An older friend cannot get over that our little hometown no longer has Friday Supper, a tradition that extended from her grandparents' day through my own young adulthood. For over twenty years, it's been just a memory, done in by a number of factors. One thing I am grateful for is having realized, even in the midst of its glory days, how special it was. That helps me appreciate how greatly its effects are missed.
Every Friday, all ages of adults - from high school students to great-grandparents - descended on the Assembly Hall for a community supper. American church suppers are famous for feasting & fellowship and Friday Supper provided both, in abundance.
As I wrote last month about the long-gone tradition of Friday Supper, "The oldest people - arriving on their own or with family, friends - (sat) at the front, then increasingly younger the further you went toward the back. There were always a lot of young people. High school & college dorm kids were always there, because "Bean Hall" closed on Friday nights - and where you found dorm gals & guys, you'd find more from the "Settlement"! Holding that image in my heart - the Assembly Hall playing court (the basketball hoops drawn up against backboards) filled to capacity with friends & pleasant acquaintances, all gabbing as they reached for the yummy food, made by revolving groups of community women & a few men (shout out to Dave Roscoe & John Acton!) served family style by revolving squads of high school seniors (or were they juniors?)."
Was reminded of this last night, rereading Wendy Lustbader's Life Gets Better: the unexpected pleasures of growing older. She describes so many older people I knew & loved - "Grandma" Rose, Viola Ridgeway, Miss Cornelia, Hubert Synnestvedt, to name a few - when she writes:
Elders who convey eagerness toward getting to know younger people and learning something from them tend to be the most venerated. There is a sense of discovery when in dialogue with such individuals...
When she was nearing ninety, the writer Diana Athill described how being in contact with children & youth serves as a reminder ~ ~ (W)e are not just dots at the end of a thin black line projecting into nothingness, but are parts of the broad, many-colored river teeming with beginnings, ripenings, decayings, new beginnings - are still parts of it, and our dying will be part of it just as these children's being young is, so while we still have the equipment to see this, let's not waste time grizzling.
Smiling, thinking about a particular older friend, who - faced with a declining body & an array of memory challenges - has no intention of wasting a moment grizzling. She has contact every week with her children, gets out every day & has developed friendships with young folks at several cozy restaurants, where she is treated like Queen Grandma rather than simply a regular customer, is always seated so she has the best view of the room, typically dotted with children & occasionally her favorite tables - with three or more generations.
Small wonder my older friends miss Friday Supper, miss the weekly connection with multi generations of friends in our hometown, with seeing dozens of young people, many dear to their hearts. The oldsters gloried in their young friends & family, who, in turn, lovingly venerated Marko & Gocky, Poompa & Grandpiddy and so many others.
That one event served a greater, deeper, more affecting use than most of us realized at the time. Even as kid of sixteen, it was pretty darn marvelous to experience. Sure, there were times I felt irked at being dragged along by my parents, then later by community norms & expectations, but am forever grateful that even in my most "Do I really have to be here?" moments, I appreciated the many blessings of multi generations connecting, breaking bread together, seeing & being seen; a broad, many-colored river teeming with life, young people at the back, chomping at the bit to move on, old folks front & center, not wasting time grizzling.
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