It’s hard to put into words the experience of visiting a nursing home. It’s hard to put into words a visit to small town Iowa, let alone a place that can be likened to a complete stranger’s dysfunctional family dinner: there’s uncomfortable yelling, a wiggly food source of unknown origin, and somebody just farted.
This visit was brought upon by my Grandmother, who was skillfully able to coax my Dad, Sister, niece, nephew and I all aboard a discount airplane for 2 hours followed by a lengthy drive into the heart of Iowa. Well, if not the heart, then certainly somesort of organ belonging to the state.
In Iowa the kids ride in the trunk...trust me.
Upon arrival to the nursing home, my Grandmother began handing out snacks and treats that were hidden inside of her empty bag of tricks labeled “Depends.” Thankfully, the kids didn’t seem to mind, as they are regulars in the diaper scene as well. I felt as if we were gaining access to a secret prison stash of Doritos, cookies and Goldfish crackers. Undoubtedly my Grandma had to trade with the other inmates for cigarettes and sharply carved toothbrushes to gain these precious items, so I eagerly took my share even when she repeatedly called me Dawson and “I don’t remember you.”
You may be thinking she was just confused, but I believe she is more capable than that and called me by several wrong names because I am by far the worst in my family about calling her. Touche, Grandmother. Touche.
Baby Mary looking on as the wheelchair races commence
Upon escorting her to lunch, we were able to meet some of her fellow cohorts, including an elderly man who played a Munchkin in The Wizard of Oz. He jumped up and down on his chair giggling wildly while giving my terrified, 2 year old nephew a high five. He will no doubt fear that movie for the rest of his life.
“My, you’re tall,” a lunchmate at the adjoining table said to me. “Are you going to play basketball?”
“Ugh, no, I don’t think so,” was my meager reply.
“Well why not? How old are you?” she inquired in an accusatory tone.
“I’m 27.”
“Oh, you’re too old,” she snorted, in the best example to date of pot calling the kettle black.
Back in our hotel room, I asked my nephew to fetch me a glass of water, as I felt he was having too much fun and I was incredibly parched. He gladly took my empty cup and disappeared around the corner.
“I don’t think he’s coming back,” informed my sister. But much to my surprise he came eagerly running towards me with a half cup of water. After thanking him and gulping it down, my sister informs me that like our Munchkin friend, my nephew cannot reach the sink himself.
“Well…then where did he get it?” I ask in a voice of bewilderment.
“Maybe the toilet? I don’t know,” she answers nonchalantly. I throw up a bit in my mouth, and make a note to keep in mind this is one 2 year old who is taking a stand against child labor.
We then make our way to the hotel pool, where my nephew spots a legless woman in an electric wheelchair.
“Mommy, where her toes?” my nephew sweetly inquires in the echoing indoor pool area. “Her toes go bye bye? No toes, all gone.” Kids say the darndest things. And by “darndest,” I mean “rudest, most hateful.” Luckily, he is quickly distracted by some diversion of his Mom’s doing.
After 4 visits to my neighborhood Applebees, 2 unbearable plane rides, and 1 cup of toilet water, I finally make it back home feeling plenty confident that my Grandmother does not know my name.
Delicious Ambiguity 