June 18, 2009

• It’s our church’s week to help at the Senior Center, and my job is to deliver Meals on Wheels a couple of days. Yesterday I made my first run, and as I was driving home, I couldn’t help but think about how this simple little task has allowed AmericanJanet to see a side of my America that I usually manage to avoid.

  First delivery: a mother and daughter who share a home. The daughter is mentally challenged, but I noticed her nails when she took the food from my hands. Perfectly manicured, possibly false, probably a professional job. How does someone who qualifies for Meals have a manicure? 

  Third delivery: a lady I’ve known for many years, the sweetest soul. Never learned to drive, so when her husband passed away, she truly found help with Meals delivered. This is such a good thing!

  Fourth delivery: start taking deep breaths as I turn into the long driveway. The house sits atop a knob that overlooks our beautiful lake, and the property is probably worth a small fortune. But the house is in a state of dismal and total disrepair. Screens torn, trash piled everywhere, weeds and grass probably harboring snakes and other vermin. But the worst thing is the smell. I take a good deep breath as I walk to the door and knock. No answer. That means he’s gone this morning, so, per instructions on my sheet,  I step back, take another REALLY big breath and dash in…hurry across the dark room to the kitchen, put the food in the fridge, trying not to look at the countertops, then hurry back out and gratefully gasp fresh air outside. This is the first time he’s been gone, so it’s the first time I’ve not had to breathe in that house. But I can still smell it outside. It’s hard to imagine how someone can live, breathing air like that. Surely the stench carries bacteria and who knows what? But I noticed something else as I hurried across the living room….an electric organ. There was music on the stand. Someone, him or another who is long gone, once played music in that house. What did it smell like then, with music in the air?

  Fifth delivery: I drive down a narrow dirt lane and turn into the yard of a simple Ozarks farmstead. The son’s car is gone, so I carry food to the door and knock. A weak-sounding voice bids me to enter. Sitting in an old-fashioned straight chair, dressed in clean overalls and a long-sleeved plaid flannel shirt, he smiles his toothless smile and waves with the flyswatter in his hand. I speak loudly because he’s nearly deaf: Shall I put this on your kitchen table? He grins and agrees, watching me through watery, age-dimmed eyes. At 101, this fellow is prototypical Ozarks, to me. Sturdy, long-lived, enduring, unchanging…as I bid him goodbye, I wonder if he’ll be sitting just like that on Friday when I return. I fervently hope so.

  Seventh delivery: I step over empty beer cans as I enter the squalid trailer. This man is reed-thin, cigarette in hand. He barely has the strength to lift himself from the chair to open the door. I’ve learned he’s an alcoholic, and the stuff is literally killing him. He looks very old, but I wonder if he’s really past 60. Bless his heart today.

  Ninth delivery: A sweet lady tries to keep her two little dogs inside as I hand food through the screen. Just down the street, an eruption of ear-splitting barks and howls from many dogs causes her two canine friends to get excited. She frowns, making sure her pets stay in, then tells me of the incredibly awful situation next door. The electricity is now off. The trailerhouse is so filled with dog feces that the people had to move out and now live in a tiny travel trailer sitting nearby. Several dogs of unknown breed jump, bark, howl and scramble in a makeshift pen, probably starving and perhaps smelling the food I’ve brought to this neat home. And a young girl goes out to calm them down. I wonder, throughout the rest of the day, what to make of this….and what to do…

  Twelfth delivery: The man thanks me profusely as I bring his meal to the door. He acts surprised (as he does every time) that someone is actually bringing him food! Thanks me over and over as I head back to my vehicle. I smile to myself as I think back to what my trainer told me. This fellow, also a probable alcoholic, has a propensity to go clothes-less, but when he learned he couldn’t receive Meals sans clothes, he manages to keep them on, at least for delivery time. I’m so thankful he remembers!!!

  Fourteenth delivery: This house is new to my route, and I’m delighted to see it.  It’s such a neat place….lots and lots of flowers around, evidently the home of someone who loves to work in the garden. When she answers the door, the first thing I notice is the missing arm…amputated, evidently, at the shoulder. But she is so sweet and thankful and I compliment the flowers and her beautiful handiwork. As I walk back to car, I can’t help but wonder how she did all this. How do you put plants in the ground with one hand? From the looks of things, she has many years experience.

  I usually make photos the focus of my blog, but obviously, there are no pictures with this post. These people will hopefully remain anonymous. But they are teaching me some lessons I need to learn. I’m looking forward to school on Friday…

  • 9:31 am
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