The neatly lined up wheelchairs filled the recreation area as staff tapped giant beach balls around, trying to garner some excitement and energy as the balls bounced off the heads of drooling catatonic residents.
The performer launched into Margaritaville and the staff donned straw hats.
"TEQUILA!" a staff-member yelled, bending over into the face of a wide-eyed 90-year-old.
When the music turned to Swing, a jubilant resident got up off the seat on her walker and waved her arms in a vague and slightly unsteady dance move. Two staff members caught wind of it and got on either side of her - swinging her around like Weekend At Bernie's.
I sat in the back of the room next to a tiny little woman with big blue eyes.
"This sucks! You suck!" she yelled. For me, it was love at first sight. Her 100th birthday is Sunday.
"I don't give a goddamn about anything," she whispered to me. She sneezed and then gasped and giggled.
"I'm a bad girl! When I sneezed, I also FARTED." She silently mouthed out the word farted and covered her mouth.
"It happens," I offered.
"This sucks! You suck!" she yelled again at the musician.
Actually, he was pretty good. He got the crowd moving, arthritis and all, and I enjoyed him. I've seen some interesting acts at the nursing home concerts - and by interesting, I mean horrible. The last guy wrote his own songs and I was trapped in between wheelchairs listening to ballads about Jeff Corwin getting stabbed by a sting-ray (The Crocodile Hunter, remember him?) and then a song about the Newtown Shooting.
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