Bea McCarthy  early 90's - A very elderly woman living alone in a small Florida house which she calls her "Cracker Box." She does not have any tremor but, at her age, she musters an enormous effort of concentration in attempting to hear and understand others. Her faculties are intact but fading - it is mainly her will which keeps her going.  Eccentric and often suspicious, she is desperate to maintain her independence. (Caucasian)

Amy Washington 44 - Home health aid.  A woman who has to put in a lot of time taking care of old people to make ends meet.   Despite the fact that Bea McCarthy is not an easy person to get along with, Amy genuinely cares for her and feels a need to protect her. (Black)

Pauline Lawson 68 - Daughter of Bea McCarthy.  In good health but weary of spending an enormous amount of time and effort taking care of her mother - a mother who does not always appreciate what is done for her. (Caucasian)

Robert Lawson 76 - Also in excellent health for his age. As the man who married her only child, Robert is unfairly and irrationally resented by Bea McCarthy.  The more he tries to fix up the Cracker Box, the more he is accused of trying to "take over."  He presses his wife to place her mother in a home. (Caucasian)

Policeman 30's - He responds to a call to check on Bea when she doesn't reset her lifeline box.  Polite, patient and very familiar with Tennessee Ernie Ford. (Black)

Vero Beach, Florida. Mid-December.  A living room and a kitchen and a glimpse into the interior of a car port; all part of Beatrice McCarthy's small Florida ranch-style house that she calls her "Cracker Box."

The living room and kitchen are cluttered with a lifetime accumulation of bric-a-brac and knickknacks.  In the living room, connected to the phone is a "lifeline" box, which can send a signal directly to a local hospital in case of emergency.  On top of the television set is a light bulb connected to the phone which blinks on and off when the phone rings.

In the car port is a rusted and faded Rambler with flat tires which her late husband drove, and a collection of his tools.  In the center of these tools, hanging above a wheelbarrow, is an old-fashioned metal rake, its curved metal tines glittering with reflected light.

4:30 a.m. From the light of a table lamp, as well as from Christmas tree lights, we can see AMY WASHINGTON, fully dressed, sleeping on the couch. A magazine she was reading has fallen to the floor beside her shoes.

BEA McCARTHY, in nightgown and slippers and employing a cane, walks slowly from her bedroom into the living room. Her steps are small and uncertain, a kind of hesitant shuffle.

She stares at AMY then lets her cane fall to the floor. AMY stirs slightly but remains asleep. BEA holds onto the back of a chair and, very slowly, with difficulty, reaches down and retrieves the cane. She then walks toward the couch. She holds the cane up as high as she can and lets it fall to the floor. AMY is abruptly wakened.

Bea McCarthy! What are you doing awake?

What are you doing asleep? Are you paid to stay here at night to sleep?

Bea Bea, you are a hard woman. You know I'll be here all day today.

Well, I thought you slept in the afternoon before you came over.

I tried. My husband had other ideas.

You know I just dozed off for a few minutes. I got to work daytime, too. You think I can live on what the Council-on-Aging pays me to take care of folks like you?

Nurses do all right.

Well, maybe they do, but I'm just a plain old home health aid, and I don't do all right.

(SHE puts her arm around BEA's shoulder and starts to turn her toward the bedroom)

Now you get back to bed and go to sleep and I promise to stay awake.

I can't sleep. I need some tea.

Now, Bea...Oh, all right. One quick cup of tea and then bed.

Four-thirty in the morning!

Hello...Hello!

Pauline, did you call me?

Bea, what on earth are you doin'?

I thought I heard the phone.

I'm sorry, Mrs. Lawson, Bea and I are having tea and she must have thought she heard the phone ring...Well, she couldn't sleep...Yes, ma'am, I will. And I really am sorry about this.

Now you've gone and done it. Waking up your daughter and her husband at four-thirty in the morning!

I thought the phone rang.

You know your daughter is nearing seventy and her husband is older than that. They aren't spring chickens anymore themselves. You best remember they be needing their rest too.

I must be losing my brains.

And you have a doctor's appointment at ten this morning!

This morning?

Yes, this morning. And I'm taking you because your daughter is taking her husband to his doctor. Remember?

High blood pressure?

That's right. High blood pressure. Which you probably gave him.

