Many, if not most, of you readers are aware of the fact that the year 2022 was not a very good one for yours truly.
It seemed as if every time I turned around, I would find myself in the emergency ward at Providence Centralia Hospital being treated.
Whether it was having the skin on the back of either hand sewed back together, falling on my face on Main Street, being treated for COVID-19 even though I received all three shots or breaking a leg bone when a tall chair dumped me into the gutter while partaking in a regular Saturday noontime “Veteran for Peace” vigil in Centralia, I have become plenty familiar with the health care system this year.
With the current crowded conditions at Providence Centralia Hospital, it was only a matter of two or three days before I was transferred to the Sharon Care center, where I stayed for two months at the corner of Harrison Avenue and Fords Prairie Avenue.
That’s what became a strange situation for the rest of the summer, mainly because the care facility is not too far from where my home is located.
But I wasn’t allowed to walk down the street to feed or even visit my cat, Sam. “For your security.”
Maybe my walker wasn’t up to public highway standards?
My son, Matthew, could drive down from the Olympia area, where he lives, but he couldn’t do so every day, so the feeding was shared by a best friend who I’ll only refer to as “Anne.”
She even admitted to me not too long ago that some days she’d leave her job to check on Sam more than once. Sam has that sort of attraction for almost anyone who has pet him, even if it’s only once.
You see, I had promised her that Sam would be hers if I didn’t have any birthdays after my 95th one in May.
When I was released and Sam and I did meet again, face to face, the emotion seemed more like something out of a corny movie.
My time passed slowly at the care center.
I made a few friends and even plucked my ukulele a few times at mealtime, but that was hardly exciting. Meanwhile, my kayak continued to hang from the rafters in my carport. Nor was I able to sit with a glass of something refreshing in one hand and a good book in the other under the tree that leans over my backyard fence.
Life, though, is slowly getting back to normal, although I’m moving a lot slower these days.
My son insists that I use a cane whenever I’m moving from point “A” to point “B,” and I try to do that, even when he’s not around.
You see, I’m a quick learner. It only took falling twice while not using a cane when crossing the street to pick up my mail to make it seem just plain sensible.
I can still plan for the future, though.
My acorn squash crop was terrible this summer — and I can’t blame all of that on my absence and inability to keep it watered.
So I’m mulling the thought around in my head to dig a large hole and install a fish pond instead. That should keep me busy, but first I must move my permanent pea trellis to make room for it.
Well, it’s something to think about for the next few months as we enter a new year, isn’t it?
And it’s a little more “solvable” than the other problems we have to deal with!
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Bill Moeller is a former entertainer, mayor, bookstore owner, city council member, paratrooper and pilot living in Centralia. He can be reached at bookmaven321@comcast.net.
