Azita's blog

Sarah is Back!

Sarah is Back!

Our house dog, Sarah was kidnapped in November 2007 from Sarah House. An animal control officer phoned Debbie, our House Manager, to tell her that Sarah had been found roaming the streets not to far off from where she had been taken.

 

Azita – Mon, 2008 – 02 – 04 13:54

Kind Host

The holiday party on the 15th of December, 2007 at Sarah House, was more than a celebration of Joe’s birthday but also a chance for me to meet his family, other clients, and the staff and volunteers that I have never seen face to face. We were able to see Sarah House in operation, share our experiences about Sarah House, and enjoy the entertainment and food.  As a volunteer in the office, many names and stories pass over my desk, but it means more when I can associate a real person with those names.  Sarah House is about people.  Those who take advantage of the services it provides, the staff and volunteers at the house, and all of those who support the administrative and fundraising activities to make Sarah House the success it is.  We are a diverse family, all members of whom are needed to make it work.

This was written by our faithful and hard-working volunteer, Ken.

 

Azita – Wed, 2008 – 01 – 23 15:50

Rose's Garden

Flowers. Purple flower painting above your head, a purple flower unfurling in rectangular splendor. You lying underneath the purple flowers, colorful quilts covering your thin body. You were still beautiful, as a woman is, at 99. I sat next you to you, pulled up a collapsible chair and sat with you when you were in the middle of dinner. Repast was meatloaf, I think with mashed potatoes. A wonderful, steaming creation made with heart by Darlene. You kept dabbing your mouth and I spoke about nothing. The weather, the fires, this and that. I guess just to hear my voice, to fill the room with my sound. I stopped and said, Rose, tell me to be quiet. I know I’m talking incessantly. She replied “ I don’t like to talk during dinner.” She ordered me to come back with a bowl of hot food and sit with her. I did so. “I am a florist”, Rose had proudly told me. The title of florist had seeped into her skin, into her Way. She was indeed a florist, she was indeed a flower. She helped me water her beautiful potted flowers, a collection including a purple orchid and some pretty orange Gerber daisies. I would bring each pot to her so she could stick her fingers in and check the soil for me.

Azita – Wed, 2008 – 01 – 23 15:43
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