Moving Day (6x2)

[Gita]

 

Etta stood in the center of her living room, feet planted slightly apart for balance, and surveyed all of it. The assisted living apartment where she was about to move was a quarter of the size of this house where she and Herman had raised a family and grown old.

One out of every four possessions,  she thought, I only get to keep one out of every four beds, chairs, lamps, tables, paintings, china platters and rugs.

“You’re just downsizing, Ma, that’s all it is,” her kids had said, promising to keep the other three-fourths of her tangible memories intact.

On moving day, Etta rode away from the house in her daughter’s Chevy Malibu, the back seat piled high with things she didn’t trust to the movers. In the trunk, folded flat was a small, worn card table, decks of Bicycle playing cards – the kind with the extra large suits and numbers – and her “historical artifact,” a three-ring binder with canasta scores dating back to August 1956, the day she’d first met Gert.

                                                        *****

“This place is real pretty, Hon,” Gert said on her first visit to Etta’s new apartment in the seniors’ complex.

Etta stood by a window that looked out on a Gold’s Gym parking lot, mentally substituting her old back yard. She’d set out a tray of cheese and cherry Danish and fresh coffee for Gert, but there was a stiffness between them. She worried that maybe it had been too much of a hassle for Gert to ride two buses to get there, feared that she wouldn’t visit her any more, ending their canasta games forever.

Instead, it was Gert who said softly, “Etta, I have to tell you, when I saw the card tables in the rec room downstairs, I was afraid that you would find a new canasta partner, and not invite me over any more.”

Etta pointed to the ring binder with a shaking hand and said, “Well, I sure as hell can’t quit now, Gertrude Baumeister, because I tallied up our scores, and you are ahead by 2,934 damn points.”

 

 

 

[Jeanette Cheezum]

Gita, this is unbelievable. It's like you have been with Tom and me at assisted living getting  his mother moved in. This is a beautiful portrait of a small portion of  the move.

[Teresa]

Amazing work.  As usual.  Faved.

[Cita]

This is beautiful and poignant. 

[Gita]

I am not yet ready for the kind of transition Etta is going through, but I watched and listened when my mother moved to a senior's high rise "assisted living" apartment. Old friends have fears of loss -- which are well founded since they lose spouses, friends and family at an alarming rate -- and in the end, having even one longtime loving companion is a lifeline. Thanks for reading and commenting.

[Stephen Torelli]

With our fluid environment it's tough to maintain long lasting friendships. Thanks for the reminder.

[Edward Dean]

Ditto..............Perfect Gita touch!

[Bill Floyd]

Man, I love how you take a depressing situation and enliven it with human feeling and pathos.  Score.  

[Ron. Lavalette]

I had a friend like this (not so old, but just as "friend", for almost 50 years) who died in December & --longstanding canasta game or no--life is waaaaaay duller without him.

You write it perfectly, Gita.

[Angela]

This is the kind of friendship I wish I had.  Lovely story.

[Toby Tucker Hecht]

This is so touching it nearly rips my heart out.  Oh to have friends like that...especially as we age.