At the home three meals are served each day. Although my apartment has a kitchen, I resolved not to use it. I have now lived here for a whole month. Most of the time, I have kept my resolution. I've been out to eat with Becky a few times, and I stayed home and ate peanut butter once or twice. Going to the dining hall is sort of an adventure. Meals are served by an elegant wait staff dressed in white shirts and formal aprons. I mentioned before that the managers serve coffee. We order the special or a fruit plate, sandwich or other alternate entree. There is always a salad or maybe soup, the main course, and dessert.
A large part of the wait staff are high school boys and girls who attend to our needs personally while others are the maids who clean between meals. This is kind of a thrill to be attended and waited on. The guys are fun and funny. Sometimes they are a little awed by all these old people, but their manners are exquisite. For me, it's kind of a thrill.
One of the most interesting and, maybe, scariest aspects of mealtimes is where to sit. We are encouraged to sit with new people or people we don't know to make friends and form a more compatible community. There is no assigned seating. As a matter of fact, we are not supposed to reserve a place for people who have not arrived. Sometimes there is quite a 'to do' about that. The resident council has had complaints about people who have tried to commandeer tables and chairs claiming them like they were personal property.
Today I sat with a gentleman who has been verbally abused by another resident telling him he could not sit at "her table." He is quite deaf and has not been able to get his hearing aids adjusted. I feel a little sorry for him because he seems ostracized and isolated, but he is very pleasant to sit with. I don't have to make polite conversation or listen to endless stories of his grandchildren. I am sure he would be a very competent conversationalist and I would enjoy the event. I look forward to that happening some time in the future. He was a physicist and lectured at the University here. I'm just dying for her to say something to him while I'm sitting with him. I was a psychologist at Coffield--a maximum security men's prison that housed 3500 inmates. I walked the wings three times a week. I can handle this.
A large part of the wait staff are high school boys and girls who attend to our needs personally while others are the maids who clean between meals. This is kind of a thrill to be attended and waited on. The guys are fun and funny. Sometimes they are a little awed by all these old people, but their manners are exquisite. For me, it's kind of a thrill.
One of the most interesting and, maybe, scariest aspects of mealtimes is where to sit. We are encouraged to sit with new people or people we don't know to make friends and form a more compatible community. There is no assigned seating. As a matter of fact, we are not supposed to reserve a place for people who have not arrived. Sometimes there is quite a 'to do' about that. The resident council has had complaints about people who have tried to commandeer tables and chairs claiming them like they were personal property.
Today I sat with a gentleman who has been verbally abused by another resident telling him he could not sit at "her table." He is quite deaf and has not been able to get his hearing aids adjusted. I feel a little sorry for him because he seems ostracized and isolated, but he is very pleasant to sit with. I don't have to make polite conversation or listen to endless stories of his grandchildren. I am sure he would be a very competent conversationalist and I would enjoy the event. I look forward to that happening some time in the future. He was a physicist and lectured at the University here. I'm just dying for her to say something to him while I'm sitting with him. I was a psychologist at Coffield--a maximum security men's prison that housed 3500 inmates. I walked the wings three times a week. I can handle this.
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