over the hills and through the woods to grandmother's house we go

Work this fine day took me to the nursing home, what I used to call the old folks' home, what I now call the brave hearts' home.

I parked in an open spot there we dozens of them. Monday morning not many visitors even though it's summertime. It's a beautiful building if its residents were young 20 somethings it'd be called a condo and a nice one at that. Red bricks showering down the tall walls' sides, long glossy windows mimicking the slow soft blue and white dance of the clouds above, the entrance pillars supporting a grainy stately flat umbrella of concrete, like those of fancy city hotels. If only its residents were younger more nimble more active the parking lot wouldn't be so empty.

And so, walking in, it takes a minute to readjust. No sparkling indoor pool no gyms no treadmills no sign of active life. No bright and friendly staff decked out in sharp and pressed suits rush to welcome you in. Instead the tired worn bored looking middle-aged sorry-to-be-here type stares at you, suspiciously almost, what's a young man like yourself doing in a place like this, she'd like to know yes she'd like to know.

You tell her no, you're not here for directions, this is the place to which you meant to come you smile you nod outwardly earnest inwardly close exasperated when she stares at you still, suspicious, always suspicious.

Finally finally it's time to see to speak with to meet at last with the residents, the old the wise who possess experience and everything that comes with it.

History and lots of it all you have to do is ask. To unlock the mysteries to open the chambers of secrets to see through this window that is another person to the other side, which lies sometime 20 30 40 50 years ago, to a time long gone but still vivid, though less so, rapidly diminishing, in the old man old woman's mind and thoughts.

Here is a woman who served and returned court on the grasses Wimbledon and won. And won and won. Three time champion. What's she doing in a wheelchair?

There is a veteran who fought in, heard and saw, smelled and tasted Vietnam. He doesn't ask even when you bring it up but you can see it in his eyes 'how could they forget how could they forget'... Vietnam.

There is a man who never served wasn't even a protester just ambivalent at the time. Didn't wear camo green black and brown didn't wear beads either no long hair no bell-bottoms no headbands for him no sir wasn't my type of thing. You want to ask well what was your thing then but you don't you can't it would be rude and you realize as these doubts creep through your mind that hey, where are my army boots where are protest posters and you realize...

So you move on you meet fathers and grandfathers and great grandfathers one great great grandfather but no great great great's. Too many great's is silly anyhow. You listen to them, speak with not just about them no more jokes about old drivers old grouches 'back in my day I walked ten miles just to go to school'...

They all had dreams as well, just as we now do. They had high hopes and aspirations, some had the right mixture of talent dedication patience circumstance and luck to make it work, some didn't. For some day-to-day life was enough of a struggle no time no opportunity to dream except at night. But all of them war vets housewives shower singers and stage performers armchair quarterbacks and San Francisco 49ers quarterbacks they all live still for how long I we they don't know, don't know if they quite want to know, but they all live still.

I wonder. Whether I could do that. In a room a building where nothing but old age and children with some motive or another bringing them together. I suppose that's the way with everything. A liberal arts college might draw students with same pursuits and interests but they come from all different backgrounds the students. A local rec team might share the same zip code area code and love for basketball softball or whatever but jobs and ethnicity and all that might differ. But can age be compared to an interest? Just because 2 people have spent 80 90 years on this Earth doesn't mean they have anything more to say to each other than a man in his 20s and a man in his 40s. Age aside, you're really alone sure you might find someone who by some miracle of statistics and situation went to the same high school or loves the same city or team or singer but most of them at the one's I've seen just do their own thing.

And it's day after day after day. Their last years in this world. No bucket lists being sloshed about just a sad and kind of scary resignation. Some of course put on a happy smile but others they sulk they're crabby it's downright depressing. The things they say whether it's their own words or some hint from their body language convey the feeling that they believe they've done what they were meant to do. The world fate God something or someone has written their life it's a play and they're long past the 3rd act the climax and it's all downhill and denouement from here.

To live to live still to continue on when you know that everything exciting is in the past that nothing lies ahead except more of the same the same and then the end--maybe it's comforting relaxing in a way but to me it's a frightening prospect. And so to them to you residents of the nursing home I salute you I may not understand support or believe in your ways but it takes courage or something damn like it to smile at me fresh blood in the house of stale and truck on.

On and on we drive until the end our end wherever it may lie some are closer some have a ways to go but we just don't know we just don't know.