Having Lunch, And So Much More, At The Senior Center

I DON'T GO TO THE SENIOR CENTER to engage in intellectually stimulating conversation. I know better. I've learned. that would be too much to expect. These people are here to relax, enjoy the company of their peers, and drive away loneliness, not debate the latest economic or political assertions. I go for the three dollar lunches, which are generally well balanced, with plentiful servings, if at times a bit overcooked. The food is ready to go at nine, for packaging and delivery to the homebound, we eat at eleven thirty. For a single male senior, it all adds up. Most of the time I remind myself to keep my mouth shut, go along to get along, keep it innocuous. Among the right wing Pentecostals, many of whom pack heat, prudence pays. Inevitably, however, I get drawn in. I heard some percipient mention the tax bill, paired with the term "trickle down". It heartened me. I offered a comment about the need to stimulate demand, not supply, from the bottom up, for the need to expand the consumer bace, create new spenders and consumers. supply, I said, always follows, whatever the tax rate on con businesses. For good measure I threw in a quote from Abraham Lincoln, the one about labor being prior to capital. if only I had left it at that. Evidently enjoying the sound of my own voice, I allowed as how our chances of getting good economic policy at this point were comparable to getting forthrightness from Richard M. Nixon two generations ago, and how far to the left of the current crop of conservatives Nixon seems today. That sealed my fate. She had been eavesdropping, and here she came, full of coffee and vinegar, both barrels blasting. The only member younger than I, but alas, one of those gun packing hard right Pentecostals, convinced that since the Lord is on his sword wielding way, why give bother. Before I knew her finger was in my face, she her body visibly shaking. when all the facts about Obama finally come out, she intoned, he will make Nixon look like a choir boy. I tried a stab at humor. I remarked that, best as my memory served, Nixon could fairly pass for a choir boy, Obama or no Obama. It didn't work. I tried mentioning the tape recording of Nixon trying to persuade Kissinger to get on board with the idea of dropping a nuke on North Viet Nam; she said it wouldn't've bothered her a bit. I finally knew I was licked, figned a phone call, and escaped, largely intact. I admit openly that the thought of someone, anyone, not being at all bothered by a nuclear bomb exploding over Hanoi and killing millions of innocent people discomfits me a mite, but, hell, I'm used to those sorts of responses. That's why I have learned, or am starting to learn, that at a senior center full of conservative born againers, the best idea is to sip coffee, enjoy the pastry, and wait for lunch.