Anne Donnelly's eyes sweep the maroon and purple lobby of the new Brandon Manor Continuing Care Facility. The name and purple remind her of the heather-covered Brandon Hill she saw every morning across the river from the village in Ireland when she lived with her grandmother. Gran taught her how to read the mist and shades of purple to tell the weather. That was long before they got the wireless that came on for a few hours in the morning, at supper time and closed down at eleven o'clock every night.
Here she is now, a lifetime later, in Buffalo, New York. Her eyes watch the ribbon of sunlight inching its way over the hot pink geraniums in a hand-painted oriental pot. She marvels how the flowers can still be so georgous in February. Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto floats down from the domed ceiling. She cocks her head, listening.
"Ah yes. There they are," she mutters as the violin and flute come in. “That’s concerto number 4 - in G minor,” she whispers. Through the window, she sees a cardinal flying out of a snow-covered pine tree. Her memory flashes back to seeing the edges of her grandmother's red flannel underskirts when she quickly undressed in the icy bedroom they both shared when Anne was a child.
Her nose wriggles as the smell of freshly-baked bread coils up her nostrils. This might be the place I’m looking for she hopes to herself. If it had not been for the two broken legs and crushed pelvis she got when her car spun on the ice and lodged under a Bekins Moving Van five years ago, she would not be looking for this kind of place for a long time up the road. The accident left her stiff as a poker some days, and in regular pain when the weather changes. Ever since, she uses the blackthorn stick with the silver handle. She tells people the cane makes her feel as steady as if she were sitting on a three-legged stool.
“ Good morning Mrs. Donelly. Let me help you, ” smiles the receptionist easing her out of the navy wool coat. which gives off a hint of lavender. Mrs. Donnelly watches her coat being hung on a wood hanger and feels a glow. She loves real wood, real flowers, real people.
“I’ll keep on me little hat,” tapping her red beret, hugged into place around her head by her short silver curls. Fine gold-rimmed glasses circle her large eyes. They were her main feature and much greener when she was young. While she has the delicate look of an old Dresden tea cup, she is spry and has the air of someone out on a mystery tour, eager to spot the next clue. She rolls her navy gloves together and tucks them into her one compartment, navy leather handbag. It’s Thursday, the day her son, Brian, drives her to visit a continuing care facility. She insists he need not stay. She still likes to discuss matters herself.
The grandfather clock chimes two o’clock. A young women with letters after her name appears.
“Good afternoon Mrs. Donnelly. I’m Miss Gray, the social worker. Let’s go into the sitting room."
Anne graps her cane and readies herself to stand up. Miss Gray extends her hand and Anne takes it. After two efforts she's standing up straight. She feel's the woman's cool hand cupping her bony elbow and she eagerly allows her frail body to be steered along the hallway.
“There now, I’ll put you on that little sofa and I’ll sit on this one across from you,” says Miss Gray.
“Grand, grand,” replies Mrs. Donnelly. She sinks into the plush velvet maroon sofa and props her stick beside her. The face of a silver-haired woman looks down at her from a painting over the fireplace. She is happy the young woman does not barricade herself behind a desk. There is nothing she enjoys more than a real chat. It could be about anything. A good chat makes her feel connected and content.
“Mrs. Donnelly, we have your initial application and insurance information. We’re happy you are considering Brandon Manor for your new home. We want to look after you, so you don’t have to worry about keeping a house up,” Miss Gray says smiling.
“Yes, I’m glad a that. But I’ve been in me own house now for close ta 40 years. It’d be an awful change just the same,” trying to catch the young woman’s eyes. Miss Gray’s head is down reading the papers on her lap.
“Ah, it would. We’ve a bit of paperwork to do. We want to get a picture of what you like and don’t like so that we can give you a home away from home here at Brandon Manor. Oh, here’s our tea." Anne looks as a woman wheels in a trolly cart decked out in white lace and china with a rose pattern on it.
“We have tea and scones every afternoon at this time. Mrs. Donnelly, let me pour. Do you take sugar? Cream?”
“Ah, that’s lovely. Nothin’ like a good cup a tea an’ a scone.” Mrs. Donnelly beams.
“You look lovely in purple, with the red hat."
