A Senior Moment

Norman P. Murray Senior Community Center

The name is offensive, not Murray, Senior. It’s a new grand building built on acres of land with streams, water fountains, and outdoor seating areas that could accommodate a thousand people, the grounds are filled with appointed flowers, trees and shrubbery that adds to the modern Craftsman style of both acreage and edifice, but playgrounds and outdoor exercise equipment can’t stop the offensiveness. The places smells of ointment and is filled with the barely mobile convalescent.

It’s a new place I’m thinking about using for writing, the accoutrements are magnificent, even breathe-taking, but the seniors may prove to be too distracting. I apparently can’t write when I’m depressed, and the seniors that fill the crevices’ of the Murray center are depressing.

Four of them (three men and a woman, all unconnected) have been playing bridge next to me, every once in a while one of them would have to stand to stretch his calf’s, he was disheveled, unkempt and quite, his playing partners were not quite, they started fighting, one held court has an important person, one of the men became quite upset at the woman, apparently her folly was bridge stupidity which cost the man the game. The important person started yelling at him for making a big thing out of nothing, but the loser begged that winning was important and the woman caused him to lose because she didn’t have the sense (twice) to lie down.

I wanted to lay all four of them down.

To my right a heard of seniors arrived for a used clothes sale (20% off everything but jewelry and underwear) which was being held in a way to small room, I don’t know if they were pushing each other to get to the items, or just stumbling, but there was too much body friction for my taste.  I also realized that the Murray center is not a library, old people are loud, young people are too, but for very different reasons.

I had to go out and take a nap on one of the outdoor sofas by a rolling stream, it was warm and peaceful and empty, my eyesight is not that good anymore but I didn’t see any walkers or walkies, so the potential for an unhindered rest was high. My only fear is that someone would see me lying down and assume the wrong thing.

Rested,  I got up and went inside to write something, anything, this was it, I haven’t written anything for two months due the surgery (drugs and pain don’t help writing focus).

The writing is brief, stunted and rambling, but I hope it’s not offensive, but at least it’s a writing restart.