Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe - Getting Older - The Cruise & A Case of the Dwindles

Episode Date: November 22, 2024

“Bad things happen at sea.”Today’s episode is all about aging – in the best possible way! Mistakenly booked onto a seniors’ cruise, Dave has more fun than he could ever have imagined. And in our second story Morley learns that her mom’s independence is something to celebrate. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

From the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Hello, I'm Jess Milton and this is Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe. Welcome. We have two Davin Morley stories for you today. Two stories about growing up. Actually, growing up isn't quite right. These aren't stories about Sam or Steph. They feature some of Stuart's more mature characters. So really, I guess their story is about aging or getting older. But this is Dave we're talking about.

So let's face it, they're also about growing up. In our first story, Dave and Morley accidentally find themselves booked on a senior's cruise. In the second story, Morley's mother Helen sells her house and moves in with Dave and Morley. But let's start out on the open seas. This is Stuart McLean with The Cruise. Morley's mother, Helen. Morley's mother, Helen, comes to dinner most Sundays.

Morley picks Helen up after church. Dave drives her home after supper. Helen hasn't driven herself for three, maybe four years, but she still has her Buick. It's in the garage. The tank topped, the plate's up to date, and the insurance paid in full. Helen pays the insurance every fall. She

doesn't use the car, but she talks about it as if she does. Morley will call and say, I'm on my way. And Helen will say, why don't I just drive down? It'd be so much easier. Helen never drives down. Helen never drives down. Morley always gets her, and Dave always takes her home. Makes Morley crazy that her mother still pays the insurance. What's the point in that, she says. Who cares, says Dave. Point is, she isn't driving.

You say something, she'll start driving just to prove you're wrong. Point is, you let sleeping dogs lie. Helen still manages, as they say, but she is slowing down. She's stopped going to bridge on Tuesdays, and getting to church is getting more and more difficult. She still cooks, and her house is more or less clean, but not the way it used to be. Well, it used to be. Well, it used to be so clean it made Morley crazy. Winter is especially hard. Helen and her husband Roy used to go to Florida every winter. They had a trailer at Delray Beach, but they sold the trailer when Roy had his thing. Mobile home, said Helen,

not trailer, mobile home. After Roy died, Helen and Peggy Whiteside started going on trips together. Wonders of the West, autumn in Vermont, and then Peggy Whiteside died. Helen, God bless her, kept traveling. And every autumn for the last five years, Helen has gone on an adventure. Last fall, she signed up for her first ever cruise. She asked her sister Loretta to come with her, a special present. Then Loretta broke her hip, Loretta broke her hip, and Helen seemed to lose her will. I'm tired, she said. I've seen enough. The travel agent told Helen he couldn't give her money back, but she could give her tickets away.

A cruise, said Dave? Dave and Morley were sitting in the kitchen, the two of them in the night, the lights low, Hayden's new album on the stereo. Might be nice, said Morley. You know, sunsets at sea, dancing on the deck, dinner with the captain. Dave said, I don't want to go on a cruise. Bad things happen at sea. Morley said, get over it. things happen at sea. Morley said, get over it. Later, on their way to bed, she said, do you think she's still okay living alone? Dave said, who? Morley said, my mother. And so it was only last autumn that Dave found himself sitting glumly in the back of an airport taxi, heading to Port Everglades, Florida, Terminal 19, the third largest cruise ship terminal in the world. It was noon. The Empress of Kumar was set to sail at dinner.

Ten days to some of the most remote and unknown islands of the Caribbean Kumana, famous for the leatherback turtles that nest on its south beaches Aqua de Perico, where you can see remnants of Aztec ruins And Santa Madera, 900 acres of arid and treeless limestone Renowned for the highly endangered Santa Madera woodpecker. The taxi dropped them at the bottom of the gang plant. The man at the table in the blue pants and the white shirt beamed at them and stuck out his hand.

