beware of 1st impressions

i rarely take mom to happy hour at VT. i think i've been twice. for one thing, the entertainment is ludicrous. no, wait...that's not why, is it? i kinda LIKE ludicrous...no, it's really because i know it is one of the few events i can count on someone else to take her to. it's a sort of freebie for us both, in a sense.

but this past friday i decided to drop in. i went directly to the downstairs dining hall. huh? no Mary Anne? so i go upstairs and find her in her room.

"would you like to go to happy hour, mom?"
"happy hour? oh, is that today?"

the reason no one took her is beside the point. the real point is, just a few weeks ago she would have been aware of, and been eagerly anticipating, this weekly diversion. daily contact does not inure me from occasional surprise at how rapidly she changes these days. but enough of melancholy.
there's still a boatload of good stuff. sometimes you just have to stumble upon it in spite of yourself.




after the jump i'll explain the title of this post and these seemingly incongruous pictures...

...the entertainer was a particularly bad elvis impersonator. unfortunately, i didn't have my camera, so you'll have to take my word for it. he was somewhat like a cross between Don Knotts and Randy Quaid (aka cousin eddie.)
...in an Elvis suit.

to top it off he was an excruciatingly bad vocalist. he couldn't get anywhere near the high notes. he sure couldn't hit the low ones. his mid-range was creaky and crackly and, well, it was just pretty much embarrassing to listen to him. mom and i looked at each other and made exaggerated faces. hahahahaha.

i cringed. i squirmed.
i even had a margarita with mom. come to think of it, maybe it was the margarita? but no...

after watching this "no talent moron" walk around the room during songs for awhile, flirting with and kissing the old ladies, he won me over. he was genuine. he loved what he did, he loved them and they loved him back. he made them, each of them, feel special.

after passing mom by for several songs he finally knelt in front of her, took her hand and sang a few lines. i don't remember the song, but i remember the lady next to me, Addy, whispering to me, "look at her. she's so serious. Mary Anne's not gonna like this..."

but she did. when he kissed her on the cheek i whispered back, "does that grin on her face surprise you?"

Addy had a tear in her eye.

and that's not all. there's a woman from mom's floor who walks around all day every day with a tiny, baby doll in her arms. she never says anything. she never has visitors. not that i see.
well, Ms. Olita's son was there with her! and she did not have her plastic doll in swaddling. what's more, when *elvis* got to her she actually spoke to him and smiled and kissed him back. afterwards i introduced myself to the son and he had a tear in his eye as we visited. i even think he'll come back more often.

and That's not all, either.
elvis went 30 minutes over the allotted time because Everyone was having so much fun. the staff cleaned up around us and let the crazy-bad elvis go on. and on. i've been to dozens of events like this at VT before and i've seen them cut off singers, book reviewers, fellow staff members and just whoever. hey, they have schedules to keep. . . but not this time. they knew...

the last song was a request from Earl. (a song i consider to be the saddest ballad ever written.) Earl is probably 90 years old and very frail looking. i don't know him well, but was moved to tears myself listening to him sing.
the crooner stuck the mike in his face. his request, The Tennessee Waltz, was tinnily playing on the boom box in the background.
i'm here to tell you Earl can flat out SING! i mean he can frank sinatra sing.
(if you ever have a chance to hear Eva Cassidy's version, do not pass go. just do it. i swear Earl was almost as good.)

i really do wish i'd had my camera. and a tape recorder, too. but i did leave with a pleasant memory and a valuable reminder to take 1st impressions with a grain of salt.

even a bad elvis is sometimes more than the sum his parts.