“They’re me favorite colors. I love purple,” pleased with the compliment but aware that she still did not know the color of Miss Gray’s eyes. It is one of the first things she always notices about a person.
Miss Gray opens a black book on her lap and asks, “Are you ready for me to ask you some questions?”
Mrs. Donnelly butters her scone and says, "Oh, fire away."
“Now, what is your full name?”
“Anne Donnelly. Me maiden name was Murphy. Anne with an E. Don’t forget the E.”
“Where were you born?”
“I was wonderin’ what you’d ask first. Well, I
was born in Waterford.”
“What state is that in? State and zip code?”
“Oh, that’s in Ireland. Waterford, Ireland. Where they make the crystal. Do ya know about it? It’s world famous!”
“No, my mother gave me a little Lennox bud vase when I graduated from Buffalo State College.”
“Lennox? The best a American china. Well, I was born in Waterford, Ireland. Where they make the crystal.”
“When were you born?”
“Oh, I was born on an historic day. Me mother was in the throes a labor an’ the nurse barged through the door an’ shouted ‘hurry up! an’ have that baby, the Germans just took Belgium an'Winston Churchill has been named prime minister of England!"
“But what date was that? What month and year?”
“Oh, you don’t know when Winston Churchill took over the war," eyebrows shooting up.
“No.”
“Ah, well, maybe you’re too young ta know, I suppose. But... but still, it must be in the history books be now....?”
“What date was it? What year?”
“It was a year ta remember. Historic in every way. It was 1940. May 10, 1940.”
“Five. Ten. Forty,” Miss Gray says firmly, writing it down.
“What is your religion? Catholic I suppose?”
“That’d be a good assumption. But no. I’m Unitarian Universalist.”
“Unitarian Una ...what?”
“Universalist. Unitarian Universalist.”
“What kind of a religion is that?”
“Well, it’s non-denominational. There’s no dogma. No creed. No shoulds, oughts, or musts. We follow our own hearts ‘bout matters. UU’s we call ourselves. We’re interested in social issues. The environment. What’s goin' on in the world. Issues a justice, an’ injustice. Livin’ in harmony with people, the earth,” answered Mrs. Donnelly.
“But, do you worship God?” asks Miss Gray, knitting her brows tight.
“Well, some do, an’ some don’t. People have their own credo,” looking at Miss Gray ‘s miraculous medal around her neck.
“I see,” said Miss Gray. “I see. Interesting....
Where did you fit in the family?”
“Where did I fit in the family? Well, I didn’t fit a ‘tall. I came over here an’ was all be meself. I’ve been in America almost 50 years!”
“What I’m asking is if you were the first born in the family? The last born?”
“That’s a strange sort a question now,” looking baffled.
“Well, let me rephrase it. Were you an only child?”
“Oh no, me brother was one year an’ nine days older than me.”
“So were you the second born? Or, were there more children before your brother?”
“I’d three brothers, one older an’ two younger. Now, that makes me the second born. But, I never lived with them. Me mother left me father 'cause he'd a problem with the drink an' was brutal ta her at few times. Another family took me in when I was two. They were very good ta me. I was the only child in the house.”
“Ah, I see,” said Miss Gray undecided as to what box to check on her papers.
“When exactly did you come to the United States?”
“I came in the winter time. I’ll always remember it. I came on Trans World Airlines an’ I’ll never forget the captain with his lovely 'merican voice sayin,’
“Ladies an’ gentlemen, we're approachin’ New York City. If you look out your left window, you’ll see the Statue a Liberty - a gift from...”
“OK, Mrs. Donnelly. It sounds interesting, but we have to finish the paper work. What date was that? Day. Month. Year?”
“December 6, 1965.”
“12. 6. 65,” said Miss Gray out loud, writing it down.
“Why did you come to the United States?”
“I got an offer of a one-way ticket ta Houston.”
“An offer of a one way ticket? Was it a lottery? A newspaper prize?
“No, Miss Gray. I met a man an’ he offered me a one-way ticket.”
“A man! Was it legal? I mean ....?
