In a neighborhood of squinting windows, none squinted so hard or long as those at 212 Maple
Court. These were manned by Miss Minnie McComb and, though she kept a 360 degree vigil,
she concentrated on Daisyland. She was quick to remind everyone that she had originally
opposed the special exception and look what happened. It had opened and failed, then failed to
reopen. When she learned George Daisy was to buy the place, she prepared for another disaster.
She had gone to high school with him. She knew him for what he was, a wealthy, dreamy, hippie,
communist and likely philanderer. Even after all these years, she found it hard to tell the stories
she had heard, but she soldiered on.
If George could have overheard her thoughts, he would have stood right up on his hind legs and told her straight out, “I’m no communist!” But he didn’t see her, wouldn’t have recognized her if he had. They ran in different crowds.
For George, Daisyland was about doing something on his own, making a contribution to society. His parents were both accomplished and he had gone to a good school, a number of them actually. It took many years, but finally his assorted courses aligned with a degree requirement and he graduated. He was ready to contribute right then and there, but his dad insisted he find a job. He found it even more difficult to align the degree with a job, until his father finally saw his potential and took him into the family business. That was 30 years ago, now his father had passed on and he had inherited a comfortable sum. During those years he had also acquired a wife, two children and a paunch. The wife remained loosely fastened and the detachable parts were now living in North Carolina.
Through the years, he had flirted with many progressive causes, but now he was focused on a single cause - old people. Perhaps it had to do with his own advancing age, but he was moved by the plight of the elderly: abandoned by family, tossed out of homes, left to vegetate. He envisioned a place where they might live out their final years in a fun filled environment, dedicated to providing for their desires as well as their needs. And he thought it would be a sound investment. After all, there were more older people each year. It was Economics 101, a class he had passed first time. He had barely mentioned his interest, when a friend of his cousin contacted him with a recently completed retirement home for sale. He would have his realtor meet George at the home.
That’s how Minnie knew of his involvement. It started with a black car turning into the nursing home, she had spotted it right away. It wasn’t a neighborhood vehicle. And the middle aged lady getting out, she wasn’t from around here either. She was fiddling with the padlocked gate when a little red sports car arrived, definitely foreign. But when George Daisy stepped out she tingled with interest. She was a bit disappointed as he now seemed shorter and the long black hair had left his skull, whitened and gathered about his chin. His silhouette which once resembled a pencil, now looked like a coke bottle. But now they were inside and she needed to focus on what they were doing. The lady seemed a bit matronly, but you never know and with
If George could have overheard her thoughts, he would have stood right up on his hind legs and told her straight out, “I’m no communist!” But he didn’t see her, wouldn’t have recognized her if he had. They ran in different crowds.
For George, Daisyland was about doing something on his own, making a contribution to society. His parents were both accomplished and he had gone to a good school, a number of them actually. It took many years, but finally his assorted courses aligned with a degree requirement and he graduated. He was ready to contribute right then and there, but his dad insisted he find a job. He found it even more difficult to align the degree with a job, until his father finally saw his potential and took him into the family business. That was 30 years ago, now his father had passed on and he had inherited a comfortable sum. During those years he had also acquired a wife, two children and a paunch. The wife remained loosely fastened and the detachable parts were now living in North Carolina.
Through the years, he had flirted with many progressive causes, but now he was focused on a single cause - old people. Perhaps it had to do with his own advancing age, but he was moved by the plight of the elderly: abandoned by family, tossed out of homes, left to vegetate. He envisioned a place where they might live out their final years in a fun filled environment, dedicated to providing for their desires as well as their needs. And he thought it would be a sound investment. After all, there were more older people each year. It was Economics 101, a class he had passed first time. He had barely mentioned his interest, when a friend of his cousin contacted him with a recently completed retirement home for sale. He would have his realtor meet George at the home.
That’s how Minnie knew of his involvement. It started with a black car turning into the nursing home, she had spotted it right away. It wasn’t a neighborhood vehicle. And the middle aged lady getting out, she wasn’t from around here either. She was fiddling with the padlocked gate when a little red sports car arrived, definitely foreign. But when George Daisy stepped out she tingled with interest. She was a bit disappointed as he now seemed shorter and the long black hair had left his skull, whitened and gathered about his chin. His silhouette which once resembled a pencil, now looked like a coke bottle. But now they were inside and she needed to focus on what they were doing. The lady seemed a bit matronly, but you never know and with
binoculars, she followed their progress through un-curtained windows. It appeared, however,
she was only showing him around.
