Fresh Lipstick. She was the most elegant woman in the room.
On clowning with Patch Adams, and the woman I have never forgotten.
In 2012 I was on a clowning trip with my best friend, Patch Adams, and a group of other volunteer clowns in Guatemala City. “Guate” was one of the most dangerous cities in the world. Our purpose was to go to orphanages and hospitals, mental institutions and, well, clown around. Make people smile, make the kids laugh, make a connection. Just what Patch Adams does. The real one, not Robin Williams in the movie. Lots of stories came from that trip. But the one that makes me cry almost every time I tell it is the old folks home.
A retirement community is way overstating what it was. A series of one-story, cinderblock buildings. Each old person had a room. A basic bed, small table, a chair. A few staff people flitting around the compound.
I had been living in Mexico for quite some time and knew poverty. But there was something about walking the grounds of this stark place that made the air feel heavier. Lonelier. In Latin America, family takes care of the elderly. There was no family here.
We were there for a special lunch in a community room. Music playing, somebody’s birthday, clowning around with these old people as they ate their sandwiches on white bread. (What no tortillas?)
In the corner was an old woman with fresh lipstick on. You could tell in her earlier days she was a beauty. Like the vintage Buicks and Chevrolets still rolling through Havana. Dings, a touch of rust, and still something regal about them. She was dancing to the beat with a stuffed monkey. Just a toy. Dancing in the corner like no one was watching.
Except I was.
A woman who had probably lived better days. Days dancing with friends and family, at weddings, at parties, at birthdays. A whole life. Here she was, dancing with a stuffed toy monkey.
At the same time, maybe I had a raw nerve deep down. I didn’t have kids. Maybe when I’m old I will become the old lady dancing in the corner. Maybe that was what triggered it.
Maybe a glimpse of possible reality.
Every article cracks open another nugget - how did I not know about Patch Adams? Seeing the world through the real of it all is my favorite part of your writing.
Great story, Kay. "Like the vintage Buicks and Chevrolets still rolling through Havana. Dings, a touch of rust, and still something regal about them." I love this line. I remember these photos somehow. Not sure where I saw them. I'm sure that trip was sobering indeed, in spite of hanging out w/ Patch.