In every mundane activity there is a kernel of the extraordinary.
I just returned from making applesauce. Here’s the thing: I didn’t use sugar, a pot, or even a stove. The only tool I needed was my power chair.
At this time of year, during late summer, one of my favourite activities is making applesauce. I do this by running over fallen crab-apples on the sidewalk. The treads on my back wheels squish them flat and release the juice. It only takes two or three to perfume the air with appley goodness. After I finish, the sidewalk is covered in apple skid marks. Does anyone look down and wonder how they got there?
I also leave my mark on the lawn. After the sidewalk curves around the pond, I leave it to do a little off-roading. I drive my chair over the grass and park at the bottom end of it. I’ve learned the hard way NOT to backup. I often get stuck that way when my wheels go sideways. Instead, I go forward and around to get on the sidewalk again. I like the analogy of always moving forward. In the morning when the lawn is wet with dew, it’s a great way to wash the apple pulp off my wheels. I leave tracks that reveal my passage.
I’m parked in the sun one day when I notice another resident toddling along the sidewalk with her walker. Trouble is, she’s not supposed to be out of the building on her own. She wears a device that sounds an alarm whenever she gets too close to an outside door. Either it didn’t go off or she ignored it and went out anyways. She’s done that before.
She’s very hard of hearing but refuses to wear hearing aids, so I know there’s no point in calling. I follow Linda (name changed) to the gazebo where she sits down for a rest. She’s very confused and asks if I live here.
Me, shouting: “YES. SO DO YOU (I point to her.) IT’S ALMOST LUNCHTIME! ARE YOU HUNGRY?” (I rub my belly. Charades with the elderly.)
She nods. I gesture to follow me. I take her back to the dining room, where we are greeted by some very anxious servers about to launch a search party.
Linda’s hilarious and I admire her spirit. Well into her 90s, she came here against her will several years ago. She brought a harmonica and took it with her into the dining room. She blew it loudly and obnoxiously throughout her meals in hopes of getting kicked out. It didn’t work. Her hair is fire engine red. Sometimes she gets it re-coloured if she feels it’s not red enough. Apparently, she was one of the first female real estate agents in Fredericton.
Back to those apples. Normally, the activity team harvests them and makes crab-apple jelly. Then they bake homemade bread to go with it. YUM. Not this year, though. Too busy. I wonder if this will affect the crop a year from now.
Real-life intrudes. The whole time I’ve been working on this, a member of the physiotherapy staff has been working with a resident in the hall outside my room. She’s hard of hearing – as usual – so he shouts at her. So loudly, in fact, that my dictation software picks up his male voice outside with my door closed instead of mine.
That’s how I roll.
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