George considered himself an astute observer and quickly surmised that the inability to open the door was not only the lock, which was missing multiple screws, but the door had swelled considerably. It re-emphasized the curved marks on the floor as he put his shoulder to the task. He made note of this and then noticed slight enlargements at the wall base and a musty smell. “It was a recent flood, one of the hundred year types, so it shouldn’t be a concern again for some time.” the real estate lady said. George considered the statement a bit cavalier and added ‘flood’ to the list. They couldn’t turn on the lights as the electric power was off due to non-payment. There were other problems, but there were good things too. The two large leaf filled pools held great possibilities as did the separate recreation building at the rear. The landscaping was generally dead, but he envisioned hedges and flower gardens tended by his guests as they might in their own homes. Yes, with the bugs removed and comfortable furniture installed, it could be a great place. Something that could bear his name.
That was nearly two years ago, before he had spent a small fortune on a list of repairs required by the building department and another to meet the nursing home occupancy. But they had been done and ‘Daisyland’ was open. Now he had new worries. It was losing money, big time. It was well below the projected business plan his consultants had provided. They had cut prices, reduced staff, but were still were running about half capacity. Moreover, Emily was threatening divorce. Their personal wealth was disappearing quickly and he was spending too much time with those old people.
He had begun working at the front desk, a cost saving measure, when Mrs. Heathcote-Wortley appeared. She was a distinctive thing, wrapped in an indignant air and a worn mink coat. She was topped off by some bird of prey arranged into a hat. She arrived lightly, clutching a twine strung cardboard box and perhaps, a grandson, who was dragging two vintage pieces of luggage. Their worn sides and faded stickers, likely still elegant in a bright brass rack at the Ritz, struck a melancholy note on the discount carpet. Following a stiff, but sincere hug and a dabbing of tears, the child returned to the car. It sat with door still ajar as eyes peered from its interior.
He had no information save a note from the night clerk and had barely started filling in the formwork when she said she would prefer to do this later. “Of course,” he said. “And what room might you prefer, we have a selection.”
“It really doesn’t matter as I don’t expect to stay long.”
“Oh. Well, lets try this one. Wonderful sunlight and a great view of the recreation building and the pools. They’ll look a lot better when we remove the cover and bring the lounge furniture from storage.”
She gave it a glance and said, “I’m sure they will.” Good sign, he thought, and continued.
George considered himself an astute observer and quickly surmised that the inability to open the door was not only the lock, which was missing multiple screws, but the door had swelled considerably. It re-emphasized the curved marks on the floor as he put his shoulder to the task. He made note of this and then noticed slight enlargements at the wall base and a musty smell. “It was a recent flood, one of the hundred year types, so it shouldn’t be a concern again for some time.” the real estate lady said. George considered the statement a bit cavalier and added ‘flood’ to the list. They couldn’t turn on the lights as the electric power was off due to non-payment. There were other problems, but there were good things too. The two large leaf filled pools held great possibilities as did the separate recreation building at the rear. The landscaping was generally dead, but he envisioned hedges and flower gardens tended by his guests as they might in their own homes. Yes, with the bugs removed and comfortable furniture installed, it could be a great place. Something that could bear his name.
That was nearly two years ago, before he had spent a small fortune on a list of repairs required by the building department and another to meet the nursing home occupancy. But they had been done and ‘Daisyland’ was open. Now he had new worries. It was losing money, big time. It was well below the projected business plan his consultants had provided. They had cut prices, reduced staff, but were still were running about half capacity. Moreover, Emily was threatening divorce. Their personal wealth was disappearing quickly and he was spending too much time with those old people.
He had begun working at the front desk, a cost saving measure, when Mrs. Heathcote-Wortley appeared. She was a distinctive thing, wrapped in an indignant air and a worn mink coat. She was topped off by some bird of prey arranged into a hat. She arrived lightly, clutching a twine strung cardboard box and perhaps, a grandson, who was dragging two vintage pieces of luggage. Their worn sides and faded stickers, likely still elegant in a bright brass rack at the Ritz, struck a melancholy note on the discount carpet. Following a stiff, but sincere hug and a dabbing of tears, the child returned to the car. It sat with door still ajar as eyes peered from its interior.