You ought to be ashamed of yourself the way you treat that man. He fixed your roof, he painted the awning, he rakes and mows your lawn, he-

He steals my silverware.

Bea McCarthy, he does not steal your silverware!

Then who does?

Nobody does, that's who.

Maybe I should change my will.

Maybe you shouldn't be worrying so much about your will. A person would think you're a millionaire the way you go on about your will.

Where's my rake?

In the garage. Where it always is.

Somebody hung it on a nail. I can't reach it.

Bea Bea, do you ever listen to what a person tells you? You are not to touch that rake! Mr. Lawson hung it out of your reach because that's exactly what your daughter asked him to do.

Australian pine needles are all over the lawn.

I don't care if they get piled six feet high out there. You leave them pine needles alone. You been in the hospital twice from bruises from fallin'. From rakin'!

And I came out twice!

You came out twice because you hit the grass when you fell. But that's not grass out there by the sidewalk and any fool can see that's where you were rakin'.

I rake where they fall.

The doctor says if you ever fall and hit that cement, your hip bones and shoulder bones and all your other bones are gonna snap like twigs.

Then I'll have to rake them up too.

You might think it's funny now but as the good Lord is my witness if you fall again and break somethin' you won't be living in your own house anymore. You'll be lying in a bed in a nursing home.

I'll be lying in my grave.

Why you want to be rakin' up them needles all the time, anyhow? Your son-in-law will do that for you.

He wants to take over.

Bea, that is absolute nonsense and you know it. The more that poor man does for you the more you accuse him of stealing or trying to take over. He don't want your house. He got plenty of space in his own house. From now on, you let him rake up, you hear? I swear, sometimes I'm not sure if you want to live or not.

I want to live every bit as much as you do. But not like some prisoner sitting on a couch waiting for the end to come. They're my pine needles and my pine cones on my land and I'm the one who should be raking them up. I know I'm an old biddy but if I can't do that much...

then that means God called me and I didn't hear him.

Everybody hears when God calls. Don't be worryin' about that.

Here. Turn up the volume and see which one of us he's calling now.

I swear, I never saw a person could laugh and cry and be happy and sad in the same ten seconds the way you can.

Such is life in the fast lane, my dear. I've got to fight every day. It's a daily battle. Paul was a fighter too. Whenever I complained he would always say, "Fight on, Brave Heart."

I'm sure your husband was a fine man.

But the cancer got him in the end. The poor man was in such pain at the end. I doubt if he would want to return. He died...so many years ago...How did I get to be such an old biddy?

Are my brothers still alive?

Now, Bea, you know they're not.

And my sister, Gertie?

She's gone too, Bea. You know that.

Am I the last of the Yerrings?

Yes, Bea. You are the last.

Now, don't cry, Bea. Just count your blessings. Think how lucky you are to have a daughter like you got. If you didn't have her to do all your paperwork for you and take care of paying your bills-

I pay my own bills!

I know that. I'm talking about the paperwork she does for you. Taking care of sending out checks and filling out forms. Every time you lose your balance and sit down on that lawn out there and go off to the hospital she has to fill out all kinds of Medicare forms and Blue Cross forms and doctors' forms and-

But I pay!

I know you do. I know that. Now, let's get you back to bed. Ten o'clock is gonna come awful early.

I always pay my own bills. My sister Gertie and my brothers, all the Yerrings were known for that. And Paul and I never let anyone pay for us. Not when we lived in Connecticut and not here in this cracker box.

I know that, Bea. I know that.

I don't owe money to anyone. I've got money set aside for my funeral and for my coffin. And the headstone was paid for long ago.

All right. Now let's get you to bed.

I don't owe money to any person alive. I wasn't raised like that. I always had a good name.

I know that, Bea.

As the scene inside BEA McCARTHY's Cracker Box dims to black, lighting reveals a separate bedroom scene. (The suggestion of a bed and night table should be adequate.) BEA's daughter (PAULINE LAWSON) and son-in-law (ROBERT LAWSON) are awake. PAULINE is lying in bed under the sheets and her husband is sitting in his boxer underwear on the edge of the bed smoking a cigarette.

PAULINE has whitish yellow hair and a surprisingly smooth and unwrinkled face for her age. Although it is thinning, ROBERT has most of his hair and its pure whiteness contrasts sharply with his deep Florida suntan. Both of these people are active, alert and in good health. Both appear younger than their ages. ROBERT is staring sullenly at the bedside clock which reads 4:45. PAULINE speaks while shading her eyes from the light.