“Oh, it was very legal. Ya see, I met him one Sunday in Paris. I lived in France for 18 months. I was helpin’ a friend ta move from her apartment an' he showed up ta help as well. He walked in the door, a lean six footer, red hair, a beard, an' dancin’ blue eyes. He looked just like a Vikin'”
“Did he give you the ticket,?” seeming interested now.
“He did. Not that night a course. After a few months, he said he’d pay for me ticket if I’d come over ta Houston an’ marry him. He said I could come an’ see America anyway. But if I wanted ta go home, I’d have ta take care a gettin’ back meself,” said Mrs. Donnelly beaming.
“How did it turn out?”
“Well, I took the offer a the one-way ticket an’ we got married. We’d three children an’ we now have lots a grandchildren. But he went off an’ married a bunch a other women after me. Like those men from countries where they have lots a wives. Five all together, I think he had,” eyes looking in the fire.
“Was he from one of these countries?”
“No. Not a ‘tall. He was Canadian. From Montreal.”
“Sounds like you took a chance there, Mrs. Donnelly.”
“Well, yes an’ no. It was worth it all the same. He was married ta me the longest a all. A few times, after a few beverages, he told me I was his favorite,” confides Mrs. Donnelly. She wonders what stories Miss Gray might have in her own love department.
“Tell me what kind of a living arrangement do you have now?" changing the subject.
“Well, as ya know from me papers, I've me own home for the last 40 years. Lovely auld house in the city. Me handy-woman’s delight I call it. It’s a corner house with lots a light. A wood burning fireplace. A real one. I’ve ...”
“Sounds very nice Mrs. Donnelly. Now we’ll have a little break, and then carry on with the questions,” said Miss Gray. She stands up and heads for the door.
Mrs. Donnelly stares into the fire. She feels disappointed and disconnected. The young woman rarely smiles. She never looks at her in the eye. She was so looking forward to a nice chat. A loneliness creeps over her. She feels tiny and helpless. Her little body sinks deeper into the velvet.
As the clock chimes three o’clock, Miss Gray returns.
“A little more tea?” reaching for the freshened teapot.
“Yes, it’s very nice. Grand. It’s a good cup a tea too. Nice an’ hot.”
“Now back to our questions. What kind of work did you do?”
“Oh, I’d more jobs than ya could shake a stick at. I was a nanny, a hairdresser, a secretary. I worked me way up ta bein’ a manager, an’ a director in various organizations.”
“What kind of organizations?”
“Educational institutions, cultural groups. International organizations. I worked for the State Department for a number a years.”
“The State Department as in the US Government State Department?”
“The one an’ only. I met lots a dignitaries from all over the world in that job. I met presidents, an’ members a Parliament.”
“Really?” said Miss Gray looking at her watch.
“What kind of hobbies did you enjoy?”
“When I was young I loved ta dance. Could dance all night. I was a good swimmer, a long distance swimmer. An' I loved ta travel 'round with the youth hostel. That’s how I got ta France in the first place. I hitch hiked over there,” eyes off in the distance.
“What kind of hobbies do you enjoy now?”
“I’m still interested in international affairs. Belong ta two French groups. I keep up with me French. I like ta have friends over, cook French dishes with brandy an' wine. An’ I love ta go ta seminars.”
“You’ve had a very full life Mrs. Donnelly. What else do you like to do?”
“I love ta watch historic epic movies, with an intermission in the middle. I enjoy a drink or two ta complement the country a the story. I travel all over the world through the movies.”
“Give me an example of an epic movie.”
“Gone With the Wind! I love war stories with lots a drums an’ guns. An’ a big love story in the middle. Did ya like Gone With the Wind?”
“I never saw it.”
“Never saw Gone with the Wind! Be Margaret Mitchell? Oh! It’s an American Classic!”
“So many classics. So little time, Mrs. Donnelly.”
“Well there was one scene I’ll remember all me life in Gone With the Wind. The father, Mr. O’Hara, took the daughter, Scarlet, out ta look over the land. He said ta her,
‘Land. It’s the only thing worth fightin’ for -- ‘cause it’s the only thing that lasts!’ Powerful scene that was.”
“What other movies do you remember?”
“Another a me favorites is "Les Miserables."
“Oh, I saw that one all right.”