He had no information save a note from the night clerk and had barely started filling in the formwork when she said she would prefer to do this later. “Of course,” he said. “And what room might you prefer, we have a selection.”
“It really doesn’t matter as I don’t expect to stay long.”
“Oh. Well, lets try this one. Wonderful sunlight and a great view of the recreation building and the pools. They’ll look a lot better when we remove the cover and bring the lounge furniture from storage.”
She gave it a glance and said, “I’m sure they will.” Good sign, he thought, and continued.
“And here,” pointing to an area of dried weeds, “will be our flower and veggie garden...“
Walking back to the desk, he couldn’t help noticing, ... once shed of fur and feathers, this was an elegant and attractive lady. There was something about her. Heathcote-Wortley was a strange name, the only Wortley he could recall was a prominent madame in a prostitution ring. It had operated for years undetected in the best hotel in town. Sixty-eight according to the form, but she sure didn’t look it.
At first, she stayed in her room and ate meals alone at the table in the corner. He was on the verge of joining her just to cheer her up, but the next time he looked she was with Sunny McCrossin. Sunny was a short, energetic sort who had for years managed sun tan parlors in the area. She had a perfect name for her warm disposition. Then the next day, several businessmen joined them. By the end of the week there wasn’t any room at the table.
The following Monday, Mrs. Heathcote-Wortley told him she had decided to stay on permanently. “I knew that view would get to you,” he said.
“No,” she answered, “I’m staying because you are so cheap, but the view has given me ideas.” George grinned.
When she left, his grin faded. He was down to 28 residents and in near panic. The place was like a black hole, just consuming money. If he closed down what would happen to his people? Sometimes he almost envied them, wished he could forget the responsibilities, after all he just wanted to do good. Poor things, even now they were gathering in whispering groups, going from room to room clutching shaky impressions on folded paper. Something was going on, but they weren’t telling him. Maybe it had to do with Mrs. Heathcote-Wortley. He thought it had started with her, because two weeks after her arrival the whole place had started changing. The sound was turned off on the big screen TV which was not so unusual. The unusual part was how few continued to watch. It was amusing to observe what ever was happening, but he had no time now, he had to think about the big picture.
Over the next few days the whispering groups morphed into a series of long meetings that extended into the wee hours. These were held behind closed doors with all the residents in attendance. The only staffer present was Jeffrey, his part time middle schooler. He was bright enough and George considered asking him what was going on, but he was likely too young to know. Perhaps they were planning a rebellion. After their third meeting that he was extended a written invitation, The ‘Daisies’ cordially invite you to discuss an exciting and mutually profitable business venture... Terrific, just as he had envisioned, a bottom up idea and a cute name.
That evening the room was crowded as Jeffrey pushed the three Daisies, confined to wheelchairs, into position. There was great enthusiasm. The meeting came to order. Mrs. H-W asked Miss
Walking back to the desk, he couldn’t help noticing, ... once shed of fur and feathers, this was an elegant and attractive lady. There was something about her. Heathcote-Wortley was a strange name, the only Wortley he could recall was a prominent madame in a prostitution ring. It had operated for years undetected in the best hotel in town. Sixty-eight according to the form, but she sure didn’t look it.
At first, she stayed in her room and ate meals alone at the table in the corner. He was on the verge of joining her just to cheer her up, but the next time he looked she was with Sunny McCrossin. Sunny was a short, energetic sort who had for years managed sun tan parlors in the area. She had a perfect name for her warm disposition. Then the next day, several businessmen joined them. By the end of the week there wasn’t any room at the table.
The following Monday, Mrs. Heathcote-Wortley told him she had decided to stay on permanently. “I knew that view would get to you,” he said.
“No,” she answered, “I’m staying because you are so cheap, but the view has given me ideas.” George grinned.
