Food for Thought

People are creatures of habit, and the older they are, the more habitual they become.

I eat lunch every day with three other residents at Montclair, a “Senior Lifestyle” residence in Garland, Texas. There are no assigned seats in our dining room, but the same four usually sit together. Our conversations are about trivia. Not intellectually stimulating, but better than eating alone.

When I lived in Albuquerque, I lunched at Los Volcanes Senior Center, where the same group gathered every day at a round table in the corner of the dining hall. No matter how we disagreed about politics or religion, the same six showed up and sat in the same chairs every day. We had some lively conversations. We were five Democrats and Pauline, the one Republican.

Pauline grew up in Illinois but came to Albuquerque after living many years in Silver City, New Mexico. Until her children were grown, she devoted her life to being a housewife and mother. In middle age she went to work at K-Mart. She worked as a cashier for 15 years and accumulated an handsome wardrobe which she bought on sale. After her husband died, this tiny, energetic woman at age 80 moved to Albuquerque and bought a house to be near her grandchildren.

Every day she came to the senior center perfectly dressed in pants suits with coordinated blouses and a pretty pin on the lapel of her jacket. After eating lunch, where she was not intimidated by all those Democrats, she drove her own car to school to pick up her grandchildren, whom she cared for until her daughter came home from work. Pauline did not talk about politics, but we heard about the daily activities of Jonathan and Rachael.

Mentally Pauline was still an Illinois farm girl. She would not eat anything her family had not grown back on the farm. Chinese dishes were too foreign.. She pointed to the egg roll and said, “What’s that?” She would not eat the egg roll or the chow mein. There was another “What’s that?” for zucchini. I explained it was a kind of squash. She tasted it once but put her fork down, saying firmly, “I don’t like it.”

Most transplants who move to New Mexico love the food, the chili relleno, enchiladas, posole. I became addicted to green chili. After I was away for two or three weeks on a trip, first thing after I coming home I went to a restaurant for my “chili fix.” Pauline would not touch any of it.

So? She missed the pleasures I enjoy in a variety of experience. To her it did not matter. She was a dear person, always concerned about anyone who was sick. She was the one who remembered birthdays. She gave me a card and a bracelet with cats on them.

I asked her, “Pauline, why are you a Republican?”

“My husband was a Republican,” she said. “So I became a Republican, too.”

I liked Pauline. She never harmed anyone or did an unkind thing. One of the World’s innocents. I wish I could be more like her.