His gold name tag said, Derek. I'm Derek, he said, activities director. You must be Morley. Actually, said Dave, she's Morley. Silly me, said Derek, taking their passports. He handed Dave an envelope with a key. Water view, he said. Turned out water view meant water line. A tiny cabin two levels below the deck. Less room than a college dorm. Dave was lying on the bed. A twin. Morley was unpacking when the announcement

for dinner came. Kind of early, don't you think, said Dave, looking at his watch. It was 5 30. First night, maybe, said Morley. They headed for the dining room. They had to wait while a woman with a cane struggled up the stairs in front of them. When they found table 23, there was a man in a wheelchair already sitting there. He appeared to be asleep. Should I wake him, said Morley. Dave didn't hear her. Dave was looking around the room. Uh-oh, said Dave. What, said Morley. Morley followed his arm around the room. Oh dear, she said. They were the youngest in the room by at least a generation.

Seniors cruise, said Dave. Which is when their wheelchair companion jerked alert. What are you doing at my table, he barked. After dinner, Dave and Morley went on deck and watched the sun set and the sea turn dark and thick. There wasn't another soul around. They leaned on the railing, listening to the thump of the engines. Pretty, said Morley, pointing at the first stars. Dave went inside to get them each a drink. How about champagne, he said. Derek was locking up the bar. Closes at eight, Morley.

It's Dave, said Dave. Morley was her mother's maiden name. It's Dave, said Dave. Morley was her mother's maiden name. They were back on the deck the next morning. Morley settled into a shady corner with a pile of magazines. There was still no one around. It was a little spooky. Where is everyone, she said.

Ship of the damned, said Dave. Dave went downstairs again at 11.30 to fetch sunscreen. There was a line up at the dining room door. Men in shorts and sandals and knee-length black socks. You been on this cruise? Women in oversized sunglasses carrying large purses. Lunch isn't for half an hour, said Dave as he handed Morley the sunscreen. Do you think they know something we don't? Their table companion from the night before, the man in the wheelchair, was polishing off his dessert when Dave and Morley arrived at 12.15. You're late, he said. The sea started to roll that afternoon, Not too terribly much, not waves even, just a roll, like a swell.

But enough of a roll so you had to reach for the railing every now and then. Morley sat by the pool. Dave went exploring. He was gone for an hour. When he returned, he dropped onto the chaise lounge beside Morley and said, It's a lockdown. Morley said, What are you talking about? Dave said, I met a couple from Alaska. They were coming from the fitness room. The rock wall is roped off. The hot tub is lukewarm. The treadmills are pre-set on Deirdre has everything under lock and key. Morley said, who's Deirdre?

Dave said, that nice man who took our photo. Morley said, you mean Derek. Dave said, whatever. The poker chips have all been put away. It's 24-hour euchre. There was no doubt that the sea had turned. Morley didn't make it to lunch the next day. Names Bruce, said the man in the wheelchair. Bruce Towler. He stopped for a breath between every word.

He was a dentist. Used to be, anyway. He dozed off between the main course and dessert, but he snapped awake when the waiter tried to take his dessert away. Hey, he said. When the meal was finished, a porter came to push him back to his room. When the meal was finished, a porter came to push him back to his room. Dave said, you want to go on the deck instead? So Dave pushed Bruce Taller out to the forward deck, and the two of them watched the rolling sea together. There was no doubt about it. It was getting rockier, rockier and rockier.

Dave said, I should check on my wife. Doesn't bother me a bit, said Bruce Taller. Dave wasn't sure if he meant the weather or the fact that Dave was leaving him. Morley wasn't doing well. I threw up, she said. Dave sat beside her and stroked her hair. After about an hour, the boat changed courses and it began a whole new and nasty motion. Dave felt like he was inside a giant washing machine. Before long, their little ship was being tossed around like a toy boat in a bathtub. The closet door was slapping open and shut. The drawers in their bureau were banging back and forth. When Morley got up to make a dash to the washroom, her mattress slid off the bunk. When she returned, she just lay down on the floor, groaning.