Come on, Bob, try to sleep.

I can't sleep. Would I be sitting here like a fool at quarter to five in the morning if I could sleep? I can't. Your mother saw to that.

It's not her fault.

Then whose fault is it? The telephone company's? Alexander Graham Bell's?

She can't help it if she thought she heard the phone. She gets confused. She's ninety-six, remember? And if she thought she heard it she naturally would have thought we might have called her. This isn't the first time.

Exactly. And it won't be the last time. And each time you'll give her the benefit of the doubt that it was an accident.

You're saying she woke us on purpose?

I'm saying she woke me up on purpose.

I told you, she gets confused.

And if she's that confused, as I've told you for six years, she belongs in a nursing home.

Oh, don't start, all right? My mother likes to be independent and she is going to stay in her own home as long as she is able.

That's just it! She isn't able. She can stay there alone only because we spend half of our lives taking care of her. What is this daily sacrifice for a 96-year-old woman doing to our lives?

How much longer do you think she's got, for God's sake?

You've been saying that since we moved to Florida; for six years. I thought we came down to enjoy the rest of our lives, not to wait hand and foot on a woman too stubborn to admit that she can't live alone anymore...It wouldn't surprise me if she outlasts both of us.

Don't be so selfish.

Selfish! That isn't true and you know it. I've done a lot of things for that woman. And in return she makes it clear she can't stand the sight of me. Besides, she can't be trusted on her own, anymore, and you know it. She left the stove on last month and almost burned the house down. If we hadn't stopped in when we did she probably would have. She keeps hiding bank box keys, bills, money - even from you, her own daughter. And she keeps falling from doing things she's not supposed to do. And if she falls again, it's most likely over.

That should please you...Look, I'm sorry. O.K. I'll mention the nursing home to her again before we leave for Miami.

Mentioning it won't do any good and you know it...Indian River Estates is a beautiful place; she'd have people to take care of her around the clock, people her own age to talk to, and it's only a ten-minute drive from here; we could visit her every day. Then you and I could have a little time to enjoy the rest of our lives.

I said I'll talk to her.

...Maybe you should ask Amy to talk to her. Bea might listen to her.

All right. Now, we've got a busy day tomorrow: the doctor's, the travel agent, the bank and the meeting at the clubhouse. Let's get some sleep, O.K.?

I put Zip Guard on her wall panels to keep the dampness from warping them, I painted her awnings and car port, I cleared the bushes so she could see the road, I moved the mailbox closer so she wouldn't have to walk so far, I put hurricane awnings over her picture windows-

Robert, for God's sake, go to sleep.

I even helped Paul put up a new fence on the Old Mother Bailey House when she lived in Connecticut. So tell me, what did I do to that woman that causes her to hate my guts? Explain that to me if you can. Help me to understand what my crime was. Then I can sleep.

You know the answer. We've been through it all before.

Right. I do know.

I married her only daughter.

............................................................................................

Later, the same day. The living room of the Cracker Box. The picture window curtains are parted, again revealing the back yard of the house. Pine needles and pine cones are scattered about on the lawn and on the concrete walkway. BEA is lying on the couch while AMY is placing drops in her ear.

Hold still, Bea Bea. We don't have enough of these drops left to waste any.

My dear, you are talking to my bad ear again, so whatever it is you're saying, you'd better wait and say it to my good ear.

Do you know what your daughter is gonna do to me when she finds out you didn't have your check up? And when she sees we're almost out of these ear drops? Do you?

That doctor is a palooka, anyway.

Maybe so, but what am I supposed to tell her?

Tell her we got caught in a snowstorm. Anyway, she knows I'm not a morning person.

It's all right for you to make fun; I'm the one that'll be catching the blame.

Just tell her the truth. His nurse had me sit without any clothes on for 20 minutes in a tiny room colder than Connecticut ever was in the winter. Waiting for the doctor to come in - and he didn't come in. So I got dressed and left.

Well, he must have been with other patients. You've got to-

And 20 minutes is long enough for a 96-year-old woman to sit with no clothes on. What is he running? A nudist colony?

Maybe the nurse didn't tell him you were in there.

