Nit Wit News — August 2023

(Nit Wit Newz is an unauthorized, often unreliable, on-line news service designed to keep Manor residents abreast of the inconsequential, unverified, and trifling events that dramatically shape and inform our everyday lives here at Rogue Valley Manor).    

RING AROUND THE COLLAR 

 “Oh my, it’s eight o’clock, I told your parents I’d have you kids in bed by now.”
“But Uncle Willie, you promised to read us a story first, remember?”
“Oh yeah, you’re right Jimmy, I forgot about that.  Well, what should we read?  Let’s see, you’ve got Peter Pan, Winnie the Po…”
“No, no. We like this one.”
“What’s that Betty?  Hmm,  ‘A Children’s Treasury of Exciting Tales from Senior Living Communities.’ Are you sure you…”
“Yes, we love those stories. They’re the best.” “Well, okay. Jump in bed and we’ll give it a try. Here goes—

Once upon a time, in a land not so very far away, there was a senior community.  It was an enchanted community.  Cares and woes were infrequent visitors. Lives were lived in blissful harmony. That’s just the way things were at Elderly Acres.

Life was good.

On warm days, a truck drove through the community and handed out Kona Ice in many popular flavors. When cooler days prevailed, food trucks were parked hither and yon and served tacos—free—even when it wasn’t Tuesday.

Correction: Life was not just good at Elderly Acres—life was very good. 

Until it wasn’t.

[ Jimmy: “Oh boy, I’ll bet here’s where things start getting good.”] 

One day, it was discovered that a golden napkin ring from Elderly Acre’s nicest dining room was missing. Its absence was mystifying since the rings were scrupulously accounted for each evening  before, after, and even during, dinner. Moreover, the napkin rings helped turn ordinary dining into, well, fine dining. 

An immediate search of the dining room was unsuccessful, as was a dutiful campus-wide hunt by each concerned resident (that would mean everyone at Elderly Acres). 

Staff members were immediately exonerated [Uncle Willie: “That means, kids, the staff was not to blame.”] , since each shift begins and ends with a walk through an airport-like  metal detector.

To check residents, a highly effective, FDA approved, truth serum was added to the popular chickpea ratatouille casserole each evening at all dining venues for an entire week. It yielded dozens of confessions from the community’s residents; many quite revealing—some startlingly so—but, alas, none were about the missing golden napkin ring. 

Angst swept across the campus. Could it be that the hitherto serene Elderly Acres had become an infested area of rampant crime? Residents were up in arms. 

Concern heightened. Concern broadened. 

Meanwhile, in a seemingly unrelated set of events, the brood of wild turkeys that lumbered aimlessly about the Elderly Acres campus had suddenly become uncharacteristically restive. They began to gobble all through the night keeping residents awake. 

Although disturbing, this did not deter the Elderly Acres security department. They soldiered on in their important search for the golden napkin ring. That remained Job #1.

One morning, while driving toward the employee parking lot, one of the community’s security guards slowed to allow a flock of the turkeys to cross the street.  Odd, he thought, one of the smaller toms was leading a group of orderly hens, while several large toms, with plumage fully displayed, obediently trailed behind. It was unlike the usual disarrayed, random movement of turkey meanderings on campus.

It appeared, however, that the turkeys had found a leader— albeit small in stature and modest in plumage. They followed this member in near lock-step. It was an unusual sight.

Just then, a glancing sun reflection caught the guard’s eye. It came from the direction of that small, lead turkey where his elongated neck met his torso. There it was: The missing golden napkin ring.

[Betty: “You see, Uncle, isn’t this exciting?”]

How the ring found its way out of the dining room and around the small turkey’s neck, launched endless campus speculation.  None of it probable.

In the past, several of Elderly Acres’s security guards had come to grips with white collar crime; none, sad to say, had experience with a  gold collar crime.

Nonetheless, “Who took it?” was no longer the question. Now, the question was, “How to retrieve it?”

