Dementia

Munson had flown to Palm Springs to look at places that offered care for dementia.  Dotty, his mother, was beginning to have difficulty with the basic routines of daily life.  He was going to stay at our condo in Rancho Mirage on Friday, and I would drive out to join him on Saturday. 

 

Ingrid and I had bought the place when the market peaked and had watched dumfounded as real estate collapsed around the world.  Had Michael Lewis published The Big Short in 2005 instead of 2010, it would have been helpful.  The condo was in a gated development and sat right on the golf course.  It was a nice place; clean, bright and quiet, when golf balls weren't rocketing through the sliding glass doors.  Our plan was to rent it out to the flock of Canadians that migrate south every winter and have them pay the mortgage.  This strategy had paid dividends for the last fifty years until we showed up.  While the powers that be, went to work bailing out AIG and Bank of America with money I paid in taxes, Canadians stocked up on canned goods and hunkered down in the winterland.

 

Munson rented a car at the airport and found a place to eat before heading for the condo.  After his usual three-to-four restaurant visit, where he manages to traumatize everyone, he decides to stop at a liquor store on the way to the condo to pick up a little "drinkie poo".  When he exits the liquor store he has difficulty finding the rental car in the parking lot.  This is because someone has climbed into the car, started it up with the keys that Munson left in the ignition, and driven it away.

 

Several hours later, Munson, driving his second rental car of the day, arrives at the main gate that leads to the condo.  He has completed a seemingly endless series of interviews and forms, at both the police station and the car rental agency.  He has heard at least a half dozen times, "You left the keys in the car?" 

 

At 1:30 am, I was in bed asleep, my phone rang.

 

I answered the phone, "Hello".

 

A voice said, "Mr. Gardiol?"

 

I answered, "Yes".

 

The voice continued, "Sorry to bother you.  I am calling from the security gate on Bob Hope Drive, where you have a condo".

 

I said, "Yes".

 

The guard said, "There's a Richard Munson here asking to be admitted".

 

I said, "I don't know any Richard Munson".

 

The guard gets that I am having fun with this, and I hear him turn and say to Munson, "He says he doesn't know any Richard Munson".

 

Cars waiting at the gate are a good fifteen feet from the phone located inside the guard station.  Despite this, I heard quite clearly, every word of Munson's screaming tirade.

 

Twenty minutes later, Munson has found the condo and gone inside.  He was standing in the kitchen, still steaming, drinking a beer, when the phone rang.  He knew it was me, who else is gonna call?

 

Munson answers, "What do you want, you ASSHOLE?"

 

A voice says, "This is Sergeant Matthews with the Palm Springs Police Department.  I just finished the robbery report.  You can come by anytime tomorrow to get a copy for your insurance company".

 

I pulled into the condo driveway the next day.  I grabbed the mail out of the box and went inside.  I was subjected to the silent treatment for a while and then Munson couldn't hold back any longer.  He proceeded to bellow out every piece of yesterday's ordeal.  This was highly entertaining for me and therapeutic for Munson.  After he finished he was definitely refreshed.  There was only enough time to visit one facility by the time we made our way out the door.  We traveled a short distance to a place called Brookmore that provides assisted living, dementia care and skilled nursing.  We met with Glen Smith who runs the dementia care facility and he provided the details for Munson.  Lastly, he took us on a tour of the place and we ended up back in his office. 

 

Glen said, "Tonight's movie will start in a little while, you're welcome to sit in if you like". 

 

Munson asked, "What's the movie?"

 

Glen said, "It's an oldie, Lost Horizon with Ronald Coleman".

 

Munson said, "That's my favorite movie".

 

Glen said, "Well, if tonight doesn't work out, you can come see it any night you want until the end of the month".

 

I asked, "You show the same movie every night?"

 

Glen said, "When we find a movie that everybody really likes, we stick with it.  None of the residents in this unit remember having seen it the next day.  Every time they see it, they enjoy it for the first time all over again".

 

As we drove away from Brookmore, I told Munson, "Lost Horizon is a terrible choice to show a bunch of seniors".

 

Munson said, "It's a wonderful movie, I love that movie.  It has a great uplifting message that would be perfect for people to hear at the end of their lives".

 

I said, "How about the part where the young cutie, who is actually 180 years old, tries to leave Shagri-La with her heart throb, and turns into beef jerky?"

 

After a lengthy and arduous dining experience, we began our way back to the condo.  Munson, once again at the wheel, announced that he was thirsty and pulled up in front of a place with neon beer signs in the window and a banner across the top of the building that read "DELILAH'S.  Once inside at the bar, we ordered beers and were handed a bucket filled with ice and six bottles.  We sat at a table off to one side.  The bucket was unusual but the rest was the typical loud music, pool tables and dance floor.  The place was really packed.  We were working our way through our beer when I noticed that two of the clientele playing pool were real bruisers.  Half way into my second beer, I realized that the two bruisers were ladies, and thought "You don't see that everyday".  After paying close attention to the couples on the dance floor, I turned to Munson and asked, "Has it dawned on you yet where we are?"

 

Munson asked, "Whadaya mean?"

 

I said, "Well since the name Delilah's didn't strike a chord, let me direct your attention to the dance floor".

 

Munson observed things quietly, and said, "I'm not leaving until I finish my beer".

 

I said, "God forbid, it's just that I know how you like to stay on top of things".

 

Back in the car, we made our way further down the main drag when Munson's thirst struck again.  This time it was a Middle Eastern place.  We got to the front door just as the belly dancer was leaving and we could see that it was dark inside. 

 

I asked her, "It doesn't look like they're still serving".

 

She said, "The restaurant is closed but you can go around the side to the back patio and try the hookahs".

 

I asked, "Hookahs?"

 

She said, "Yes, they have hookah smoking on the patio every night until one or two in the morning".

 

I turned to ask Munson what he thought, but he was already half way around the building.

 

We took our seats at one of the six tables in the patio.  There were fifteen other people at the other tables puffing away.  Next to each table sat a hookah with a little oven in its belly, a water chamber, and several hoses for the smokers.  The owner came over and gave us a menu listing a dozen different tobacco blends to choose from.  The restaurant and hookah patio had been open for three months and the owner said things were going well so far.

 

The owner went back into the restaurant and soon our hookah server came to take our order. 

 

The server asked, "Have you made your choice from the menu?"

 

Munson saw an opening and asked, "From the menu you say.  Do I take that to mean that there are choices other than from the menu?"

 

The server smiled and said, "Sir, we only offer what is on the menu".

 

Munson said, "Well it was worth asking, I really wanted to try some hashish".

 

The server said, "If you really want some hashish, as a friend, I can share with you a little of my own, so that you may try it". 

 

Munson said, "That would be terrific, thank you".  And the server went back into the building. 

 

Munson said to me, "Do these Arabs know how to work you for a big tip, or what?"

 

A few minutes later, the owner was back at our table looking sheepish.  The owner said, "You'll have to forgive my cousin.  He got here two days ago, and it's all new to him.  I will explain things to him later, but for now you will be our guests tonight".

 

Munson said, "Tell your cousin we appreciate the gesture".

 

The owner proceeded to fire up the hookah, treat us to some blend of tobacco, and educate us in the proper method.

 

I asked the owner, "Where is your cousin from?"

 

The owner said, "Damascus, we are both from Damascus".

 

I said, "That can't be.  Damascus is in Syria.  There's no way the USA is going to allow anyone from Syria to fly into this country".

 

The owner said, "Very true, we flew here from Germany".