Why wouldn't she? That's her job!

Because in the waiting room when she was talking to the receptionist a 96-year-old woman I know said something about her, remember?

I only said I knew something about her.

You practically shouted it: "I know something about that nurse!" All the patients looked at us.

Was I talking loud?

They probably heard you in Miami.

Well, I guess people who don't hear well always think nobody else can hear well either...(louder) The Golden Years! Hah!

I'm going to have to ask the doctor if he can reschedule his appointments.

Ask the doctor to reschedule his brains.

That's just what your daughter will tell me to do.

She's going on a cruise, anyway. Going to Bermuda, I think. Everybody in my family is cruise-crazy. Except me. Who wants to spend two or three days on a boat to reach some tiny speck of land in the ocean where everybody charges the sky for anything you want to buy? And then they got to come all the way back.

They're not going to Bermuda this time. They're going to Barbados. I told you that.

Same thing.

Well, they must like it.

Sure they like it. They get away from me.

Bea McCarthy, you know that isn't why they go.

Well, you tell me what's so blame good about the Bahamas?

Barbados!

Same thing.

And before I forget, you stop taking that garbage bag out when I'm not here. I don't know how you do it but don't do it again.

Someday, before I'm gone, I'll tell you my secret.

Well, your son-in-law says you must be the reincarnation of an ancient Egyptian.

Egyptian?! What's he mean by that?

Oh, you know. Nobody ever figured out how they could raise up them huge stones to build the pyramids. And nobody here can figure out how you manage to carry a garbage bag all the way out to the back dumpster when it's pretty clear you can't even lift it.

Well, my son-in-law is correct for once. That's what I am: an ancient Egyptian. Very ancient.

I'm thinking you got a boyfriend comes round here when I'm gone and does chores for you. Maybe the postman?

He's after me but he won't get me.

Bea, the postman is not after you.

Then why did he leave the flowers?

Because the last time you fell and went to the hospital he heard about it. He didn't know a tough old bird like you would be right out again. He's just a very nice man.

Says you.

Bea Bea, you are the first 96-year-old woman I ever met who thinks every man is after her.

Seventy-four degrees. Not bad for December. In Connecticut, they're shoveling snow now. Six inches. I saw it on the weather channel...The Old Mother Bailey House must be covered in white. Poor Paul used to spend hours shoveling the driveway and walks and front steps...I wonder who's doing it now.

Look! They're drunk again!

Bea, what in God's name are you doin'?

They're drunk again! And Pauline doesn't believe me!

I think you're drunk! There's nobody out there!

The robins! There! Over there!

Oh, birds. I thought you...Hey, those birds are acting awful funny. Like...

They're drunk! They come in the winter to eat the berries off my Brazilian pepper trees. You see the red berries all over?

You mean the Florida hollys?

That's what they call them down here. But they're like alcohol to these birds. It happens every winter.

You ain't lyin! Look at them! They're staggering! Like they just finished off a pint of old style sour mash! And look at that one! He's rolling all around the lawn! If I didn't see it with my own eyes I never would of believed it. So that's why you wouldn't let Mr. Lawson pull out all them hollys.

Up north, robins fly in pairs. Down here, they flock together. Same as people.

Not you! You are a lone owl. Wide-awake and ornery!

You want me to peel you an orange? We got Honeybell Tangelos.

In December? Honeybells come in January.

Well, here they are two weeks early. Somebody couldn't wait to January.

Maybe somebody knew I might not be here in January.

Somebody knew these are more delicate than navals and easier to peel; and there would be folks waitin' for them. I doubt you bein' here or not bein' here has anything to do with them coming out early. So, you having one or not?

No, Honeybell. But peel me a tangelo if you like.

Now, quit your foolin'. You know you always get an orange about this time of day. And you better have it while you can. If Old Man Winter comes like he did last year and kills them off, you won't have any as good as this.

Mm-mm! That sure is juicy! You know it's a cross between a grapefruit and a tangerine. Nothing quite like it!

Hey! You can say that on that television set and get paid for it.

I'm not lyin', am I?

Aren't I a cross between a German father and an Irish husband? So why didn't I grow more juicy...instead of just...wrinkled...When are we going to the cemetery?

Give me a chance to rinse these dishes; if you don't mind waiting.