I'm not moving, she said. And that's when Dave remembered Bruce Taller. Oh, my God, he said. It was so rocky, Dave could barely walk down the corridor. At one point, the ship lurched dramatically, and Dave was actually walking along the starboard wall. A moment later, it lurched to the other other side and he was walking along the port side. When he got to the lounge there were people stretched out on the couches. Others were grimly clutching little white bags

to their faces. Dave peered out the far windows at the deck where he had left his lunch partner. at the deck where he had left his lunch partner. Nothing. Then the ship pitched to the port side and a wheelchair flew past the window. A moment later, the chair flew by the other way. Bruce Taller was sitting in his wheelchair with his hands over his head like a kid on a roller coaster. From port to starboard, from starboard to port, he was soaked when Dave fetched him. But he was beaming. Haven't had that much fun since my wife's wake You either get seasick or you don't

And Bruce apparently was missing the gene So Dave, who was feeling surprisingly well And Bruce, who had never felt better, retreated to the forward lounge. As soon as they sat down, Bruce pulled a pewter flask out of his pocket. McAllens, he said. Then he produced a deck of cards. And so while dishes crashed around them and most everyone was huddled over motion sickness bags,

around them and most everyone was huddled over motion sickness bags. Dave sipped 15-year-old whiskey and watched Bruce Taller play solitaire. Turned out Bruce used to live in a senior's residence in Fargo, North Dakota. When he turned 83, he took a hard look at his finances and realized he couldn't afford that for as long as he planned to live. He had been cruising full time ever since. It's cheaper, he said, slapping down the eight of clubs. Food's better. And then he pointed out at the angry gray sea, weather too, mostly. At 1230, Dave said, my wife's below. I should check her. Ah, said Bruce, young love. I lost my wife. I'm sorry, said Dave. It was a long time ago, said Bruce. It was a long time ago, said Bruce.

The skies cleared the next afternoon. Too bad, said Bruce Towler at dinner, waving his hands over his head weakly. That was fun. That afternoon, Dave found a pile of brochures in the bar that had spilled out of a drawer during the worst of the storm. Bungee jumping, parasailing, scuba diving. When Dave asked, Derek rolled his eyes. We can't run those activities with a crowd like this. Can you imagine? Some people say a genius is someone who has the ability to understand complex problems and is able to use his imagination to solve them. Others say genius is the ability to concentrate with more intensity than the average person.

There are those, however, who believe geniuses are those who look at the world with a sense of wonder and who possess the ability to see things in a fresh, childlike way. You're a bloody genius, said Bruce Tower to Dave two hours later. the ability to see things in a fresh, childlike way. You're a bloody genius, said Bruce Towler to Dave two hours later. Bruce was standing on the upper deck. Well, that's an exaggeration. He was sort of standing. He was clutching his walker with one hand and the shoulder of a young crew member with the other.

They were strapping him into a nylon harness. Bruce Towler was beaming. When you are 87 years old and you can't stand up anymore without someone standing beside you, when all the movement you can manage is unsteady, when your body has quit on you but your spirit hasn't, bungee jumping might just be the perfect sport. The mate cinched the final strap on Bruce Towler's harness. There's nothing to be afraid of, sir, he said. Bruce Towler squinted at him. Damn right, he said.

The mate was about to say something else, but he was too late. Bruce Towler was already gone. Bruce took a lurching step and he flew out over the edge of the ship. Face down and fractious, Bruce Towler was hurtling towards the blue ocean. For the first time in years, he felt as light as air. Whoopee, he bellowed as he felt the unfamiliar surge of adrenaline racing through him. It was only when he got to the end of the line and began his bouncing ascent that Dave saw Bruce was still clutching his walker. As he yo-yoed

by them, he was waving it over his head. Bungee jumping Bruce in his tweed suit and tie. Whoopee! Morley resurfaced the next morning. She set herself up with her magazines and a bag of supplies by the aft deck pool. Dave didn't have time to read by the pool. Dave and Bruce were meeting for coffee at 10.30 and then playing in a shuffleboard tournament at 11. I'll meet you at lunch, said Dave.