When she left, his grin faded. He was down to 28 residents and in near panic. The place was like a black hole, just consuming money. If he closed down what would happen to his people? Sometimes he almost envied them, wished he could forget the responsibilities, after all he just wanted to do good. Poor things, even now they were gathering in whispering groups, going from room to room clutching shaky impressions on folded paper. Something was going on, but they weren’t telling him. Maybe it had to do with Mrs. Heathcote-Wortley. He thought it had started with her, because two weeks after her arrival the whole place had started changing. The sound was turned off on the big screen TV which was not so unusual. The unusual part was how few continued to watch. It was amusing to observe what ever was happening, but he had no time now, he had to think about the big picture.
Over the next few days the whispering groups morphed into a series of long meetings that extended into the wee hours. These were held behind closed doors with all the residents in attendance. The only staffer present was Jeffrey, his part time middle schooler. He was bright enough and George considered asking him what was going on, but he was likely too young to know. Perhaps they were planning a rebellion. After their third meeting that he was extended a written invitation, The ‘Daisies’ cordially invite you to discuss an exciting and mutually profitable business venture... Terrific, just as he had envisioned, a bottom up idea and a cute name.
That evening the room was crowded as Jeffrey pushed the three Daisies, confined to wheelchairs, into position. There was great enthusiasm. The meeting came to order. Mrs. H-W asked Miss
McCrossin, chairwoman of the business committee, to make the presentation. She wasted no
time saying “...with last night’s nearly unanimous vote, the SOCIAL Security Club Ltd is
prepared to negotiate the rental of the recreation building, one of the pools and other facilities
with Daisyland Inc...” She continued, but at a pause, he raised his hand and inquired as to the
business of the SS Club. “We will be in the same business as you, Mr. Daisy,” she smiled.
“Providing for the needs of the elderly, bringing people closer together and earning a bit of
spending money along the way.”
He recalled that one retirement home had gotten in some trouble with monetary prizes for bingo and asked if they were aware there could be legal consequences. “They had consulted counsel,” was the quick retort. Then Mr. Edwards rose with some difficulty and after getting everyone’s full attention and in the most bland of deliveries, simply said, “We were told that if we violated the law we could be confined to an institution.” The room exploded with laughter and he sat with a slight twinkle.
George left the meeting wondering if there would be any interest in the various programs and services they were considering. The lists needed editing and the terminology corrected. A subheading of ‘Invest’ was consistently misspelled with a “c” and he felt senior positions and family relationships might need more explanation. He doubted movies and games would be popular and why stipulate audience sizes such as threesomes and groups? He realized many were in a second childhood, but would they really play with toys? And bingo, it was included, but apparently you gave up items if you lost. Now who would play such a game? Still, they were going to pay for things already in their monthly charge. Maybe he was taking advantage, but he needed the income. He would be at the 10 am negotiating meeting.
****
Three months later, Minnie McComb was beside herself. She had stopped reminding people of her predictions of failure and now complained of the lines of visitors and lack of neighborhood parking. She was upset. How come Daisyland was thriving while the library had cut back hours and she had been released from her job after 15 years. Something was going on there, but she couldn’t see through the thick evergreen hedge. The best hole offered a view of the pool. It seemed quite active with lots of people floating about on strangely lifelike rafts and chasing each other with those long tubes. Well, she would soon have an opportunity to see for herself as that middle schooler had dropped off an invitation to an open house. Seems the SOCIAL Security Club was starting an outreach program. They were looking for the entrepreneurial man or woman needing income, wishing to develop relationships. You could work in your own home. She glanced at the wall mirror. The lady there wasn’t an entrepreneur, but she needed income and relationships? There hadn’t been many of those, still, she was once a looker, everyone said so. Maybe she should loosen the bun a bit. She turned her head slightly
He recalled that one retirement home had gotten in some trouble with monetary prizes for bingo and asked if they were aware there could be legal consequences. “They had consulted counsel,” was the quick retort. Then Mr. Edwards rose with some difficulty and after getting everyone’s full attention and in the most bland of deliveries, simply said, “We were told that if we violated the law we could be confined to an institution.” The room exploded with laughter and he sat with a slight twinkle.