“Oh, ya did!” learning forward. “Well, me life was a bit like that. Like little Cosette. I was reared be a kind-hearted man, just like Jean Valjean. He’d been ta the barricades too. Fought man-ta-man in two wars,” eyes going back to the fire.
“What part did ya like best Miss Gray?” eyes big.
“I can’t remember off the top of my head. So you’re quite a movie buff?”
“Well, yes and no. I just like historic ones.”
Miss Gray glances at her watch.
“Mrs. Donnelly. What kind of a room would you like here at Brandon Manor?” asked Miss Gray, changing the subject and looking over Mrs. Donnelly’s head.
“Well, now. I’d like a room where I could look out an’ see trees an’ a bit a greenery. Hear the birds chirpin’ at daybreak, an’ the crickets singin’ at night.”
“Would you like a private room or would you like to share?”
“I’d like a room where I could have me library a the movies we just talked 'bout. Where I could enjoy good French wine before goin’ ta the Barricades in Paris with Jean Valjean, or ...”
“My, my, Mrs. Donnelly. You’ve a great imagination.”
“Ah, well, it’s all history just the same. History through epic movies.”
Miss Gray looks at her watch and writes quickly in her big note book on her lap.
Mrs. Anne Donnelly has difficulty focusing. Out of touch with reality. Delusional. Belongs to a religious sect. Addicted to movies with violence and sex. May abuse alcohol. Would require level three high maintenance care. Her insurance will cover.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes. I want Dr. Stevenson to meet you,” said Miss Gray.
While Miss Gray is gone, Mrs. Donnelley’s face loses its animated glow and her frail body slumps down more. Her eagerness disappears. She’s aware that the questions took her on a journey back over her life. She didn’t mind sharing her experiences. But the young woman asking the questions did not come one step of the way with her. She guesses Miss Gray is about 30 years old, slight, with rainy-day gray eyes, hidden behind horn-rim glasses. She shows no interest in movies or history, no interest in people. Her habit of looking at her watch all the time gets on her nerves. Based on the experience, she makes her decision. Just then, Miss Gray returns with another older woman with different letters after her name.
“Mrs. Donnelly, I’m Dr. Stevenson, chief of staff here. Miss Gray tells me that you’re a very interesting woman. We’d like to .......”
“Well, now Miss Gray --- now, I’ve had a chance ta talk with you, I realize I’m not ready ta leave me auld handywoman’s delight, yet. Ya see, I love me own little fireplace. I can still get up an’ down the stairs. Me neighbor says I’ve nothin’ ta worry ‘cause he has the snow blower. Me grandchildren come ta visit. They love ta hear the auld stories ‘bout when I was a girl in Ireland........ An’ I love the epic movies.”
“But we've a TV room here Mrs. Donnelly. We've a VCR. We've a computer room as well, and lessons in using e-mail,” trying to persuade her.
“Grand, grand. Now, if ya'd be so kind, please call me son’s cell phone an’ tell him I’m ready ta go home. If I change me mind in the future, I will phone you.”
“But, Mrs. Donnelly. We didn’t get to show you the rooms. Some have their own private bath. We have a lovely dining area. We serve wine every night with dinner. We have trips, and speakers on current topics. We’d love to have you at Brandon Manor.”
“I left me coat hangin’ out in the lobby area,” says Anne Donnelly, standing up and grabs her stick. She stretches her arms out like an old silver falcon and glides towards the door. The whiff of home-made bread lands in her nostrils again. Bach is still floating down from the ceiling. Her son, Brian, arrives within minutes, and the two head out the door.
“Brandon Manor is not state-of-the-art in the people satisfaction department 'nyway,” she tells Brian on their way back to her house. She looks out the window at the snow-covered trees. Tonight she'll watch ‘The English Patient,' the war story set in exotic Egypt. Too bad there wasn't time to tell Miss Gray about that scorcher, she smiles to herself.
“I left the Beef Wellington out ta thaw. I’m goin’ ta cook it for me dinner,” she says as Brian opens her door.
“Thanks Luv. Ya can be off now,” she says kissing the air above his two cheeks.
Anne Donnelly turns on the oven. She pours herself a Sherry. Every time she watches this movie, she relives the two weeks she spent in Cairo with the French government official who was wild about her when she lived in Paris, many years ago. ###