Turkey-cide was dismissed out of hand. The Elderly Acres’s animal rights lobby was well-funded and just too politically powerful to allow such a thing.

Further complicating the recovery effort, years of failed attempts to snare and thin the burgeoning Elderly Acres wild turkey flock had proved fruitless. Now— to make retrievable efforts even more difficult—grabbing this thief, holding him down, and attempting to wrestle a ring off of the nine-inch long neck of this squawking tom turkey without harming him, would be a fool’s errand.  Not one of the guards was willing to undertake that errand. No resident could blame them. None did.

[Uncle Willie:“Are you kids getting sleepy?”  Kids in unison: “No, we love it. Read on! Read on!”]

An emergency session of the Elderly Acre’s  Residents Council was called at the auditorium to decide how to proceed on the “turkey trouble.” To wit: getting the napkin ring back; ending the all-night gobbling.

About this time, a wondrous event unfolded right there in front of the auditorium.  Surprising himself and astounding his flock, Herbert, the newly deemed, golden-collared turkey leader, found he could talk!  What? A turkey talks?  Yes, talk! Once he cleared his throat—a time-consuming  task considering its length,— out came near-perfect English.

Shocked flock members were immediately convinced that that mysterious golden neck ring enabled Herbert’s new-found skill. Who could say it didn’t?  A new wave of reverential awe flowed from the flock to their bedecked, and now talking, leader.  So, too, did a generous dose of swagger.

Emboldened, Herbert worked his way into the auditorium and onto the stage, adjusting the mic to his two-foot-nine inch height, Herbert told the audience he was there to “talk turkey.” Aghast, the residents were struck silent at what they were witnessing.

Herbert proceeded to outline his flock’s disaffection with their lifestyle at Elderly Acres. [Uncle Willie: “Meaning, kids, the  turkeys were unhappy.“]

He told the audience that his flock had become fearful of the cars whipping through campus streets and that the flock’s all-night squawking was a protest to register concerns for their safety.

Herbert proceeded to read a brief list of two demands:  The speed limit must be reduced from 20 to 10 mph; Speed bumps had to be installed at key campus locations.

If those demands were met, Herbert assured the council, the garrulous, all-night gobbling would cease.

His timing was perfect. The Resident Council members—most with frazzled nerves from way too many wakeful nights, and facing yet another evening of the same—decided to engage the turkey leader in negotiations—on the spot.

The auditorium doors were shut.

Forty-five minutes later they opened.

A settlement had been reached.

The results: The speed limit was negotiated at a compromised 15 mph.  And the speed bumps were reduced to speed humps.

Herbert and his minions were satisfied.

Relieved too, the Elderly Acres residents would no longer have to wonder if a dearly needed silent night was only a December event.

But wait! How about that golden napkin ring around Herbert’s neck?

Not negotiable.

With the disputation behind them, both sides came to realize that the golden ring was the vital communications link that brought the two disparate parties together. It was to remain on Herbert’s neck.

Swallowing hard, the residents of Elderly Acres resigned themselves to face the prospect that their fine dining experience each evening would be without the full complement of eighty golden napkin rings.

[Uncle Willie: You kids must be getting tired.  Shall we finish this tomorr …”] [Jimmy: No, no, finish it now”]

And so it came to pass that serenity returned to Elderly Acres. Life was good, very good—once again.

And yes, of course, you guessed it—everyone lived happily ever after!

[Betty: “Wow! Wasn’t that great? Kona ice, free tacos, talking turkeys, magic napkin rings—so much fun! Let’s ask Mom if next summer instead of camp, we can spend two weeks with you at your senior community, Uncle Willie.  Wouldn’t that be great?]

(silence)

[Jimmy: “I think he dozed off.”]

——————

Important Note to Nit Wit Newz Readers:

Any similarity in this story to actual persons, places, or animals, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

—A. Looney