When Morley walked into the dining room, Dave was working on dessert. Morley glanced at her wrist. It was 10 past 12. I waited, said Dave. I thought you weren't coming. Morley stood by the table awkwardly. There were no empty places. There was an older woman sitting in her seat. The older woman smiled at Morley. Then she reached out and rested her hand on Dave's arm. This dear man has been telling me the most wonderful stories.

Then she ran her hand through Dave's hair and added, I lost my husband. That is so awful, said Morley. I'm so sorry. How did he die? The older woman rolled her eyes. I didn't say he died, dearie. And so the days rolled by. The weather turned. And for the rest of the trip, they were blessed with hot days and long, warm nights. They stopped at a different

island each morning. The lineups to disembark began at least an hour before they arrived. They missed the turtles at Kumona, much the same at Aqua de Perico, where there wasn't any time for a side trip to the Aztec ruins. Many of them did get to see the endangered Santa Majera woodpecker, however. It cost five dollars American to enter the tent where it was kept. And an additional 75 cents for a cup of pellets if you wanted to feed it. Dave didn't go himself, but Bruce Towler told him the bird was either asleep or stuffed. In any case, not remotely interested in pellets. They aren't bad, said Bruce, munching away, offering the cup to Dave. After supper on the last night, Dave organized wheelchair races on the promenade deck.

The entire ship turned out to cheer the final heat. A showdown pitting Bruce Towler against a 93-year-old retired real estate lawyer from Boca Raton. The final lap was reminiscent of the chariot race in Ben Hur. The final lap was reminiscent of the chariot race in Ben-Hur. Bruce Towler won, but something happened when the chairs were out of sight around the first-class cabins. The real estate lawyer from Boca Raton was furious. He jabbed his finger at Bruce Towler. That bugger stuck his cane in my spokes, he bellowed.

Bruce was beaming. At 10 o'clock, the Empress of Kumar pulled back into Port Everglades. Dave and Morley were both on the upper deck as the ship eased through the seawall. Morley was leaning against the rail, looking back to sea. What do you think, said Dave. Like I always do at the end of a trip, she said. Glad to be home. Sad that it's over.

The ship blew its horn. She jumped a little. Scared me, she said. They were spending the last night in port. Everyone was scheduled to get off in the morning. The letter arrived six months later. It was handwritten. We have never met, it began, but I believe you know my father. His name is Bruce Towler. I think you met him on one of his cruises. I don't know if he ever mentioned me. Probably not. We weren't speaking back there and hadn't for a while.

Since before Jacob was born anyway. I'm having a hard time with this. My father would tell me to get off the pot. I should do that. He died last week. That's the first time I've written that. It's so odd to see it written down. Dave was reading the letter in his record store, leaning against the counter with the letter in front of him, alone in there, except for a guy he didn't know who was flipping through the blues section. He looked up at the guy and then he picked up the letter and

counted the pages. He stared at them without reading for a moment. He was thinking of Bruce Taller, the afternoon of his big jump. He didn't even hesitate, not for a second. Then he glanced back at the letter. As these things go, he read, it wasn't horrible. back at the letter. As these things go, he read, it wasn't horrible. He drifted off watching extreme wrestling. He never woke up. My father spoke you off and I think he liked you a lot. I don't know if you knew he was sick. I thought he was going to die on one of those cruises. He said you were the one who convinced him to write. He came home and lived with us pretty soon after that. He was like a different person. He was happier or something, more present.

