Stories from Metamucil Manor
By Jimmy Cochran
** Any similarities to persons and communities within the City of McDonough are simply random and not necessarily true and written purely for enjoyment. **
I am fortunate to live in a senior adult community that I fondly call Metamucil Manor. Their mission statement is “we may act a little strange, but at least we’re regular.” The community is very active within their community and in the City at large and are known for their parties, parades, and partaking.
So, I got home from work yesterday and the Metamucil Manor Clubhouse was surrounded by the city’s finest police and I saw a whole gaggle of our dear ladies in the parking lot ... walking a straight line with breathalyzers in their mouths, singing “God Bless America.”
Thursday is the Canasta Club meeting in the clubhouse and the social chairman, Madge, thought it would be a nice seasonal thing to bring apple cider for refreshments. Upon finding out that she had used her apples making cobblers for the Metamucil Manor benevolence meal for Horace and Buna Mae upon the passing of their parakeet, Madge headed to Publix. Being that the poor dear is in her 90’s and (more than) a teench blind and unaware of the “ways of the world,” she thought that Hard Cider was just a name brand and bought a boat load.
After heating in the percolator for a couple hours, the heady aroma had already filled the clubhouse, and by the time the cul-de-sac party girls, the Misses Eunice and Clarice, had drank most of the pot and Madge made another pot, the weekly canasta club became more of a strip canasta with selfies being taken by Miss Myrtle Joyce and her polaroid camera. The party spread out into the parking lot and the police were notified of (yet) another Metamucil Manor “incident.”
The last I saw, the cul-de-sac party girls, the Misses Eunice and Clarice, were being escorted home by the police, unfortunately, Miss Eunice was sitting on top of the cruiser waving at the neighbors and screeching “Canasta!” and “Meld this!” with her sippy cup of cider held on high.
Since Metamucil Manor is a senior adult community, and senior adults tend to attract things like glaucoma and other various disorders related to aging ... the cannabis oil is flowing like Ensure through the Manor. Not just in drops or tablets, but used instead of vanilla in their pound cakes, a couple drops in their warm milk at night, a few drops in the scotch and bourbons, and on and on. Needless to say, Metamucil Manor has taken on a whole new youthful atmosphere.
Just yesterday when I went to check the mail, in broad daylight, I saw the spinster sisters and twins, Misses Myrtice and Atrice Higginblatt, wearing prom dresses and swinging their flip phones on a selfie-stick screeching, “We are drones! We are drones!” One of the cul-de-sac party girls, Miss Clarice, has been seen anointing the ill with her vial of cannabis oil ... instead of the church-sanctioned anointing oil (like frankincense or spikenard). No one has seen the other cul-de-sac party girl in days ... other than a pair of green glitter tights hanging from the upstairs window.
So, that’s it from Metamucil Manor for today. We may be a little strange, but at least we’re regular.
Jimmy Cochran is a resident of McDonough, a musician, a minister and the author of Being God’s and Staying God’s, both available at Amazon.com. Being God’s is also available at Moye’s Pharmacy in McDonough.