Great-Grandpa Joe's Old Barber Chairs

Lunch at the Senior Center

I made my John Day Senior Center Thursday Luncheon debut today (Thursday, July 14). We are visiting Kim’s grandmother in John Day, Oregon, population 2,075, and Grandma West wanted us to come with her to the luncheon.

Apparently, being 50 years old qualifies one for the Thursday Luncheon senior discount, or so said the octogenarian at the cash register. I reached that half-century mark earlier this year, so I am one-dollar richer today. This is my first senior discount, and I don’t mind saying that I don’t mind paying less on account of my age. Kim doesn’t qualify for the discount yet, so we have something to look forward to – a dollar discount each – if we make it back here for a Thursday Luncheon after July 2013. Excited about that.

My reason for being at the John Day Senior Center Thursday Luncheon had little to do with me and everything to do with age extremes. Kim not only took me and three of her children but also her grandmother and her two granddaughters – Mari and Alice. Our family alone accounted for a range of more than 90 years. Grandma West is 93, and Alice is less than two. Yes, we took plenty of pictures to document Mari and Alice’s lunch with their great-great-grandmother. Pretty remarkable. And, although he has been gone for several years now, today would also have been Kim’s grandfather’s 99th birthday. We celebrated that too.

The luncheon was like going back in time. I feel like I witnessed a shrinking slice of Americana Pie. The weekly event draws seniors from all over Grant County, a geographically-large but sparsely-populated jurisdiction. They came on foot, in wheelchairs, behind walkers, on convalescent care mini-buses, and in cars. The hall began filling rapidly at about 11:30 a.m., and before noon there were 60 or 70 seniors, average age about 82, seated and ready for chow. Similar to an organized but crowded freeway at rush hour, the walkers and wheelchairs and caregivers and seniors poured through the door, negotiating dangerous turns and unfriendly curbs, but never falling or colliding. It seemed to be all one big near-miss – kindergarten recess in slow motion.

The Senior Center hall is your common, plain-looking, rectangular senior-center hall. The rectangular tables were covered with rectangular tablecloths, which, in turn, were covered with rectangular plastic to protect the rectangular tablecloths. The chairs were common Senior Center folding chairs, with the addition of a mish-mash of chair cushions to soften the harsh treatment of a senior center folding chair on a senior bottom. It appeared that the cushions had been collected from various estate sales of formerly-participating seniors. Matches of two or three could be found, but each table set for nine people had at least three or four different kinds of seat cushions. No one complained.

The luncheon started with a pledge, funeral announcements, a moment of silence, a joke, and a prayer – in that order. The seniors unanimously pledged their allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. No protests, no dissents. Those who could stand stood, and those who could not stand sat respectfully. Having pledged their allegiance to the flag for so many years now, they have no idea that there are others who might question that allegiance. I proudly stood, placed my hand over my heart, and pledged right along with them.

The sad news was announced of two deaths in the ranks since the last Thursday Luncheon. It was taken with amazing equanimity, evidence that death announcements at a weekly senior luncheon are not uncommon. Appropriately, the master of ceremonies called for a moment of silence, which was honored in the breach by some of the seniors who had turned down their hearing aids. Then the MC turned the microphone over to Pastor Levi.

Pastor Levi is not Jewish, despite the name. I know because I listened carefully to the blessing on the food, which he provided “in Jesus’ name.” But before the blessing, he told a joke. Curiously, he said that one of the seniors who had passed away that week always wanted him to tell a “story” before he pronounced the blessing on the food, so he obliged: “You know they sell caskets at Costco now. So last year I got a casket for my mother-in-law for her birthday. When her birthday came around again this year, I didn’t get her anything. She asked me why I didn’t get her anything, and I told her, ‘You never used what I got you last year.’” Hmm. No one seemed offended that he told a joke about using a casket to honor a now-dead woman who liked him to tell a story before he pronounced the blessing.

The blessing served its purpose. It was not the way I would have done it, but they didn’t invite me to do it. Unlike when the MC called for a moment of silence, the seniors were all quiet during the blessing, either because they were expecting a blessing at that point or because there had been some subliminal message that I missed to turn their hearing aids up.

Lunch came family style. We passed around the fruit, buns, hot dogs, chili, cheese, and onions, followed by birthday cake supplied by the local mortuary. Milk, coffee, or buttermilk was also served on request. I was surprised at how many of our lunchmates requested buttermilk. My generation does not consider it potable.

At our table of nine, we had eight of us related folks and Mary Ann. Like many others, she came in a wheelchair, pushed by her caregiver. The caregiver was a nice young woman who talked to Mary Ann sweetly and explained that she would return at 12:40, after the “mad rush,” to pick her up. Mary Ann was a charming oldster who was no stranger to these Thursday Luncheons. She explained to me that she had cooked at these luncheons until about 10 years ago when she started having strokes. I enjoyed serving Mary Ann from the family-style dishes, and I think she enjoyed the company of someone other than the four or five people she sees all day, every day, at her care facility.

Once most of the seniors were finished eating, a majority of the elderly bussed their own tables and returned the uneaten food to the kitchen. A woman came to our table and asked if we wouldn’t mind donating the remaining orange juice in the pitcher on our table to her care facility where it would be used to help wards wash down medications. Gladly donated.

After just a few minutes the food was gone, the tables were clean, and the “mad rush” began, just as Mary Ann’s caregiver had predicted. Sixty or seventy seniors vanished just as quickly as they had appeared. Afternoon soaps were to be watched, or cards to be dealt, or naps to be taken, or all of the above. For a bunch of retired people, they sure seemed to have somewhere else to be. We walked Grandma West to her waiting van, and then departed ourselves. In a flash, my first John Day Senior Center Thursday Luncheon was over.

Back at the cottage, as I was recovering from lunch, my sons Spence and Willie noticed that I was not sitting down to the work that I brought with me on “vacation,” so they challenged me to a home run derby at the community baseball field. I reluctantly agreed, knowing that this would be more recreational for them than it would be for me. After two hours of pitching, shagging balls, trying to hit home runs, practically tearing off a fingernail from swinging the bat too hard, bruising my hand, braving the threat of rattlesnakes from adjacent Rattlesnake Hill, and falling down a hill (long story, or, rather, story-I’d-rather-not-tell), I limped back to the car. I had managed not to be shut out – I hit one home run (or perhaps two) – but I came in third place out of three.

As I write this I am beginning to realize that between the John Day Senior Center Thursday Luncheon and a home run derby against my teenage sons, the Thursday Luncheon is more my speed. I see many senior discounts in my future.