We had activities and clubs, yet were home for dinner together. With occasional spats and tears, the conversation and sharing of the day’s events strengthened the family bond. For LGBT seniors without their own family, the chance for such an experience has passed along with Father Knows Best (ask a senior).
One aspect of that era, however, has benefited those of us who can’t or don’t want to cook and who admit defeat in attempting to recreate the sumptuous fare of the cooking programs. We have delved into memories of mom, our beloved homemaker (for a time a much maligned career) who through the ’50s and ‘60s began to rely on canned goods, powdered sauces, frozen everything and finally the miraculous microwave.
Armed with a fry-pan and toaster oven, we follow her lead and avoid the nuisance and cost of going to a restaurant and, for me, the unpleasantness of publicly dining alone. Keeping the TV dinners to a minimum, we supplement our efforts by resorting to the ready-cooked offerings of the deli counter or shameful recourse to the plethora of fast food joints.
Meals at home can be easy and with conscientious planning healthy. Due to the fact many senior men and women are alone too much, I suggest an enhancement. Don’t be shy; occasionally share your lunch or dinner. The socializing can be more important than the meal itself. Better yet, cook it together. The comic and relaxing camaraderie and bantering between two non-cooks will be well worth it.
Try something like, “The game’s tonight. Come on over. I’ve got stuff in the fridge and we’ll throw something together. Bring ice cream.”
Flip-phone farewell
My neighbor just bought an iPod (pad? phone? – something) six and casually mentioned his “four” was about worthless and he couldn’t give it away. I ventured to disagree and, as a favor, took the antique. And lo, my trusty flip-phone is closed forever. He told me the phone was easy to use and he would teach me the basics in a few minutes. When I asked something about a floppy disc, he blanched and re-estimated the timetable.
I first had to get an Apple account, but my computer somehow hooked me up with iTunes, a music site, which asked about an iCloud something. My friend remained calm, but I was beyond befuddled.
Then came a slew of password requests for Wi-Fi, Apple, Yahoo, my computer and the new machine. Some demanded case sensitive, some not. My head was reeling. We then tackled some of the apps he was going to leave. All appeared to accomplish wonders which I will be able to do once I conquer the hurdle of typing with those itsy-bitsy letter keys.
Kids’ fingers fly through messages with the speed of lightning, but I could be beaten by molasses (ask a senior).
Some of the programs hold particular promise. For example, my first instructions dealt with “Grindr,” an app rumored to be obligatory in Hillcrest. It reveals on screen which members of a friendship club are nearby. Helpful I’m sure, although somehow we seniors managed without it.
I eagerly anticipated the novelty of questioning the lady in the phone, but so far I’ve been disenchanted. My friend demonstrated with no trouble yesterday, but today I have asked Sheri countless questions, but she hasn’t answered once. My edification continues.
