My Lunch with Gary

I've been staring at a blank "Compose Post" screen for six minutes now...Starting is always the toughest part. No wonder it's so easy to ignore a blog.

I had an interesting lunch date on Tuesday, and I was all set to write about it, but after waiting a day it no longer seems all that absorbing. I'm fairly certain I will need to add the line, "I guess you had to be there" at the end of it all. Oh well. I was reminded recently that this blog will be a wonderful way to record memories, and if I frighten off my last remaining reader...he can only blame himself; it was his suggestion.

There was nothing particularly amusing or dramatic about lunch, it was more of a purely interesting experiment. I had never dined with a blind person before.

A little background: a few years ago I took our family hound up to the local nursing home for pet therapy visits. Hoocher and I made our rounds for nearly three years and then life got busy, Hoocher got old, and I decided to call a halt to it all. I missed the visits, but many of our regulars were starting to pass away and then Hoocher got a tumor and I thought he was next. As it turns out, Hoocher did not pass away. A year or two went by, and this past March, I brought Hoocher back. Only he is simply too old to do it any longer; his hips give out and he's fairly deaf. And he hates baths so much that I felt it was just too unfair to force him into one each week. So Hoocher has officially retired, but I still go up to the Manor once a week to visit with one particular gentleman we met.

Gary is only in his 50's, but due to a medical condition, he cannot live on his own. He lost his vision a few years ago. He probably is more suited to a home of some sort, but he does not relish independence. What he does relish is food, and the understandably institutionalized nature of the Manor's kitchen leaves him with nothing kind to say.

One might suspect that Gary is a bit of a gormet. One might be wrong. This is the same man who informed me that he considered it a high treat (in his seeing days - living with his mother on the family farm) to warm up cocktail weiners with barbeque sauce in the microwave and eat them with Saltines. The odor of hypocrisy lingers in the air.

Many times, our visits turn into a cataloging of what restaurants we like, which we don't, and which ones we wish we could try. After the barbeque weiners story, I wasn't surprised to learn that Gary and his mom ate out fairly frequently.

As a treat for him (and a respite for the long-suffering kitchen staff at the Manor), I took Gary out to lunch at our local pizza parlor.

The most interesting part of the meal was not the actual eating of food, but the logistics of getting Gary from the Manor to the restaurant and then to the table and back again. In addition to being blind, Gary also uses oxygen, so a portable tank went with us on the outing.

The Senator (11) and The Governor (8) came along to assist. They were invaluable help as I was a bit nervous about leaving Gary unattended while I went to get the car or when I left the table to fill his plate at the buffet. The Governor took a great interest in watching Gary. Before we arrived at the Manor he had asked, "But Mom...if he's blind...how does he eat?"

Well, Gov, his mouth works; only his eyes don't.

"But Mom...how does he know where to stick the food?"

Gov, if you close your eyes, do you think you could bring a cookie up to your mouth?

"Ooooh...."

And when we arrived at the Manor and were heading down the hall to fetch Gary:

"Mom - how do you get him through the building?"

He'll walk.

"But I mean, how do you give him directions? Do you say, Go north or Go South?"

Valid question, Gov. I tend to use Left and Right versus North or South.

"Ooooohhhhh."

So while Gary was unaware of it, he was under surveillance the entire time. And not just by The Governor. Everyone in the restaurant was giving us glances. Small town, after all. Thank goodness my children were along for chaperones.

The trip went quite well. I think Gary was so happy to be eating out somewhere, we probably could have taken him to the gas station for pre-packaged sandwiches and he would have considered it a high treat. He did consume an incredible amount of pizza and fried chicken. I hope we didn't do any lasting damage to his internal organs.

I'm sure we'll re-live the adventure next Tuesday when I go for another visit. It would beat listening to the BBQ weiner story again.