This may be a long story for some, but this is just one hour of my day. What is one hour of your day like?? One hour of my day: Received page copier down jamming at **** ****** nursing home. I arrive at nursing home, several old folks sitting outside mostly in wheel chairs taking in the afternoon sun on a cloudy day. I must enter password on keypad to open the outside gate, I already know this, I service this account often, but today seems different. As I am walking through the hall, I say hello to residents always sitting along the hallways. One woman sitting on a chair said “hi, Hi there! Today is my birthday! I am waiting for my daughter to come pick me up, today is my birthday”! I stop and knell toward her, and say, Happy Birthday and have a great day with your daughter! I hear music coming from the recreation room, sounds pretty good, piano and flute. I decided to enter room and listen just for a moment. Volunteers come in often to perform; I have seen magic shows, games played, animal day, etc. As I stood there listening to the music, I observed all the old folks sitting around, most with heads down asleep, some with heads back with mouths wide open, also asleep, others with pure white hair with a smile from ear to ear listening to the music. OK, enough, I need to get to work. I made the turn around one corner and this woman in a wheelchair grabs my arm, Help me! Help me get out of here! Get me out of this place please! I think she might of though I was a doctor. I sometimes might give that impression as I usually wear black slacks, dress shoes, dress shirt, cell phone and pager suspended from belt, and carry my tool bag (black) that most old people might mistake for a doctors bag, ha. I just said I am sorry I cannot help you pulling my arm away from her. Continuing down the hall I am suddenly blasted with the strong smell of Lysol disinfectant, I think the floors were just mopped or rooms just cleaned. Passing several rooms looking inside as I pass, the rooms are decorated with personal touch’s, family pictures on walls, favorite chairs, and TV’s blaring, but what struck me funny, is everyone is sleeping. Old people are just like puppies, have a little excitement, and sleep time. I finally made it to the copier, which is located behind the counter in cafeteria area. I try to concentrate on fixing the copier blocking out the odors of the daily meal mixed with the smell of urine and liquid medicine. I try not to look over as residents eat spilling food and drink down their front, almost battling this daily ritual. The copier is an easy fix; spring came off aligning roller causing skew. I overheard several nurses talking about Bob or Mary not eating their fruit today, or Bill throwing his food platter across the room. I complete my repair, have the paper signed, and plan my escape! Thank god, I have a good memory, what if I forgot the door code to exit, Scary thought. As I was walking down the last hallway coming closer to the exit, I passed a man slowly wheeling himself along. I may not remember names, but I never forget a face, and I recognized this man from the past. He drove forklift at the mill I once worked some 20 years ago! Of course, he was older than me at that time, and made me realize time is short no matter how old you are. I finally made it to the security of my auto and sat thinking in silence for a moment. This was just one hour of my day, one hour of my life. One hour of the day to the residents of the nursing home could seem like a day, or maybe they do not even have a concept of an hour or day. I have serviced these copiers (they have three) several times, but today something felt different. Maybe god was trying to tell me something. I think the answers we quest for are right there in front of us; this is what I learned today. Life is short, time is precious. Live for the hour, not the day, and enjoy every minute of that hour. I look at my pager to see where my job takes me next, and I laugh aloud, ha, ha. **** Street School. This is actually a pre-school where the classrooms and halls are filled with small children ages 3 to 5. How ironic.