Sunday, February 8, 2015
Here at FOY (Fountain of Youth) there are regular activities to keep folks busy and presumably happy. Once a month there is a Pancake Breakfast that is HUGELY popular. We make sure to plan all activities around this, so we are able to go. All you can eat pancakes, eggs cooked to order, hash browns, sausage, ham, orange juice, and coffee for $5 a person or $5.50 if you forget to bring a place setting and have to use theirs. Who doesn’t like a bargain like that? The money raised is used to fund other activities at the park, or donated to charity. Everybody wins.
Last Friday was also the date of the “Northwest Potluck,” where folks from Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Alaska, and Montana are invited to gather in Hays Hall and bring a dish to share. Dad pretty much refused to attend. It had something to do with “luck” as it relates to the contents of the “pot.” Time and food handlers’ class has certainly given me an appreciation for this, but I choose my dining selections carefully, and I really wanted to spend time with my fellow north westerners. So, Dad ate a cheese sandwich in the Hag, and Craig and I went to the potluck.
I decided to make green chili/cheese biscuits, due to the fact that I had most of the ingredients on hand. They were sized quite small, actually bite-sized which I thought would be appropriate for a potluck. We were seated at long tables and the tiny little lady across the table from me was another Oregonian. She was chatty, nearing 90 years of age, and I noticed she had sampled a little bit of everything on the buffet table including one of my biscuits. Eventually, she picked up my little biscuit, looked it over, and said to the woman next to her, “What is this? I don’t think I like it. I’m not going to eat it!” I continued to eat my food; once again realizing that with age comes a certain lack of a filter when it comes to speaking EXACTLY what is on your mind. No matter, to each her own. And just maybe I have come to the realization, over the last few years, that my food is not as heartily enjoyed by those of a certain age or persuasion. Or, perhaps this is merely a continuance of my education on the finer points of life. I am taking notes. And, no, this didn’t hurt my feelings. I’m a tough old bird.