05 February 2011

On Floyd

Floyd is my mother’s four-wheeled walker. He’s bright cherry red and can be found in various corners of our house often having carried off Mom’s insulin, water glass, or any number of other assorted trinkets. He’s a well-behaved piece of mechanics: he never talks back, is always glad to help out, and is – thank goodness! – house trained.

Floyd’s name was my father’s idea. We are big fans of the comic strip Maxine in our household, and Maxine has a dog called Floyd. When Mom came home from the hospital on December 31, we decided the walker needed a name. It sounds much more agreeable, and much less “old”, to ask mom where Floyd is rather than “Where’s your walker, mama? You shouldn’t be wandering around without it!” My dad, who saves his Maxine-A-Day calendars every year, decided upon Floyd. Why would it be called anything else?

(Side note: my mother has a second 4WD walker, Walker Texas Ranger. He is black, and lives in the garage for car trips. This was the walker my mother used in the hospital, and on the day she came home, it was so slushy outside that the wheels got all gross, so WTR has been relegated to the role of outside pet. Additionally, he has a Harley Davidson emblem taped to the front of him; Mom always said she wanted a Harley.)

Over the past couple weeks at home in Denver, I’ve spent countless hours talking about, or directly to, Floyd. “You can’t go that way with Floyd, mom, you have to go around the other direction; your oxygen line is not long enough to go the long way.” “Where’s Floyd?” “FLOYYYYYD, where are you?" “Don’t forget about Floyd.” “Good dog.” Oh yes, he has become the family pet, albeit one that takes very little effort, which is a good thing – since his owner takes considerably more effort to keep fed, medicated, bandaged and comfortable.

The next order of business for Floyd is to find him some flair to complement his bright red paint job. He’s been a faithful servant to date, and I think he deserves a little bling. I wonder if MTV could be convinced to Pimp His Ride (is that TV show even on anymore?)

As I type this, seated on a plane back to SF for a final concert and packing-up of my home there, my thoughts drift to Floyd, and the precious woman to whom he belongs. Carry on, good Floyd, and keep up the good work.

1 comment:

Bag Blog said...

We moved my MIL into a very nice assisted living closer to us. It has been an interesting experience, but all has gone well. The walker was always with us, but has not been used as much. It seems to be a safety measure - a security blanket - maybe I will call it Linus.