A week ago in Ashtabula, I was looking out
the window and wondering what it said about a man that all his earthly
possessions could be stuffed into a five-by-eight U-Haul trailer. It took a
tremendous amount of work to get everything in the trailer, and my friend Nancy and her son Aaron
did all the work. I will be eternally grateful for their effort and for the
many, many things they have done for me over the last six years. But, I
couldn’t shake the feeling that an estate that fits into a small U-Haul trailer
isn’t much of an estate.
On Monday, here in Columbus, Georgia,
I
watched my son Russ and his girl friend Karen unload the trailer and deposit its contents in my
new
apartment at Covenant Woods. “Where the hell did all this come from,” I
wondered. Nancy must have used every ounce of her ingenuity to get it
all in
the trailer, and there was no way it was all going to fit in the
apartment. But
Russ and Karen uncluttered the clutter – and reassembled my bed and
kitchen table – so I now have a comfortable, almost roomy place
to live – along with two more people I’ll spend eternity being grateful
for.
The trouble with being dependent on others
is that you’re so damn dependent. When you’re able bodied and let someone else
do what you should do, there is a feeling of roguish pride, like Tom Sawyer
convincing his chums to whitewash the fence. But when you’re unable to do the
work that needs to be done, it’s hard to shake the feeling that you’re an
inconvenience and that the people you’re inconveniencing have better things to
do. And that is why I am eternally grateful to Nancy, Aaron, Russ, Karen and so
many others.
So here I am on the eastern bank of the
Chattahoochee River. Phenix City, Alabama, is on the other side, a place Chuck, my
writing buddy, says he wasn’t allowed to go when he was stationed here at Fort
Benning years ago. I have yet to find out if sinning is still rampant in the
town.
As a child I watched too much television,
and as a result, my view of facilities such as Covenant Woods is colored by the
laxative commercials of the fifties and sixties. Those of a certain age will
recall the scenes of happy oldsters gathered on the veranda discussing their
bowel notable movements. If such things are grist for the conversation mill at Covenant
Woods, I haven’t noticed.
Covenant Woods isn’t set deep in the woods,
but it is surrounded by enough tall trees to give the impression that it is. It
really is a beautiful setting. The weather has been fabulous this week, and
I’ve enjoyed taking a lap or two around the place after meals. There are two
nearby strip malls. One is accessible by wheelchair thanks to a paved
path. There is a supermarket, a Family Dollar, a soon-to-be-closed K-Mart, a
Subway, a Chinese restaurant that Karen said is pretty good and a small Italian
place Russell and I tried yesterday and enjoyed. The other shopping center is on the other side of Woodruff Farm Road, a busy four-lane street. I’ll
have to get braver or more foolhardy to venture across it.
The food here isn’t bad. Based on three
dinners, the entrees – I’ve had shepherd’s pie, veal parmesan and baked
chicken – are good. The vegetables are flavorful but a little over cooked
and soggy. Eggs, oatmeal, bacon, sausage, toast, juice, coffee and fruit are on
the breakfast menu, and I think I heard someone say you can get pancakes or
French toast one day a week.
Eleanor is a fit-looking
woman who tells you right away that she has trouble remembering things. I
talked to her for a while yesterday, and she said she was 91; a few minutes
later she said she was going to be 93 next month. No matter, she still drives.
Eleven years ago when my nest suddenly
emptied I assumed that in 2012 I would still be heading off to work at
Ash/Craft every morning and to the Star Beacon every evening. Perhaps, if I was
still working I’d be anxious to retire, but as it is, I’d rather have my
jobs back. Still, Covenant Woods isn’t a bad place to be. And the best part is
that Russ and Karen are but two or three miles down the road. Having family close
by sure beats being several hundred miles from my nearest relative.
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