Nobody tells you how to grow old- there's no manual or any examples with all the details you need. It just happens. You have to figure out how to deal with it. I had a pretty, good plan- no, a great plan. I had a flawless plan on how to age well, but perfect doesn't really exist. I couldn't plan for everything that happened.
Tuesday- it's a random Tuesday since I've retired. The stew I mix in front of me bubbles. I'm not sure what that means. Maybe it's too hot, or maybe it should be bubbling. I haven't received much instruction, but it's been like that since I got here- not this morning, but since I started volunteering. There's a smell I don't quite understand. For some reason, I do the unthinkable and try some.
Whatever flavor was there, it's gone now, watered down to probably make it more consumable. I put the spoon back down and now see a brown tint in streaks of the pot, and for a moment I realize why the world puts so much sugar in everything.
#
The next day I return not so excited about the move from dishes to serving. It was so blissful and ignorant back there. The stew looks exactly the same, and I wish I was cleaning the empty version of this.
"How are you managing up here, Sal?"
The volunteer supervisor, Sally, stands in front of me. She's probably the same age as me, hair just as grey, but maybe a little younger. I can see the old traces of cute, and she's in good shape. Still, I hide my disgust, looking up with a smile.
"Things are good."
"Excellent. You call me if you need anything."
"Will do."
She says something over her shoulder as she walks away.
"What was that?"
"Oh." She turns "I said, 'Even if you don't.' Even if you don't need anything. I was just joshing."
"Oh, okay." I should have left the mystery alone. She winks at me before walking away, hinting that she was not joshing.
#
The third day I was accommodated; although, I don't understand the constancy of the stew. The lines of brown are discouraging.
I spoon some on the tray of the man in front of me, and he gives me a nod when I finish. He's one of the nice ones, and probably has been homeless for a while. It's what I've picked up over the last two days. The grateful ones know their lives, happy for every meal; while the fresh ones tend to remember their past too fondly, thinking on the meals they use to pay for.
"Bunch of ingrates, am I right?" Sally whispers when the man walks away. "They should be thankful for us- this place."
"I think they are, but I don't know-" I lift up a spoonful of the mysterious stew. "I don't even know what this is."
"It's a vegetable soup. Healthy, full of greens and protein."
"Oh. That's why it's green."
"Yes, that's why it's green."
Staring at it, I look for the courage to taste it again. I don't find it.
"Have you tried it?"
Sally walks away, looking for something.
"Have you tried any of this before?"
A door closes. I realize that she heard me, and she answered with the door.
My shift ends. I sit in my car, just for a minute, wondering what to do. I could go fishing, like I did on Tuesday. I loved it when I was in Ohio, and with the weather here, it should have been easier to enjoy. Beer has always been a part of the equation, but this time I went from sipping to chugging. I was getting drunk in the ocean by myself. I had to sleep it off before I could go back to shore.
