Oak Park Arms

Here is a strange thing.

When I was a mere twerp, my Mah used to send me next door with a pile of old magazines to visit our neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Bales. (That's how we referrred to our elders in the olden days. None of this 'Len and Fran' business. Perish the thought. Mrs. Gutman still lives there. I'd like to see someone from my peer group calling her 'Wynn'.)At the Bales house was the first time I tasted lamb stew. I'm not sure who's idea the visits were. Was my Mah getting rid of me for a half hour? Was it me that hankered for a banana? Was it them that needed to know what happened last week in Time Magazine? Time was huge then.

I know it's where I found my true (kitchen table furniture) love. They had one like I have now. It's retro-as seen in the movie Pleasantville. That's what the salesman told me anyway. My Mah loathes it. Seriously. Keeps offering to sew it a slip cover. Heh. I think she hates it because it would have been what her choice of furniture was created to replace but I love it because it's red and shiny like the grille on a new car.

I digress.

The strange thing is that when I would go to visit the Bales, one of the things I would always do, was rearrange their knick-knacks. They had about three shelves next to the fireplace and one knack they had, was a gold pair of ladies shoes maybe with violets on them and for some reason they allowed me to move that stuff around. Probably to distract me during my interrogation. I think they asked a lotta questions.

So, here I am now at my day gig and you know one of my current responsibilities? I have to rearrange items in four display cases. I do it about once a week or once every two weeks because I have a serious appreciation for change of scenery and I think if I lived in an assisted living facility, that would become even more important. I've noticed that lots of the women just like to look and so I feel it's my responsiblity to make it interesting.

It's not dramatic but it's irony, no?