All Seasons Assisted Living Tour

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HAZMAT Tour

We showed up with plenty of time for Harry’s PT with Prakesh, which was scheduled for between nine and ten. Prakesh didn’t arrive until 10:10 which left Harry in a bit of a snit. Not to worry though, because there will only be one more PT this Wednesday, which is now scheduled from ten to eleven. Harry did pretty good, although he was flagging near the end of the standup and sit-down exercises. After PT Anne and I had lunch at the Brown Jug on East U. It was a construction disaster area as I knew it would be, but I wanted to take her where we had gone on our very first date. Next up was the dinosaur museum, which is all new and quite impressive. Returning to Harry’s, I could not find a parking place and had to go cross-country hunting for one. First, I dropped Anne at the door. Walking back a spot had opened and I almost turned around to fetch the car, but that way lies madness. On my way in I stopped at the office and asked about the previously announced Friday tour of the new assisted living center. As it turned out that tour was more aspirational and because of permitting problems were not going to happen. But later today at five they were going to have a special “hardhat” tour. I told the sales ladies that we would be attending. Then I had to explain who the hell I was. No, I was not Jane nor Jane’s husband. They then asked Harry’s room number and looked at their map and exclaimed what a nice view he must have. Then they launched into sales mode detailing how much better the views will be in the new wing. Better act fast and get your application in, now!

Returning to the apartment, I told Anne about the tour, but she seemed unsure about attending. Not five minutes later, Harry, who cannot hear a thing, asked her about the Friday tour. She came clean and he was visibly excited about it. The tour was at five, but Harry was out the door by four, but not before finding a facemask. I guess he expected massive amounts of dust. When we arrived, there was a crowd in the firepit room milling about. Promptly at five we were all asked to move to the private dining room, where we were all issued helmets and orange dayglow vests, costumes. There were too many for one group, so we were subdivided into three smaller ones. Fortunately, we were in the first group. Access to the new wing was through the dining rooms, bonded in the middle by the kitchen. The new wing looks like a mini-me version of the existing facility, with similar decor and paint schemes. It is too early to talk about the furniture though, because all the tables and chairs in the dining rooms are rented placeholders for inspection purposes only until the factory can fill the real order. All Seasons currently hosts 160 residents. 80 more spots are available in the new wing. Where most of the apartments are two bedrooms. I am uncertain if the second bedroom is for another resident or a personnel caregiver. After ten minutes the tour was over. I gathered the safety gear and Harry headed to dinner. I took lots of pictures and look forward to going over them with Harry tomorrow. Plus, there’ll be more tours.

The 411 on the Four-One

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Yesterday, after we left Harry’s, we drove downtown to State St. It was hot! We did a tour down memory lane through Nickel’s Arcade. Our first stop was the Caravan Shop, purveyor of small porcelain animals and Advent calendars. This store like Harry is celebrating its 99th birthday.

1014 Homes Street, Apt. 3C

Today, we toured Gallup Park in the morning, before heading over to Harry’s. There we were treated to another journey down memory lane. Harry grew up in the Bronx, in an apartment on Homes Street. He lived a few blocks west of the Bronx River, which he called the creek. Sandwiched between the Hudson and the East River it really was just a creek. Homes lies about a mile south of the Bronx Zoo, which was free to visit every day except Tuesday, when the rich people had the place to themselves. Growing up there in the forties, he referred to his neighborhood as the Four-One. 41 being its police precinct number. A favorite pastime was stickball. It was played by neighborhood boys in the street with a Spaulding ball and an old broom stick for a bat. Occasionally, a hit ball would break a window. When that happened everyone would scatter, because the police would be sure to arrive soon and if they caught anyone with a broom stick, they would take it away and snap it by looping it through a fire hydrant’s chain and twisting it around until it broke in half.

Later today, Anne and I had dinner at Homes, the west Ann Arbor microbrewery. Anne and Bill joined us for a drink. Wherever you go there is no place like Homes.

The Ice Man Cometh

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Harry

Yesterday, Jane and I celebrated Harry’s 99th birthday. Anne was stuck on Logan’s tarmac in Boston. She had to endure an epic four-hour delay on the runway and didn’t make the party.

Did she ever return? No, she never returned and her fate is still unlearned. She’ll ride forever beneath the streets of Boston. She’s the woman who never returned.

Anyway, she did eventually land at Metro, but not in time for dinner. This morning, we were all again visiting with Harry. This meeting was our handoff. Jane will spend the coming week at the cabin, entertaining “The Friends,” for a well-deserved R&R, while Anne and I care for Harry in her stead. While we were gathered, Harry proceeded to regale us with tales from his NYC childhood. In his many years, he has seen many professions come and go. One such job was that of the iceman. Back in the day, old Italian men would deliver the ice door-to-door using truck, not horse drawn wagons. He’s not that old. If a customer only wanted to buy part of an ice block, then the vendor would wield his ice pick, to cut the block to size. Stabbing the ice with the pick would send shards into the gutter from which Harry and his friends would fish them out to suck on during those hot Bronx summer days. It is amazing that he made it to nine, let alone 99.