Resthome quirk (2 of 2): A possibly emergent hobby.

The other week, I was passing by the social hall in the evening, and I hear someone playing the piano, so I pop in and it's not the old retired piano player who sometimes plays concerts for people, but rather the (very young) (chubby) (Mexican-American) maintenance guy, who I had no idea he could play the piano.

The next time I see the old retired piano player, then, I tell him that, and he says that the guy doesn't actually know how to play the piano, but rather he was watching him play the other day and he encouraged him to experiment, and the young maintenance guy has "an ear for consonance" like you never hit two adjacent keys, and he was just experimenting like that and moving between different combinations of keys that sounded good, over and over and over.

"I told him he should take a class when he goes to college next year," the old retired piano player was like.  "You can tell he's intrigued."

He then asked me if I had ever heard him play, and I said yes, the other week when I was by the social hall and he was playing a Cats medley for some people, I stopped and listened for a bit before I had to run off and go do some work.

"Cats?", he was like.  "That's like falling off a log.  Sometime you should hear me really play!"

Resthome quirk (1 of 2): An old hobby.

So, it turns out that this one 100-year old guy with dementia likes to play gin rummy with people, and he even beat the head nurse the other day when she had a little spare time and popped in to see him and ended up playing some cards with him.

That same day when I was going to assist him with his evening routine, he pulled out a pack of cards and wanted me to play a round with him before bed, so I did.

I beat him, but it was close, and you could totally tell he was waiting for certain cards.

After I won, he even flipped ahead in the deck to see where the cards were that he was waiting for.

It's so funny how variable the skills of people with dementia can be.  He must have played gin rummy all his life, so he can still do that now!

We were only playing with six cards per hand, though, and I thought it was seven cards, so next time I'll have to check the rules before we play again.

A race to work.

The other week, my train was delayed to work, and like a minute after I got off and was walking very fast to the resthome, someone taps my shoulder on my right as they start to go by me, and it's a (Ghanaian) coworker from dining services, and he's kind of jogging to work, and he laughs, since it's clear that we were both on the same train and we're both just on the verge of being late to work.

After I say hi to him, he was like, "I am a sportsman," and suggested that we both run if I could.

So, we ended up jogging to work together, and got there with a minute to spare.

He also clarified that his favorite sport is "football" (soccer), and that he plays a lot.

A resthome resident on (Jewish) intelligence.

The other week at dinner, this one (older) (Jewish) (female) resthome resident was telling me how everyone in the U.S. is imitating Jews with circumcision now.

"It's really smart," she was like.

She then said that her husband fought in North Africa in World War II, and he was the only one in his platoon that didn't have a problem with sand.

Two (black) women from a union workshop.

One of my healthcare jobs is unionized, and a few weeks ago I went to a leadership workshop, and as it turns out, I was the only (white) person in the room, which was heavily (black) and (female) with a few (Latinos) and one (Chinese-American) woman thrown in.

At one point, a(n older) (black) woman said that in the late 60s she was going down by bus from the city to visit "relatives in the Delta," and when they were changing busses in Memphis, a(n older) (white) woman came up to her and told her to go sit in the back of the bus.

"And I said, 'Uh hell no,'" the (older) (black) woman said, waving her finger, and everyone nodded hugely and appreciatively and then clapped.

Later, one (Latina) woman named Luz or something like that told a story through a translator, and after that this other (older) (black) woman who had on sunglasses and a light leopard-pattern shirt and a big gold cross necklace was like, "Thank you, Maria."

A bit later than that, that same (older) (black) woman told some lesson from her own life, and she ended telling that lesson by explaining, "...because I am a strong black woman," which most everyone appreciated and approved of, you could see from their faces and from their eyes.

Youth are inspiring.

The older that I get, the more that I find that young people are inspiring.

The stuff that the Parkland students are doing is great.

I come across a lot of inspiring teens when I'm out canvassing, too.

When I said something about financial investigative reporting to one (white) (female) high schooler who answered the door, right away she was like, "Yeah, those guys get all the money, and we don't even have enough to make photocopies."

That same day when I was out, I met a (white) (male) 7th grader who goes to the local Catholic school, and he had just finished a big research project on renewable energy.  He was so excited about it, and was gushing with facts about how much good it does, by removing pollution from the air.

You can't help but be enthused and impressed, when you're with these whip-smart kids who really get it in their gut about major issues of the day.

A lot of people say that younger folks spend too much time staring at screens (though who doesn't?!), but I have high hopes for the upcoming generation.

Stories of a voter.

The other week when I was out canvassing, this (initially suspicious) (a bit heavyset) (Slavic-looking) (dyed blonde hair) (white) woman with a bit of makeup and a few tatts answered the door, and after we talked for just a bit, we ended up hitting it off a ton and we ended up talking for like twenty minutes or so.

As it turns out, her family were Russians from Kiev who fled during WWI, and on top of that her grandmother was illegal since she took someone else's papers in order to get into the country since the photos on the passport looked decently enough like her to get her through Ellis Island.

"She was always 'Olga' from then on" the woman was like.  "After that, she never used her real name again, and she would never tell anyone, not even her husband."

She then said she has a ton of sympathy for other immigrants now, since people do what they have to do.

She also said that in the (gang-heavy) (Latino) neighborhood abutting the neighborhood where she lives, there's someone with an AK47 who keeps using it for crimes, but the cops can't find out who it is.

She also also said that once she was in the big grocery store there that has a name like "Pick 'n' Save," and this (older) (white) woman stopped her and was like, "You have so many tattoos, I just have one," and then that (older) (white) woman rolled up her sleeve and showed her a number from the concentration camps.

"That's the only Holocaust survivor I ever met," she was like