George left the meeting wondering if there would be any interest in the various programs and services they were considering. The lists needed editing and the terminology corrected. A subheading of ‘Invest’ was consistently misspelled with a “c” and he felt senior positions and family relationships might need more explanation. He doubted movies and games would be popular and why stipulate audience sizes such as threesomes and groups? He realized many were in a second childhood, but would they really play with toys? And bingo, it was included, but apparently you gave up items if you lost. Now who would play such a game? Still, they were going to pay for things already in their monthly charge. Maybe he was taking advantage, but he needed the income. He would be at the 10 am negotiating meeting.
****
Three months later, Minnie McComb was beside herself. She had stopped reminding people of her predictions of failure and now complained of the lines of visitors and lack of neighborhood parking. She was upset. How come Daisyland was thriving while the library had cut back hours and she had been released from her job after 15 years. Something was going on there, but she couldn’t see through the thick evergreen hedge. The best hole offered a view of the pool. It seemed quite active with lots of people floating about on strangely lifelike rafts and chasing each other with those long tubes. Well, she would soon have an opportunity to see for herself as that middle schooler had dropped off an invitation to an open house. Seems the SOCIAL Security Club was starting an outreach program. They were looking for the entrepreneurial man or woman needing income, wishing to develop relationships. You could work in your own home. She glanced at the wall mirror. The lady there wasn’t an entrepreneur, but she needed income and relationships? There hadn’t been many of those, still, she was once a looker, everyone said so. Maybe she should loosen the bun a bit. She turned her head slightly
.
****
It was a bright May day with the three blocks between the Sunoco Station and the old town hall
filled with little booths. Between the VFD tent and the VFW, was the Daisyland exhibit. It may
have been the shade or lemonade, but it was definitely the spot for the older crowd. George sat
among the ladies enjoying the festivities. Like others he was sporting a ‘little pin on daisy’, not
the real thing, but bright yellow cut outs made by the ladies. They weren’t giving them away, but
selling them for fifty dollars apiece. There was a sign thanking all for donating, saying it was an
investment in the elderly and suggesting they could be redeemed for twice the fun if you were
over 65 and a club member.
The parade was moving by with the high school band, scantily clad Pompomettes and the Lions Club. But, none got a warmer welcome than the SOCIAL Security Club. It’s tractor drawn float laid out as the rear deck of some cruise liner with railing, flags and banners. There was a central cabin from which older ladies and gentlemen would individually emerge along the sides. Tipping hats, curtsying and bowing their way to the back, they would meet, pose, embrace and often begin to dance before reentering the rear doors together. All this was done in turn of the century costume. Ladies wore large feathered hats, lacy blouses and long pleated skirts, while men had straw hats, vests and spats. Usually man would meet woman, but occasionally through some confusion, members of the same sex would meet and to the delight of the crowd would pose and embrace before entering.
Pulled behind the float was the ‘Pet Therapy’ wagon where a couple of residents sat with dogs and a cat plus a small herd of sheep. He had concerns about the sheep as soon as he saw them delivered and went directly to Mrs H-W. She took him aside to a small room and closed the door. “Now what are your concerns?” she asked.
“Well, I’ve had experience with sheep.” Oh? she said looking at him intently.
“Yes,” he continued, “My grandfather had some and they ate everything, ruined his yard and the shrubbery.”
She smiled and patted his hand, “Don’t worry, George, I’ve already told the ‘Animal Lovers’ they must put up an attractive fence and despite the popularity of their ‘Adopt a Sheep’ program, we will allow no more than four sheep.”
“Just thought I needed to say something. You know I run a tight ship.”
“We know you do, dear, but its your ability to focus on the big picture that we so like about Daisyland.”
He knew she was a good judge of character when he first saw her. And now he had to concede their popularity. He noted the tiny alfalfa bales were broken to sell at 25 cents per handful as children fed the animals. They wore little slip -on signs with cute names such as ‘Lamb Chops’,
The parade was moving by with the high school band, scantily clad Pompomettes and the Lions Club. But, none got a warmer welcome than the SOCIAL Security Club. It’s tractor drawn float laid out as the rear deck of some cruise liner with railing, flags and banners. There was a central cabin from which older ladies and gentlemen would individually emerge along the sides. Tipping hats, curtsying and bowing their way to the back, they would meet, pose, embrace and often begin to dance before reentering the rear doors together. All this was done in turn of the century costume. Ladies wore large feathered hats, lacy blouses and long pleated skirts, while men had straw hats, vests and spats. Usually man would meet woman, but occasionally through some confusion, members of the same sex would meet and to the delight of the crowd would pose and embrace before entering.