One night he even came to the movies with us. That might sound strange. You'd have to know him. But of course you do. Dave was nodding. He spoke fondly of you. He was grateful for having met you. He said he never would have had the courage to leap if you hadn't been there that day. And I think he meant more than the jump. I hope you don't mind me writing. I wanted you to know and I wanted to thank you. Here's my address. If you're ever this way, I'd love you to drop by. It was funny the things you set in motion without meaning to. It's like a big game of pool.

You hit the balls and they start colliding and you never know where they're going to end up. All you do is take your best shot and stand back and watch them and hope for the best. It was a week later, a Sunday afternoon, just as Morley was leaving to pick up her mother for dinner, the Dave said, Have you ever thought of asking her to live here with us? I'd be okay with that if you did. Morley was about to make a smart remark, and then she stopped and saw that he was serious,

and she came over to him and looked at him carefully, and she said, Thank you. Then she turned and she laughed. She was crying as she went out the back door. Thank you. applause That was the cruise. We recorded that story in Keswick, Ontario, back in 2008.

We're going to take a short break now, but we'll be back in a couple of minutes with another story, so stick around. Music Welcome back. Time for our second story now. This is a case of the dwindles. It had been a long time coming. It had been coming for years.

Morley knew it. Started with a car. Helen had that accident. How long ago was that? That must have been 10 years ago. Helen kept driving for a while, but she had stopped driving, thank God. And then she fell last winter. It wasn't the winter before and now.

It was hard to put your finger on it. It's not like there was some big change. It was just Morley had to face it. Her mother was old. It had been a long time coming, but it seemed to happen all at once, and Morley was worried. She took Helen to see Dr. Keene for a checkup. I'm worried about her, she said.

Dr. Keene called the next afternoon. There's nothing I can do, he said. I knew it, said Morley. What is it? Tell me. You could almost hear Dr. Keene shrugging over the phone. Your mother has the dwindles the what said Morley the dwindles said Dr. Keene we all get them eventually

Morley and Dave had talked about this for years it was Dave's idea not Morley's it had talked about this for years. It was Dave's idea, not Morley's. It had to be Dave's idea. Morley would never have suggested it. But there it was. Helen shouldn't be living alone anymore. And Morley was driving to Helen's house to suggest that Helen move in with them. Morley had practiced what she was going to say over and over.

She had practiced it out loud in the car on her way to work and on her way home. She had practiced it in front of the bathroom mirror. And she was practicing it now on her way to talk to her mother. It was a delicate matter. She didn't want to sound patronizing. She didn't want her mother to feel like she needed rescuing. Helen needed to maintain her dignity, but Morley had to be firm. She had practiced so much it all came out in a big awkward rush.

It'd be good for all of us, said Morley. You could help out. With both Dave and I working, it's hard. We could use the help, or I could. Helen reached out and patted Morley's arm. She didn't want to leave her house, but her daughter was practically begging for help. Morley obviously couldn't manage anymore. Morley obviously couldn't manage anymore. It was hardly a surprise. It was ridiculous what she was trying to do. Run a home and work full time?

It was nonsense with a capital N. Helen said, all right, dear, I'll help out. It's what you do when you have children. Though you'd think by the time you were in your 80s, they'd leave you alone. The plan was she would rent her house so she could move back when things settled down, when Sam went to university. But she got an offer, and the agent said, you know, that's a good offer.

So in the end, she sold. There's a room upstairs at the back of Dave and Morley's house that has its own bathroom. Used to be Stephanie's. They moved Stephanie's stuff into the attic loft and Helen moved into the room at the back. Her bed and her bureau. It wasn't perfect, but there was nothing about this that was perfect.

It was workable. I don't know, said Helen, on the day before the move. This is making me nervous. They were at Helen's house, packing the last of her stuff. I'm not sure if three generations are supposed to live together. It seems unnatural. Morley said, don't be nervous, Mom. It's going to be so much easier.

Maybe for you, said Helen. She came on a Sunday. She always came on Sundays for dinner anyway, so it almost felt normal. They had dinner like they usually did, and she washed the dishes like she usually did. But then instead of getting into her coat and getting into the car so Dave could drive her home, Helen hung up her apron and there was an awkward moment, the three of them standing in the kitchen, until Helen said, well, then I think I'll go to my room.

