Being frank is a blessing
Even if the ice creams are just a little bit small
Monday was a good day, the highlight being the annual Switzer Residential Care barbecue for volunteers. I’m not really a volunteer. I shift the occasional bit of furniture to make room for a concert or some such and I’ve rinsed the odd dish, but mainly I just visit an elderly friend who lives there. I do see a lot of the place though. In fact it wouldn’t surprise me if one day I am mistaken for a resident. I live in trepidation as I head for the door, just waiting for a nurse to grab me from behind and tell me that I’m not going anywhere.
I’m toying with the idea of getting a haircut, to reduce the chances of being mistaken as an escapee, but things haven’t quite got that desperate yet. As long as I walk briskly and look as though I know where I’m going I should be right.
The trouble is, you can’t trust anyone these days. Years ago Bev Bird told the story of standing at the Pak’nSave checkout with no means of paying for her groceries other than a cheque. They were wary though — I doubt there is anyone in the world who looked less like a passer of dud cheques than Bev, but there you go — and asked if there was anyone who could vouch for her.
“Yes!” she cried, pointing to Bryce
Quarrie, a student in her Kaitaia College maths class before he became a legal eagle, who was just about to leave.
Bryce was called over and asked if he knew this lady, and replied, “Never seen her before in my life”. And he headed for the exit.
Bryce is no longer with us, sadly, but I wouldn’t put it past one or two others of my acquaintance to do the same thing to me at Switzer should the opportunity arise. Wouldn’t trust Keith Dawson for a start.
But getting back to the point, when it came to the barbecue I coat tailed on Raewyn, who really does do her share and more, and our two small dogs, who do the rounds there every Sunday morning (but, inexplicably, weren’t invited to the knees up. Probably just as well).
Anyway, when you’re an OAP you do not turn down an invitation for a free feed, so I was there to help do justice to the sizzled sausages, salads, chicken nibbles and ice cream. There was even a cold beer, albeit not enough to warrant organising a sober driver.
The whole thing was in the
capable hands of Frank Malley, once the Northland Age’s answer to DJ Cameron and now seemingly very much in his happy place as the home’s volunteer maestro. Perhaps that should be conductor. And there was some controversy, which he handled with aplomb.
The main talking point, not surprisingly, was the absence of scotch fillet. Bit disappointing, but Frank had that covered. Didn’t catch everything he mumbled, but I think the word “budget” was in there somewhere.
Anyway, the meal was delicious and the company was engaging. Particularly Alan Mitten, who regaled us with a story about a rat dying inside a wall in the old house he once called home. He did his best to persuade his wife Roz that nature would take its course and the rodent wouldn’t smell too badly for too long, but she wasn’t having it. So she took to the wall with a chainsaw. Fortunately she only had to cut three holes before she found the deceased rodent, which she removed.
It took Alan somewhat longer to fix the holes in the wall.
Alan, incidentally, is Canadian by birth, not American, so please stop asking which state he’s from. Might pay to avoid the subject of the natural mummification of wildlife too.
Still, we enjoyed a lengthy discussion on the apparent fact that women’s olfactory powers far exceed those of men. until Frank served ice creams, in cones, and the day’s second controversy broke out.
The ice creams were delicious. Really good. But you had to peer inside the cone to see if there was any ice cream there. And there was more in the tub. Alan and I could see it from where we were sitting.
We never resolved the question regarding whether these were the smallest ice creams ever served in the Free World, and we licked them very slowly to make them last. It would have been churlish to lay a formal complaint though. It was a lovely lunch, enjoyed in the company of lovely people, orchestrated by a bloke who is a real asset to the home and the people who live there.
If God really does move in mysterious ways, there are many elderly people in this community who have reason to thank Him for organising Frank’s redundancy from the Age when Covid-19 arrived. Not sure Frank sees it that way, but his change of occupation has been a blessing for a lot of people, who, whether they realise it or not, have much to thank him for.
If you’d like to be there next year, all you have to do is volunteer at the home in any of myriad capacities. Needn’t be a major commitment in terms of time. Ask Frank if there’s anything you can do. He will welcome you with open arms, and reserve a seat for you in December next year.
If you’re allergic to ice cream you should be okay.