Pulled behind the float was the ‘Pet Therapy’ wagon where a couple of residents sat with dogs and a cat plus a small herd of sheep. He had concerns about the sheep as soon as he saw them delivered and went directly to Mrs H-W. She took him aside to a small room and closed the door. “Now what are your concerns?” she asked.
“Well, I’ve had experience with sheep.” Oh? she said looking at him intently.
“Yes,” he continued, “My grandfather had some and they ate everything, ruined his yard and the shrubbery.”
She smiled and patted his hand, “Don’t worry, George, I’ve already told the ‘Animal Lovers’ they must put up an attractive fence and despite the popularity of their ‘Adopt a Sheep’ program, we will allow no more than four sheep.”
“Just thought I needed to say something. You know I run a tight ship.”
“We know you do, dear, but its your ability to focus on the big picture that we so like about Daisyland.”
He knew she was a good judge of character when he first saw her. And now he had to concede their popularity. He noted the tiny alfalfa bales were broken to sell at 25 cents per handful as children fed the animals. They wore little slip -on signs with cute names such as ‘Lamb Chops’,
‘Fun Buns’ and ‘Lambsy Divy’. They had even won a local agriculture award for ‘best kept’
animals.
There were so many changes he couldn’t keep up with them: the new partitions in the recreational building; unusual work out equipment with special electronics; and something called the Toy Store. But he saw a thickening bottom line with Daisyland booked up solid. There was an increasing demand for short term stays. They had always offered some rooms by the night or week for the family, a sort of transition to residents, but now there was a tremendous demand. And so many inquires about an hourly rate. It took almost an hour to fill in the forms and he kept explaining the insurance companies wouldn’t cover the therapy without a full name. Some people couldn’t accept getting old, he thought. A couple were confined to wheel chairs and he asked how they liked their classes. “We are just observers,” they said, “a sort of cheering section.” It was reassuring to see how older people supported each other.
He had gone to see Mrs. H-W about the forms though and she quickly said they would just rent several rooms long term. Apparently they used a short form. She also said they would pay the increased laundry service. He hadn’t noticed that, but upon examination, it was considerable.
He was so impressed with the marketing aspect of it all. There were ads in the local paper and little daisies pierced by arrows decorated the telephone poles. They pointed directions to Daisyland. It seemed to bring the community together. They had apparently tapped into some latent interest in tans, massages and games. The bag packers at the local grocery were friends of Jeffrey’s and great promoters of Daisyland. They spent a lot of time talking to the seniors as they cashed social security checks and honored food stamps. Another kid at the drug store advised them on purchases and knew what would be covered by their insurance. George could see the generational divide shrinking before his very eyes. It was a good feeling and he was part of it.
Small community groups met regularly at Daisyland. He had never realized there were so many animal lovers and groups like the ‘Chain Gang’ and the ‘Submissives’. Singing groups, he guessed, although he thought there names a bit dated, like some 70’s quartets out of Detroit.
Yes, things were looking up at Daisyland, in fact, it was flourishing. The silent TV had no picture and the living space was more like a reception area. Mrs H-W had become a frequent speaker at the local Chamber of Commerce and, with Miss McC, spent hours answering inquiries from other elderly groups. Jeffrey had acquired a chauffeurs uniform and had hired another kid to help. They were constantly picking up and delivering guests. They had painted the van like some candy cane and stuck these magnetic yellow flowers all over it, even had an air horn.
Folks began calling them the ‘Facilitators”.
New small groups with strange names were springing up daily. The SS Club was worrying about taxes and increasing the profit margin, but they had taken his advice. They started a new club with ‘Invest’ spelled correctly, though they still carried the old listing. The outreach program was the fastest growing segment of the business and now headed by that neighbor he could never
There were so many changes he couldn’t keep up with them: the new partitions in the recreational building; unusual work out equipment with special electronics; and something called the Toy Store. But he saw a thickening bottom line with Daisyland booked up solid. There was an increasing demand for short term stays. They had always offered some rooms by the night or week for the family, a sort of transition to residents, but now there was a tremendous demand. And so many inquires about an hourly rate. It took almost an hour to fill in the forms and he kept explaining the insurance companies wouldn’t cover the therapy without a full name. Some people couldn’t accept getting old, he thought. A couple were confined to wheel chairs and he asked how they liked their classes. “We are just observers,” they said, “a sort of cheering section.” It was reassuring to see how older people supported each other.