Sleep tight, said Morley. I'm going to make lunches for tomorrow. Recently on Sundays after Helen leaves, it's become Morley's habit to rewash the dishes. Not all of them, but a lot of them. Helen's eyesight isn't what it used to be. She misses things. And so Helen went upstairs and Morley waited in the kitchen with her ear cocked, waiting to hear her mother climb safely into bed before she re-tackled the dishes. She was working on a wine glass when Helen reappeared. They both stared at the glass in

Morley's hand and then Morley followed Helen's gaze across the kitchen to the dish rack, which was full of dripping dishes. Neither of them said a word. Helen said, I was wondering if there's any toothpaste. Morley said, I'll get some. Monday morning was its usual rush and panic. Morley trying to make breakfast, Sam trying to wake up, or actually not, Dave wandering around looking for his backpack, his sunglasses, the blue folder with the leather thing, the smell of orange juice and burnt toast, and in the middle of it all, Helen wandering downstairs in her house coat, oblivious. Have you made the eggs yet, she said. Sam looked up happily. We're having eggs? No, no eggs, said Morley. There's no time. Eat your toast. Helen stood in the middle

of the kitchen and frowned, but she didn't say anything. It was clear to Helen that she was going to have to get up earlier from now on so she could make this family a decent breakfast. Morley sighed and dropped more bread into the toaster. Now she was going to have to get up earlier, early enough to make her mother eggs. I made tea, Mom, said Morley. Mornings. They were four horses in one harness pulling in different directions, stamping, bucking, and snorting. And then everything came to a crescendo. The horses

whinnied and ran off and just like that, in the snap of your fingers, the kitchen was like a racetrack at the end of the day, deserted and quiet. Just Helen. Just Helen sitting at the table with her pot of tea. Arthur the dog at her feet. Maybe the cat somewhere or maybe not. It's always hard to tell. Oh my, said Helen. First thing Helen did once everybody was gone was go upstairs and get a cardigan. It was freezing in that house. She found the thermostat in the hall and she turned it up. She'd turn it down before everyone came home. Then she wandered around and closed all the blinds. Helen didn't like the idea of people staring at her. After lunch, she napped in a room with the paper in her lap,

and then she came downstairs and made herself another pot of tea and took it to the den to watch Coronation Street. The television, or what was left of it, the screen part of the television, was attached to the wall. Helen looked around the room. The rest of it, the guts of it was nowhere to be seen she stared at the screen carefully searching for a knob

so she could turn it on television didn't appear to have knobs she ran her hand around the edge of the frame to see if she could feel a knob. All she could feel was nothing. She stepped back and scratched her head. She saw the remotes lying on the top of the bookshelf beside the screen. There were four of them. Helen's heart sank. Helen was afraid of remotes. She had read an informative article

once in the Reader's Digest that remote controls were the most germ-ridden objects in hotel rooms. Helen didn't stay in hotels often, but the article had made a fierce impression, and she had vowed that if she ever found herself in a hotel room, she would never, never under any circumstances whatsoever touch a television remote. The Reader's Digest had explained that no one ever washed their remotes. Well, that was something she could do right now, wasn't it? But you'd have to be careful. At her age, something as simple as a cold virus could take her out in a matter of days.

Helen went downstairs, found a pair of rubber gloves under the sink. She put the gloves on and went back and picked up the remotes. She was very careful to hold her breath while she was handling them. She dropped them one, two, three, four into a plastic bag and she held the bag away from her body as she carried it. It occurred to her that she had seen other remotes in the house as well. It occurred to her that she had seen other remotes in the house as well. She might as well do them all at the same time.