Paul is waiting; not me. (more to herself) Paul was always waiting. He said I'd be late to my own funeral. Something about that man always in a hurry. He hated traffic lights; especially along this street. Always started cussing if they weren't green for him. I don't know where he thought he had to go. Or who he thought was waiting...Then when he died and we followed behind the hearse to the cemetery we had a police car in front leading us and it led us right through all the lights - red or green. Paul would have loved it...They never would have done that up in Groton. But, here, in Vero, they even had policemen posted at two of the intersections. Somebody down here still thinks dyin' is something special. Maybe that's why old biddies like me come to Florida to die. Maybe...

Trick or treat!

Bea Bea, Halloween is over. I told you that. You're getting confused again. Anyway, you know you can't dress up and go out trick or treatin' on Halloween. Not anymore.

I was trick or treating before you were born.

That is it exactly. Can you imagine what your daughter would say to me if I let you out to trick or treat and you fell and hurt yourself? How long you think I'd be employed with the Council-on-Aging if I let that happen?

I want to dress up as a ghost; I'm going to be one soon, anyway.

Now, Bea McCarthy, you hush talkin' like that. It gives me the creeps.

I made this at the Care Center.

I know you did.

They said it was the best mask. I know it was a lot better than Helen's. She tried to make a witch mask.

And did she?

She did; it looked just like her.

Now, you shouldn't be talking about Helen like that. She's your friend. Besides, she's only 84; she doesn't have your experience in makin' masks.

Eight-two! She likes to say she's older than she is. I think she's a little out of it.

Well, she probably has her good days and her bad days, just like somebody else I could name. Anyway, your mask is very nice.

Do you really like it?

I said I did.

Then you take it.

Oh. Well, Bea, you already gave me the wall hanging you made at the Center last month. The one with the sea horses and the dried flowers.

You don't want it?

Well, sure, if you're sure you don't.

I miss my little dog so much. When you're old, your dog is your only friend.

I know you do, Bea, but now we've got to get going. Have you got the flowers?

Where are they?

Right there on the table by the couch.

(BEA moves to the table, picks up the flowers, and notices the drawing of "The Sea" on the wall. SHE adjusts her glasses and squints to look at it)

I made this there, too. All I did was fill in the outlines. And the Care Center called it "Original oil by Beatrice McCarthy."

What am I? A child again? At 96? The Golden Years!

Hah!!

Stop complaining long enough to take your medicine.

What is it?

Now, you know full well what it is. It's your Lenoxin that you take three times a day to keep your heartbeat steady. Why do you always want to be difficult?

Do you think I'd still be here if I weren't?

............................................................................................

A short while later. The cemetery. BEA, holding flowers, and AMY are standing before a grey granite double headstone. The left side of the stone reads:

The right side of the stone reads:

An inscription above the names reads:

BEA hands the flowers to AMY who places them on the grave. BEA leans on her cane.

Paul loved Florida. He loved Vero. Always playing shuffleboard in the park. Even had his own stick that he brought to the shuffleboard courts every day. I finally gave up watching them play. I had to. They used to take those games so damn serious. They'd swear. God almighty how those men would swear...They're all gone now...So what's the score?

Your husband probably thought playing shuffleboard in the Florida sun was a lot better than shoveling snow in Connecticut.

Well, Connecticut wasn't all bad...When we lived in Groton at the Old Mother Bailey House we had 12 rooms, a cellar and an attic. That was a house. Now, I'm just a poor old lady reduced to living in a cracker box...People living there hid Revolutionary War soldiers escaping from Fort Griswold in a secret room. In the cellar. Hid them from the British. My high school, Colonel Ledyard High, was named after the American commander. Colonel Ledyard had fought like the dickens, but, finally, it was useless to go on: he had to surrender the fort. And the British commander came up to him and said, "Who commands this fort?" And Colonel Ledyard held out his sword; (BEA gestures with her cane) the...the hilt first, and said, "I did, sir, but you do now." And the Britisher ran him through with his own sword...

I never did trust the British much since then.

Well, that was a long time ago, Bea Bea.

Everything was a long time ago. I still don't like it any better.

An awful lot of folks reserved their plots well ahead of time. They all got a date of birth and that's all. They're still among the living.

Why should they wait for prices to go up?

You've got a point there, Bea Bea. But it looks like you're the only one who didn't put any birth date on your headstone. Everybody else has got one.

