I did some drawing with pastels for the first time several weeks ago and have posted a few of the results on my website. The three drawings in the “Left Behind” series started with an image that came to me as pressure was closing in on my boss/me a few weeks before I quit my job. As I was lying in bed early one morning, I got an image of myself standing still as filmy blue-and-greenish fabric swirled around me. I stepped away from it and, with nothing inside it, it fell softly to the ground.
Singing along with one CD on the boombox (since not only is our technology two or three decades out-of-date, but the multi-disc CD player is on the fritz)
From Johnny Cash Unearthed Volume Two: Trouble in Mind
“I’m a Drifter” (version 1)
“Like a Soldier”
“Bird on a Wire”
“As Long as the Grass Shall Grow”
“Heart of Gold”
And with increasing gusto as the week went on: “The Running Kind”
Already there’s a hardening, a calcification,
a sheath of protective ego returning.
Already I’m forgetting the deep, deep sadness,
that the gut-wrenching sobs weren’t for me
but for all of us.
An ache in the gut keeps returning, calling me
to come back
so I can remember.
This is a community cookbook. It brings together recipes contributed by participants in the Senior Meal Program (senior diners) and recipes contributed by friends and co-workers of mine. In doing so, this book presents a unique look at cooking in Milwaukee from the second half of the 20th century through today.
This is also a book about the Senior Dining community. Throughout these pages, you will find stories and anecdotes that together paint a picture of our community.
Each meal site brings together diners from a wide range of economic, educational, and cultural backgrounds. Retired municipal workers, social workers, and postal workers; retired college professors and school teachers alongside those who never learned to read or write. Men who retired from Briggs & Stratton or Allis Chalmers; women who worked for JCPenney or Kohl’s Food Stores. Holocaust survivors, World War II vets, Vietnam vets. The homeless and pensionless and those who’ve only ever known just scraping by. The woman who’s been widowed four times, the one who never married, and the great-great-grandma celebrating the birth of her 16th great-great-grandchild.
When you first walk into a dining site, you might not notice all this diversity. You might just see a lot of older people moving slowly as older people often do, moving among the tables, greeting one another, filling their coffee cups, taking their seats. Watch for a while, and personalities start to emerge. And you realize older people are just like younger people, are just like middle-aged people. You’ll see the shy, quiet ones; the flirts; the nonstop talkers and social butterflies; the curmudgeons, cranks, and gossips. The ones who spread love and joy, the ones who push it away, the ones who soak it up. You’ll notice people who like to be the center of attention, people who like a good argument, and people who like a good party. You’ll see that some save their dessert for last and some eat it first, others leave it uneaten or take a second helping, still others give theirs to their neighbor.
Sit at the table for a while, and listen. What’s that accent? Germany, Poland, Mississippi, rural Wisconsin, Puerto Rico, born-and-bred Milwaukee. Listen some more and the stories start to emerge. Funny stories. Stories of hardship and beauty. Stories of loss. But also stories of continued unfolding, the joy of connection, the joy of living life every day. Older people don’t take it for granted that they’ll be here the next day. “Are you coming again for lunch tomorrow?” “God willing and the creek don’t rise.”