He had gone to see Mrs. H-W about the forms though and she quickly said they would just rent several rooms long term. Apparently they used a short form. She also said they would pay the increased laundry service. He hadn’t noticed that, but upon examination, it was considerable.
He was so impressed with the marketing aspect of it all. There were ads in the local paper and little daisies pierced by arrows decorated the telephone poles. They pointed directions to Daisyland. It seemed to bring the community together. They had apparently tapped into some latent interest in tans, massages and games. The bag packers at the local grocery were friends of Jeffrey’s and great promoters of Daisyland. They spent a lot of time talking to the seniors as they cashed social security checks and honored food stamps. Another kid at the drug store advised them on purchases and knew what would be covered by their insurance. George could see the generational divide shrinking before his very eyes. It was a good feeling and he was part of it.
Small community groups met regularly at Daisyland. He had never realized there were so many animal lovers and groups like the ‘Chain Gang’ and the ‘Submissives’. Singing groups, he guessed, although he thought there names a bit dated, like some 70’s quartets out of Detroit.
Yes, things were looking up at Daisyland, in fact, it was flourishing. The silent TV had no picture and the living space was more like a reception area. Mrs H-W had become a frequent speaker at the local Chamber of Commerce and, with Miss McC, spent hours answering inquiries from other elderly groups. Jeffrey had acquired a chauffeurs uniform and had hired another kid to help. They were constantly picking up and delivering guests. They had painted the van like some candy cane and stuck these magnetic yellow flowers all over it, even had an air horn.
Folks began calling them the ‘Facilitators”.
New small groups with strange names were springing up daily. The SS Club was worrying about taxes and increasing the profit margin, but they had taken his advice. They started a new club with ‘Invest’ spelled correctly, though they still carried the old listing. The outreach program was the fastest growing segment of the business and now headed by that neighbor he could never
remember. She claimed they went to school together. Mrs. H-C had even setup a 529 plan for
her grandson.
****
George and Emily were enjoying breakfast on the veranda, reading the Sunday paper and checking out real estate opportunities from North Carolina. They were planning to retire there near the kids. Things were good between them now with the financial strain of Daisyland removed. The Daisyland Residents Group had offered to buy him out and they were going to accept. From time to time each would point out some interesting article and Emily asked if he had seen where the state legislature was on the verge of legalizing small amounts of marijuana? “I’ve heard talk,” he chuckled, “maybe we should just stay here.”
But he was ready to move on. He’d made a success of Daisyland, even when everyone had predicted failure. Sometimes even he wasn’t sure how he’d done it. Luck, he guessed, and hard work. He had always considered himself a hard worker. Of course, the ‘Daisies’ deserved some credit. He heard the Garden Club was planning an enormous greenhouse. He thought they should wait as the new Home Depot already had a big plant section, but they were projecting big profits. Those Daisies were pushers...
****
George and Emily were enjoying breakfast on the veranda, reading the Sunday paper and checking out real estate opportunities from North Carolina. They were planning to retire there near the kids. Things were good between them now with the financial strain of Daisyland removed. The Daisyland Residents Group had offered to buy him out and they were going to accept. From time to time each would point out some interesting article and Emily asked if he had seen where the state legislature was on the verge of legalizing small amounts of marijuana? “I’ve heard talk,” he chuckled, “maybe we should just stay here.”
But he was ready to move on. He’d made a success of Daisyland, even when everyone had predicted failure. Sometimes even he wasn’t sure how he’d done it. Luck, he guessed, and hard work. He had always considered himself a hard worker. Of course, the ‘Daisies’ deserved some credit. He heard the Garden Club was planning an enormous greenhouse. He thought they should wait as the new Home Depot already had a big plant section, but they were projecting big profits. Those Daisies were pushers...
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