For some reason I had packed another instrument that day, a rhythm instrument called a limberjack. I wondered how this fit with protocol and hesitated a moment. A limberjack in a Hospice setting?
Oh, well, I thought, and slid the little hand-carved wooden man and his thin paddleboard out of my satchel.
I sat down on the edge of the square wood coffee table, situated the paddle board under my thigh, and began tapping my fingers on the board. I held the limberjack over the board with a long dowel rod fastened to his back so his feet barely touched. His arms and legs, loose and hinged, began to fly around, his feet began to click away in a steady rhythm.
I added my voice. Jim Jim along, Jim along Josie, Jim Jim along Jim along Joe. I kept my eyes on Bob. This was for him.
A memoir by Robin Russell Gaiser
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Award Finalist in the "Health: Alternative Medicine" category of the 2017 Best Book Awards