So she started at the top and worked her way methodically down to the kitchen. It took her 45 minutes. When she got downstairs and emptied her bag onto the kitchen table, there were 12 remotes lying there. Air conditioning remotes, heating remotes Air conditioning remotes. Heating remotes. Stereo remotes. Holding her breath carefully, she lined them up carefully on the top shelf of the dishwasher. She stared at it proudly. But it seemed wrong to her to run the dishwasher for barely half a long.

So she went back upstairs and came back with two computer keyboards, an infrared mouse, and Sam's iPod. She set the dishwasher to sterilize. And then she collapsed onto the largest chair in the living room. That was a good afternoon's work. Morley was last home that night. When she walked in through the back door, the house seemed unfamiliarly quiet

and unusually dark. All the curtains were closed. It was hot, too. I'm home, she called, but there was no response. She yawned. They were in the living room, all of them sound asleep. Helen in her chair with her legs stretched in front of her and her head drooped on her chest. Dave curled up on the couch and Sam sprawled on the living room floor.

Morley almost sat down with them. Give your head a shake, she said. And instead, she turned down the thermostat and started preparing dinner. First thing she did was open the dishwasher. That woke them. The thing with the remotes was a bad beginning. Instead of searching out chores, Helen began to spend her time like she did at home, doing crosswords and talking on the phone to friends. home doing crosswords and talking on the phone to friends. In the afternoons after her nap, she went for walks around the neighborhood. She didn't say anything, and she wouldn't have seen it this way herself, but those walks were small acts of defiance. Helen was asserting herself.

She was telling her daughter that she didn't want to be a housekeeper. Of course, that's not the way Morley interpreted it. I saw your mother again this afternoon, said Mary Turlington. She seemed to be lost. The idea of her mother walking aimlessly around the neighborhood scared Morley. Mom, said Morley, where were you this afternoon? Helen hadn't been paying any attention. She had just walked for 15 or 20 minutes and then come back.

I have no idea, said Helen. Oh dear, thought Marley. Helen was enjoying her walks, but she found that she tired easily. One afternoon when she ventured a little far, she flagged a taxi to take her home. She told the driver that she was trying to learn her new neighborhood and asked how much it would cost to drive around for a while. She got lucky. The driver was a guy from Somalia who felt guilty about leaving his mother when he came to Canada. He didn't charge Helen, and then he arranged to pick her up the next afternoon. And so every afternoon when the taxi business was quiet, they drove around the neighborhood,

telling each other their problems. It was Dave's friend, Kenny Wong, who spotted her. See, said Kenny, the next afternoon, very same time, every day. They just seemed to drive around in circles. Morley became convinced her mother was losing it, not to mention a fortune on taxis. Only thing she could think of doing to keep her at home was to keep her busy. She drew up a new list of chores. These are things you could do to help, she said. They would really help out. It was lunch,

and they were sitting at the kitchen table. Helen's heart was sinking as she ran her finger down the list. There was so much on it. She felt overwhelmed. I wish she would let me relax, said Helen to her friend, Ruth. I wish I could just take it easy. I've earned it. She doesn't seem to be able to relax, said Morley to Dave. I wish she could relax. She's earned it.

But they didn't say these things to each other. You should move to my retirement community, said Ruth to Helen. I have my own place, and they have dinner in the dining room if I want. She needs me, said Helen. It's hard for her, the kids, her job, David. When she was a girl, Morley used to love to watch her mother iron the hiss of the steam the spray of the water and the peaceful perfection of the folded piles when she thought of her mother she always thought of ironing so she added ironing to the list and so Helen started ironing too and one morning Sam stood in his bedroom calling for his mother.

My jeans are weird, he said. The jeans were hanging stiffly from his hips. There was a sharp crease running down the middle of each leg. I can't bend my legs, said Sam. Helen was trying her best, God knows. I really want to help, said Helen to Ruth one afternoon on the phone, but honestly, who irons these days? Ruth said there was a laundry service available at her retirement residence and that she had a cleaner come in every week to do her floors and bathroom. There were bridge nights and a movie night and community dinner

every night of the week if you wanted it. Helen sighed and looked at the basket of socks waiting to be sorted. What on earth was a daughter's family doing with so many socks? In the end, she stayed four months. All things considered, it ended well. Better, really, than anyone could have hoped. One afternoon, Helen looked at Morley and said, we need to talk. My friend Ruth is lonely.