That's right. No birth date and no death date. Not 'til I'm gone.

Bea, you are one contrary woman.

If you put your birthdate down, then there's always somebody waiting to fill in the year after the dash. Same on file cards with authors' names in the Vero Beach library; any library. On headstones, same thing. Somebody somewhere is anxious to fill in the year of somebody else's death. The world is full of people waiting for you to drop...Besides, other people coming to the cemetery to put flowers on graves might notice my birthdate.

Well, what does that matter?

Not anybody's business how old I am; except me and my Maker.

Whatever you say, Bea Bea...Seems to me there were some flowers growing near here. I remember white blossoms - like little trumpets.

Over there. They were called Angel's Trumpet. I think the angels got tired of blowing their trumpets - they must have said, "Why the dickens should we keep blowing our trumpets when old lady McCarthy never comes?!

Paul used to talk a lot about being cremated. I'd have gone along with it if that's what he wanted. Then he heard that the bones don't burn. They mix them up and crush them in some kind of machine that resembles a giant coffee grinder.

Would you like to be alone with your husband for awhile?

I'll be alone with my husband soon enough. I'm not missing Desperate Housewives.  That blonde is one scheming vixen.

AMY

I'll bet dollars to donuts you are the oldest person watching that show, Bea Bea.  Most people your age would be reading the Bible.

BEA

I have read my Bible.  More sex and violence going on in that book than anything on TV.  Why do you think it's a bestseller?.

............................................................................................

Evening of the same day. Living room of the Cracker Box. BEA is on the couch watching TV when the phone rings. The light on top of the television set begins blinking. SHE searches for the remote but can't find it. SHE then struggles up and with cane in hand turns down the TV and walks to the phone. SHE picks it up.

Hello?

Hello? Oh, Helen. How are you, dear..? No, dear, I won't be at the Care Center for a while; I'm not feeling all that well. I think I'll just stay in my Cracker Box...I know I should get out, Helen, but I don't want to play bingo at the Center, anymore. It's hard to hear the numbers there. The sound is better at the church. I'll wait for the next church bingo...No more? Why..? Overeaters Anonymous? Well, why can't they hold their meetings someplace else..? I don't care if they do pay. I hate people who throw their weight around. (laughs) I think I made a joke...Never mind, dear. But I'll tell you one thing and that's not two: If Reverend Miles says no more bingo that's because Reverend Miles always lost! What about that smaller room by the back door..? The one Sarah found the snake in...Narcotics Anonymous? My Lord. Helen, dear, somebody should offer Old Age Anonymous for people like me who can't stop living too long...I don't want to be more like Sarah! And I love life every bit as much as she does. You think I don't love life..? (softer) Anyway, she's only 88. What does she know about life? Besides, Sarah thinks every sunny day in Vero is like a "golden holiday"... Nothing's wrong with that. Except that maybe when age and temperature and I.Q. are all within a few points of each other, it's only natural for that person that every day is a golden holiday...I am not mean; I just don't like Polyannas...I know, I know, "If you see someone without a smile give him one of yours." If Reverend Miles doesn't stop repeating that silly cliche every Sunday I'm going to buy some incense sticks and become a Buddhist...I am not jealous of Sarah! Sarah is just an old biddy who had three husbands and thinks that makes her superior to anybody who made do with just one. And half the time she calls out "bingo!" she doesn't even have it...She may be too vain to wear a hearing aid but she doesn't have the numbers wrong; she just wants to win the quarter...What dear? George Stephens? How could he be after Marie? I thought you said last week he was after you...Bah! Men are so fickle they don't know what they want. Anyway, Marie's cat died last week; maybe he was just consoling her...Yes, Lolita, the Angora. That was her name. Marie said it purred just before it died. She said the veterinarian told her he's seen a lot of cats purr just before they die...Well, what I'd like to know is how she's got money to pay for a vet but they don't make her pay when she goes to the Care Center. And Emily doesn't pay anything either. A lot of the old biddies don't pay rent. It burns me up. I pay for it and they don't...So I have a house; you think I can eat the house? Anyway, I don't own a house; I own a cracker box...All right, dear, you get a good rest...Don't worry about me, dear. Paul always used to say, 'Age is not important unless you are a cheese!..You too, dear. Goodnight.

