Welcome to the Home

Here's an excerpt from the book:

Stan was at my door two hours after the movers left me in my new home at an Active Senior Living Center in Shayna Beach. Or, as I called it, the Alta Cocker Inn.

“Hello, young lady,” he said, smiling broadly. “My name is Stan Bodie.  Is your mother home?”

Is my mother home? No man had come knocking at my door with that question in fifty years and, when they had, they were selling encyclopedias.

I gave Stan the once over. All 5’2” of him. White hair, styled in a comb over that began just over his left ear, thin mustache. Trifocals. White tennis shoes with black executive hose.  Petite. If he was a woman, he’d be a size zero at Chico’s.

He’d obviously dressed to impress. His leisure suit, 100% polyester, in a beige waffle weave, had to be at least 40 years old and darn if it, and he, didn’t look like an exhibit from the fashion section of the Smithsonian.

“Nice outfit,” I said, trying to say something to explain my staring at him so intently.

Stan beamed. “My wife always loved this one. She’s been gone twenty years now, but I know it would make her happy to know I still wear this. And that it fits perfectly.  Actually, I have three of these suits. They’re designed for relaxing. I have them in different colors. You’ll see. I wear one every day and you can tell your mother I do my own laundry and these always look good because they never need ironing. Some new kind of fabric. Does your mother still drive? I don’t, but I would pay for the gas if she drove.”

“My mother lives in Seattle,” I said, “And, she doesn’t drive, either. Were you thinking of dating her? Is that why you’re at the door?”

“Store? No, I don’t need anything at the store,” he said, totally ignoring all I had said.

“Are you hard of hearing?” I asked, raising my voice.

“Yes. I wear two hearing aids; cost me $6,000, but I can afford it. They help when I remember to change the batteries, but most days I still have trouble hearing, so you and your mother need to speak up when you talk to me,” he said, turning his head from side to side so I could view his aides.

“Does your mother wear hearing aids? Will I need to speak louder to talk to her?”

“Stan,” I said, my voice now a full octave higher, “my mother is not here and will not be here and why are you so eager to meet her anyway?”

He pushed his walker to one side, thrust his hand out to shake my hand and make his introduction more official.

“I need to meet your mother because it’s my job to greet each new resident on the second floor. I got elected in a landslide. I ran a good campaign, too. My slogan was ‘Stan Is Your Man’. I live in 217, your mother lives in 225. See how close we are? When is your mother moving in? It’s important that she have my phone number. Part of my job is to be the emergency contact for this wing of the second floor. Something is wrong? All she has to do is call me. Now, I can’t hear the phone ring, but if she lets it ring a long time, eventually I will see the red light indicating I have a call. Of course, she could just come and knock on my door, but I can’t always hear that, either, so I leave my door unlocked. Tell her to just walk in. How old is your mother? Does she have her own money?”

“Stan,” I said, speaking at almost a scream level, “my mother is 94, is financially secure and...”

“Oh, 94,” he interrupted. “That’s perfect. I’m 95.”

“Stan, you’re not hearing everything I say, or you have selective hearing. Which is it? I’ll talk louder.”

“Chowder, you say? No, I had lunch, but thanks.”

“Stan,” I yelled. “Listen to me. My mother is not moving in here. She is very happy in Seattle. I’m the one moving in here. Did you hear that? I’m moving in here, my mother is not.”

“I heard you, young lady, and you’re too young to live here. Does your mother know her daughter is living in an old folks’ complex? Tell her not to worry. I’m here to protect you,” he said.

“Protect me? How?”

Stan stood up straighter, took on an air of importance.

“I’m the fire marshal for this floor. If there is a fire, I’ll come to alert you and then you follow me down the stairs.”

“Stan,” I said, “Look, you’re hard of hearing. I don’t mean to be rude, but how will you ever hear the fire alarm? Wouldn’t it be better if I alerted you?”

There was a big smile on Stan’s face now. “Okay, you alert me. Do you drive? We can go to some nice restaurants. You know, I’m just down the hall, so come over anytime you’re feeling lonely. And, just between you and me, I have a prescription for Viagra.”