Sunday, August 24

So this afternoon at the end of lunch, Tommy and I were sitting at a table with Catherine and Ann, two other patients at Ren rehab, when a hefty woman with voice to match strode past the tables saying, "Who wants to play bingo? Bingo at two! Follow me!" We followed the bingo barker, and--with aides pushing our two companions in their wheelchairs--we ended up around a table in the large, sunny rec room of Ren's residential section, a community of about 60 souls. We were early--it was a quarter to two--so as other Ren denizens continued to arrive we watched the Olympics on the wall-mounted large-screen TV. The Italian rhythmic gymnastic team was performing a breathtaking routine that involved porpoise-like dives through large hoops amid other remarkable feats of synchronized hoop-flinging and tumbling. At the end of their jaw-dropping performance, the cameras cut to the faces of the Russian women, who up to that moment had gold in their grasp. Whew--the Italians scored high but the Russians were still on top, with two teams to go. I was transfixed. But--alas--back at the other games, cards and plastic markers had been passed out and the bingo barker, at just that moment, walked over to the tv and shut it off. The room was filled with several dozen people, but nobody except Ann and I, who had been sharing comments as we watched, seemed to notice. Instead, for the next hour, the room was filled with the sound of a metal basket with small wooden balls being turned around and around, as our barker yelled out numbers--"B fourteen...B fourTEEN!" Ann won two bingos, Catherine one, and Tommy--although he assiduously placed the markers on his card--none. I found myself disappointed for our table-mates that there was no prize for winning a bingo. And I still don't know who won gold in that other contest--the one that was on tv. The one that was in another universe.