Just call me Cheddar.

............................................................................................

Morning of the following day. Living room of the Cracker Box. A large, old-fashioned, record player has been placed in front of the couch. AMY is sitting beside BEA on the couch reading a newspaper. BEA is eating orange slices from a bowl. BEA takes one of the slices out of her mouth and looks at it, then puts it back in the bowl. SHE examines other slices but doesn't eat anymore. AMY suddenly takes BEA's arm and holds up the paper to read something to her.

Hey! Are you a nurse taking my blood pressure?

Bea Bea, it says here that in Asia each year has a name: The Year of the Horse, the Year of the Cock, Year of the Monkey. Like that. For twelve years. That's one cycle. Then after twelve years it starts over again. And at the end of five cycles a person is sixty years old and everybody honors them. Why, Bea, you have done...eight cycles!

So now I'll get started on the next eight. Wait'll Robert hears that he has to honor me.

Mr. Lawson should be back with that record needle pretty soon.

Eight cycles! That deserves a drink. A party. Hey, kid, you want to dance?

You'd better wait for the music.

I found your record but I can't find your bank box keys. I'll have to ask the bank to make new ones again.

Pauline, dear, I know they're in there somewhere.

So is half of Vero Beach!

You found a giraffe on the beach?!

Ma, you've got to stop hiding things!

I don't hide them; I just...misplace them.

Why aren't you eating your orange?

It's not any good, dear. I'm sorry. Can you take them back?

Take them back? Ma, they're fresh Vero Beach oranges. I just bought them.

I know you did, dear. But they weren't grown around here. All the stores try to sell oranges and grapefruit as if they're from here because we've got the best citrus. You have to watch them every minute.

Let me try a slice.

When I could still shop for myself, I caught my grocer trying to mix in fruit from other parts of Florida with some of ours. I told him a thing or two.

It tastes all right to me.

Believe me, dear, that orange is not from Indian River County. Wherever it's from, the soil didn't have enough limestone. People these days think old ladies like me don't know anything; they're wrong!

I found some old photographs of children. Aren't they your brothers and sisters?

They've faded. There won't be anything left on them pretty soon...Did Robert fix my projector yet?

He tried. He couldn't get it to work.

How hard did he try?

Ma, it's an 8-millimeter. People use videos and DVDs now. Even the store that sold them went out of business long ago.  

All the still pictures of my brothers and sisters have faded and now I can't even see the film of the old Mother Bailey House.

Why don't you let Henry come over and take a look at it?  He says if the film is in good shape he knows where to send it to get a disk made.  Then we can-

Who?

Your neighbor. He's good at fixing that kind of-

Henry?!

Yes.

I'm supposed to let a man who buried his wife on the beach come into my house?

Ma, he wasn't burying his wife on the beach.

Then what was he shoveling the hole for?

I told you. He walks beaches with a metal detector looking for coins. He heard something so he stopped to dig at that spot.

That's his story. I say he was burying his wife on the beach.

In broad daylight?

Yes. In broad daylight and with his detector. That way people like you won't suspect anything.

You really have grown suspicious, ma.

So where's his wife?

His wife is in New Jersey caring for their sick daughter.

And how do you know? Because he told you that. I say he buried his wife on the beach. And he's not the only one. Florida beaches are full of buried wives.

All right, ma. Have it your way.

And widows are buried before they die. In cracker boxes.

All right, I'll take these oranges home with me.

Get your money back, dear. Your grocer will respect you for it.

Did you get the needle?

Yeah. I got it. I had to go all the way into town.  He had to dig it out of a bin in his back room.  He never thought anybody would ever want one.  

What about Howard's Market? You should have tried there.

Bea, Howard's Market closed years ago and you know it.

I guess you're right, dear. I'm losing my brains again.

It's working.

What is so funny, Bea Bea?

I was just thinking: Robert always complains I give him the needle; Now he gave me one!

Pauline!

What?

That's not HARBOR LIGHTS!

Sure it is. That's HARBOR LIGHTS, Bea.

Not that HARBOR LIGHTS! That's modern!

Is there another HARBOR LIGHTS, Bea?

Certainly there is.

Can you hum a few bars of it, ma?

LET THE LOWER LIGHTS BE BURNING SEND A GLEAM ACROSS THE WAVE

SOME POOR, FAINTING, STRUGGLING SEAMAN YOU MAY RESCUE, YOU MAY SAVE.

