anticipation...
DeleteAt a certain age, food seems to become the highlight of one's existence. My mother describes to me in loving detail what she had for lunch or supper, while the major political events of the day generally pass her by.
ReplyDeleteIt's the little things....
ReplyDelete