Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in Heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy. Eskimo proverb

Our HoMe

Pennys, Towels, & Rolling pin Covers..I do custom work..made to order :>)

I don't have an attitude,
I have a personality you can't handle.

Saturday, December 13, 2008

Christmas At Rock-Away Rest

'Twas the night before Christmas at Rock-Away Rest, and all of us seniors were looking our best. Our glasses, how sparkly, our wrinkles, how merry; Our punchbowl held prune juice plus three drops of sherry.
A bedsock was taped to each walker, in hope That Santa would bring us soft candy and soap. We surely were lucky to be there with friends, Secure in this residence and in our Depends.
Our grandkids had sent us some Christmasy crafts, Like angels in snowsuits and penguins on rafts.
The dental assistant had borrowed our teeth, And from them she'd crafted a holiday wreath. The bed pans, so shiny, all stood in a row, Reflecting our candle's magnificent glow.
Our supper so festive -- the joy wouldn't stop -- Was creamy warm oatmeal with sprinkles on top. Our salad was Jell-O, so jiggly and great, Then puree of fruitcake was spooned on each plate. The social director then had us play games, Like "Where Are You Living?" and "What Are YourNames?"
Old Grandfather Looper was feeling his oats, Proclaiming that reindeer were nothing but goats. Our resident wand'rer was tied to her chair, In hopes that at bedtime she still would be there. Security lights on the new fallen snow Made outdoors seem noon to the old folks below.
Then out on the porch there arose quite a clatter (But we areso deaf that it just didn't matter). A strange little fellow flew in through the door, Then tripped on the sill and fell flat on the floor.
'Twas just our director, all togged out in red. He jiggled and chuckled and patted each head.
We knew from the way that he strutted and jived Our social- security checks had arrived.
We sang -- how we sang -- in our monotone croak, Till the clock tinkled out its soft eight-p.m. stroke. And soon we were snuggling deep in our beds.
While nurses distributed nocturnal meds.
And so ends our Christmas at Rock-Away Rest.
'fore long you'll be with us,
We wish you the best Christmas yet!
"When I die, I would like to go peacefully, in my sleep,
like my Grandfather did.
Not screaming and yelling like the passengers on
his Greyhound bus."

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