She needs my help. I think I should move in with her. Morley sat up straight. It'll be difficult, said Morley, measuring her words carefully. It'll be difficult without you. Well, that's obvious, said Helen. What, said Morley? Helen reached out and put her hand on her daughter's arm.

You do a good job, sweetie, she said. And so she went. And Morley, who had spent her life leaving her mother, for the first time had to watch her mother leave her. She seems happy, she said to Dave after another Sunday dinner, after he drove her back to her new place. Yes, he said, it surprises me. Well, maybe at her age, it's not so much where you are, said Morley. It's how you got there. She got there on her own. Dave said, as long as you're still covering ground, I guess, maybe that's enough. Maybe, said Morley, maybe that's all of it. She was re-washing the dinner dishes. He was standing by the door. She turned and looked at him. We've covered ground,

she said. It wasn't clear to Dave if she was asking a question or making a statement. Yes, he said. We have, and we have more to cover yet. They looked at each other for the longest moment. That, too, she said, and she turned back to the dishes. applause Thank you. That was the story we call A Case of the Dwindles.

We recorded that story in Bracebridge, Ontario, back in 2009. All right, that's it. But we'll be back here next week with more Dave and Morley stories, including this one. Dave and Morley corresponded for six years. Letters and some phone calls back and forth, but they hadn't managed another collision since that fateful night in that skating rink in Providence. The year I'm telling you about, the Christmas Dave is telling Sam about, they had arranged to get together on Boxing Day. Dave hadn't told anyone in his family about Morley.

He didn't want to jinx anything, but he thought about her obsessively. And now, about to see her after six long years, what he thought about mostly was that he had to win her love. And one of the ways he thought he could do that was by getting her the perfect Christmas present. Dave didn't have the foggiest idea what that present could be. What he thought was that he would find something for her when he got home to Big Narrows for Christmas. It was only when he got home that he realized the foolishness of that. He wandered up and down River Street on the day before Christmas in growing desperation. There was a limited number of choices in town. Frenchies used clothing.

Angus MacDonnell's post office and general store, Rutledge's hardware, and Arnie Gallagher's forest travel agency gift and tackle shop. By mid-afternoon, Dave was buying things out of sheer desperation. A fruitcake from Kerrigan's, a crocheted toilet paper cover at the church bazaar, and a fishing lure and a box of frozen minnows from Arnie's. He stumbled home on Christmas Eve in a state of despair. There'd be no shopping on Christmas Day and he was leaving the morning after.

Morley was meeting him at the airport. He couldn't show up empty-handed. Why not, said Sam. What, said Dave? Why couldn't you show up empty-handed? Well, because he had already told Morley he'd got her a present, hadn't he? And she had gone and got one for him. They had talked about it on the phone.

She seemed quite excited about the idea. Dave decided his only hope was that his sister or his mother would get something on Christmas morning that he could borrow. His mother got oven mitts and a crocheted toilet paper cover. His sister got a box of frozen minnows. Oh yeah, baby. That's right. It's a Christmas story. That's next week on the pod. I hope you'll join us. Bring the jingle bells. Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe is part of the Apostrophe Podcast Network. The recording engineer is activities director, Greg DeCloot. Theme music is by Danny Michelle. And the show is produced by Louise Curtis, Greg DeCloot. Theme music is by Danny Michelle and the show is produced by Louise Curtis,

Greg DeCloot and me, Jess Milton. You know the other thing? Greg DeCloot would totally be the guy who at like age 80 bungee jumps off the side of the cruise ship. No question. Let's meet again next week. Until then, so long for now.