A knack for chaos
In the ongoing series about the people who live at Ruawai Rest Home, Carly Thomas finds she has finally become useful.
Iam now entered weekly into the Ruawai Rest Home diary as Carly chaos. Every Tuesday at 1.30pm, there it is, an hour blocked out to my momentous kind of mayhem. Carly chaos is officially a thing.
And do you know what? That’s exactly what the residents need – a bit of oomph, a bit of gusto. Even if they sigh and roll their eyes at me and even if John begs for quiet, I can see the twinkle in their eyes.
And I actually think I am being useful to Tracey now. She has the wonderful title of diversional therapist.
She is there to inject a little energy and entertainment into the residents’ day and, somewhere along the line, I have become one of those diversions.
I feel like I am no longer just that silly girl, where no-one quite knows why I am there. Now, they smile when I arrive and I have something to offer – my own special little brand of chaos.
Some days I just come in and yarn with the residents. I read them something, bring my stepdad in to play the piano, or my kids to sit on knees. And other times I try to think of something we can do together.
Today, I brought in my magic suitcase. It is pretty special, gifted to me from a very clever friend, and filled with things to make collages from.
There are pages from old vintage books, ancient stamps, pages from magazines too pretty not to be kept, and bits and bobs to make and create with. I think it was her way of saying: ‘‘Carly, stop, sit and make.’’
So that’s what we all did. Encouragement verging on bossiness was needed to get them to leave their squishy armchairs, but I eventually got Una, Shirley, Laura and Anne into the swing of cutting and pasting. I had nicked the glue sticks from my kids’ school and the little dog, who never misses a visit, was firmly ensconced under the table.
And here’s the thing, it’s never just about the activity we find ourselves doing, it’s about the fact that we are doing something. In that doing, there is purpose. There is an hour passed chatting, laughing, remembering and forgetting.
In that doing there is life and in that moment an old suitcase filled with hoarded quirk, becomes magic.