After 40 years as a computer programmer and game developer—and the passing of his wife of 47 years—Rick has retired and is now living in Ye Olde Folks Home, where he still tinkers with tech and likes to write these amusing and/or thoughtful tales about his storied life.

An Embarrassing Moment
In Memoriam: Betty Edwards-Vessel
A Little Knowledge is a Dangerous Thing
Who Would Jesus Stab?
The Eggshell Incident
First Chapel Service at Ye Olde Folks Home
A Yearly Ritual at Menards
“Mr. Loftus, the Town Hero”
The FCAL Project
Pepe Le Pew Finds New Lodgings
In Memoriam: Dale Lear
Bingo Bedlam at Ye Olde Folks Home
There’s a Shortage of Perfect Movies…
One Day at the DMV
A Visitor from Microsoft
“He Who Should Not Be Named”
Downton… Abbey?
This Home is a Liver-Free Zone
My 9/11 Rememberances
My Yearly Pumpkin Spice Rant
Done In By Baker’s Square
My Eulogy for Alice
“Dear Rikki…”
A Clean, Well-lighted Place for Books
Memories of my First Computer
A Little Excitement at the Staff Meeting
The Tale of Mrs. Butler
Sun, Sand, and a Margarita
“Thou Shalt Not Steal”
Troubleshooting at Ye Olde Folks Home
Stories of my Mother
I’ve Heard Angels Sing
Elevator Mishap at the Eye Clinic
One Day at Fair, Isaac
Saturday Morning Cartoons
A Sprig of Parsley
Fun With Recruitment Ads
Leave Her to Heaven
Bring me Dave Bringle!
Beware! The Oldsters Are Coming!
Life Among the Progressives
A Family Ritual While Watching Masterpiece
The Unforgettable General Oppy
“Don’t Even THINK About Parking Here”
A Dubious Plan Gone Awry
The Singing Christmas Tree!
One Day in the Hospital Lab
The Legend of the Broken Timer
Nelson’s Fruit Stand
This One Time in Glee Club…
Star Trek References for the Win
Family Psalm, Stuck in Lodi
Vacation in Branson
Clyde and Ruth Revisited
COVID Policies During my Wife’s Fatal Illness
I Guess I’m the Shadow IT Department Now
The Tale of Clyde and Ruth
My Garden of Gethsemane Story
We Might Get a Virus!

Done In By Baker’s Square

Yet another adventure here in Ye Olde Folks Home.

I met the head nurse in the hall and mentioned in passing that I was working on a song list for a mini-concert I wanted to put on for the residents in the near future.

She favored me with a sunny smile. “Oh, you should do that! Soon! Come down to the lobby and sing! It would lift all our spirits!”

Well, I had often wondered what would happen if I showed up in the lobby to sing even just one song. How would that be received?

And now, emboldened by her words, I decided to find out!

Guitar in hand, I timidly entered the lobby, went into the adjoining party room where there were tables on which to put my song notes, and strummed a few chords to start out.

At that moment two women came in, to find out what I was up to, I thought, but I was wrong. They went to the signup table for the weekly outings, which was a trip to a local restaurant at that point.




Obviously the two women had neglected to put in their hearing aids that morning, but no worries—they could yell at each other at the top of their lungs.

I strummed more lightly, trying not to interfere with their listening comprehension as they shouted over me.



By this point I switched to light finger picking, barely audible.


It wasn’t their fault. They did nothing wrong. But I was defeated. I unslung the guitar and quietly retreated back to my apartment.

Perhaps another time.

Since then I have had numerous occasions to sing to the residents here, but that was my first attempt.