Bea, that's not HARBOR LIGHTS. That's LET THE LOWER LIGHTS BE BURNING.

That's what I said.

You said, HARBOR LIGHTS!

Just where do you think the lower lights are burning?

Ma, we have to go. I'll look for your record next time, all right?

It's here somewhere.

What isn't?

I'll help her look for it, Mrs. Lawson.

I'll call you tonight, ma.

All right, dear. And don't forget: You get your money back for those oranges. Tell the man an old lady told you there wasn't enough limestone.

All right, ma.

Goodbye!

I know that record is here somewhere.

Bea Bea, I think it's time you had another wash and trim.

Peeyew! No, thank you. I don't need another half a day spoilt at the beauty parlor.

What else you got to do that's so important?

What else? Plenty!

Name one thing.

Here. You see? The church is having an orientation meeting tomorrow morning for a water-skiing course. So there!

Huumph! You'll go water-skiing just as soon as I get an invitation to the White House.

BEA

And look at this.  The Seminole Indian tribe has job openings for alligator wrestlers.  It says, "Must be brave and a risk taker.  Males and females OK.  No experience needed."

AMY

(shaking her head)

Bea Bea, you are something else.

BEA

It says the tribe members are all going into banking and computer technology and law schools.  And it pays twenty dollars an hour and health and life insurance.  What do you think?

AMY

That's fine with me, Bea Bea.  You just be sure your daughter knows about your new profession.

Bea, I'll do those.

I'm not so helpless I can't do a few dishes. Besides, doing dishes isn't part of your job.

I'd rather be busy do somethin' than sittin' around doin' nothin'. Ouch! Bea, how do you stand the water so hot?

You're hot?

No. The water. It's so hot!

Oh, it's not hot for me, my dear. I don't feel much hot or cold in my hands anymore. (laughs) You see? Old age gives a person supernatural powers! (SHE finishes the dishes) I want to show you something. My brother, Charlie Yerring-

Bea! Are you all right?

Are you all right?

Yes, dear, nothing broken.

Bea, old folks make up eleven per cent of Americans, but they have-

Twenty-three per cent of deaths by accidents.

I know, dear. You've told me many times.

Well, you didn't listen many times. You have got to let me throw those scatter rugs out. They are too dangerous.

My little dog-

Your little dog is dead and buried and that's just what you're going to be if you don't stop being so silly.

Don't tell Pauline I fell, will you? No point in worrying her.

You always say that and then just as soon as your grandchildren call you go telling them and they go telling your daughter!

Well, honest and true, may the devil take me if I tell a living soul!

Don't be tempting the devil; he's up to his worst without any temptation from you. Now, what is it you want to show me?

What?

You said you had something to show me.

I did?

Something about your brother Charlie.

Oh! Hand me that folder, will you, dear? Can you take the book out of it?

Why, look at this: This book is leather. (SHE reads) 'Song Book of Beatrice Ida Mae Yering'.

You must have been only nine or ten years old when you had this!

You see, my brother, Charlie Yering, was the police chief in Groton Long Point. This is about his accident. He died, let's see, that must have been some 35 years ago. You see the section I saved has part of an article on John Kennedy. He had just been elected.

It says he was just nominated. Anyway, you should have written the date on it.

I should have. I guess I forgot. You see what it says here. They speculated he had a heart attack in the car while he was making his rounds. The car ran off the highway and hit a utility pole.

He was still a fine looking man.

Split the pole in two. It just dangled in the air, held upright only by the wires. Just hanging there right in front of me, suspended...

You were in the car?

Of course I was in the car.

Well, Bea, it says here he was driving on his rounds. It doesn't mention-

I remember it like it was yesterday!

Wait a minute! It says your sister Gertie was in the-

Gertie wasn't anywhere near him when he died!  I should know who was in the car, shouldn't I?

All right, Bea. Don't get excited.

I was always closest to Charlie. Pauline knows that. You ask her.

All right, Bea.

Bea. We found it!

What is it, dear?

The one you're lookin' for: 'Let the Lower Lights be Burning.'

At last. Play it will you?

Somebody wrote 'page 16' on the jacket. (SHE opens the songbook) Here it is! In your book. Now you've got the song sheet and the record.