Dec 23
At dinner tonight we sat with Curtis and Aletheia, a couple in their early 80s who met each other in 2005. The story goes that Aletheia had planned to go to a movie with two friends, but one of them dropped out at the last minute. Curtis was outside the theatre buying a ticket when he found out about their spare. They gave it to him and he sat with them in the theatre.
The movie left a lot to discuss among the three of them. Curtis told the two women that he just had a massive workout session on a stationary bike before the movie and didn't make time to eat, and so proposed that they all go out to dinner. "Nice one, mate," I chided in--I may have actually nudged him a bit--aiming for a kind of mutual dude-like connection, but nonesuch was made. Curtis remained innocently factual as he carried on saying that Aletheia's friend eventually went home, while he and Aletheia found they were still talking to each other by the cafe's closing time.
"We fell in love and married soon after" Aletheia said. "You never know what's going to happen in this world!"
Our talk about how language is shaped by our subconscious genderization of the immaterial world was disrupted when the waiter came around with challah ("a feminine bread?").
Curtis shared one of his recipes, continuing in his slow and sensitive manner. This is it in a gist:
1. Break up a stale challah loaf into big square pieces.
2. Crack 3-4 eggs, prick the yolks, add the squares to a bowl.
3. Microwave this bowl for several minutes.
4. Remove, drizzle ketchup, put back in microwave for a few more seconds, "to heat through the ketchup."
Curtis also said that as a kid in Georgia, the story went that the inventor of ketchup was an African American in the late 1800s who realized the nutritional benefits of tomatoes, back when tomatoes were not ubiquitous as they are today. I could not find any Google offerings to support this but I'm tempted to believe it anyway.
The movie left a lot to discuss among the three of them. Curtis told the two women that he just had a massive workout session on a stationary bike before the movie and didn't make time to eat, and so proposed that they all go out to dinner. "Nice one, mate," I chided in--I may have actually nudged him a bit--aiming for a kind of mutual dude-like connection, but nonesuch was made. Curtis remained innocently factual as he carried on saying that Aletheia's friend eventually went home, while he and Aletheia found they were still talking to each other by the cafe's closing time.
"We fell in love and married soon after" Aletheia said. "You never know what's going to happen in this world!"
Our dinner was interrupted by an announcement about a pill bottle. There is a mic at the front of the dining hall for such occasions, which the few social and event-organizing residents take advantage of almost every night. The speaker described the bottle as small and green with a little tassel on it. Aletheia said that there was something in the announcer's phrasing that sounded as if it was a woman's pill bottle, although the announcer never said this outright. I asked Aletheia what made her think that, which made her relax in her chair and say, "Interesting... I'm not sure why. Something in the announcer's...phrasing..."
Although I don't know if they were the youngest residents at CLV, Curtis and Aletheia were certainly the most youthful couple I'd met so far, and I wondered if this had to do with their relative newness as a couple, that their meeting each other so late in life meant that socially, they were at a fresher stage, sharing with each other the delights of speculation and observation in a world that they do not take for granted. Many questions like "What do you mean by that?" and "Yes, and what about...?" between them that evening.
Our talk about how language is shaped by our subconscious genderization of the immaterial world was disrupted when the waiter came around with challah ("a feminine bread?").
Curtis shared one of his recipes, continuing in his slow and sensitive manner. This is it in a gist:
1. Break up a stale challah loaf into big square pieces.
2. Crack 3-4 eggs, prick the yolks, add the squares to a bowl.
3. Microwave this bowl for several minutes.
4. Remove, drizzle ketchup, put back in microwave for a few more seconds, "to heat through the ketchup."
Curtis also said that as a kid in Georgia, the story went that the inventor of ketchup was an African American in the late 1800s who realized the nutritional benefits of tomatoes, back when tomatoes were not ubiquitous as they are today. I could not find any Google offerings to support this but I'm tempted to believe it anyway.
Guitar
Grandma's default is to nap; it's the central project of her life, and it's as if all other activities she does via having been reminded of them or distracted by them. She seemed pleasantly surprised to see me take out Grandpa's guitar.
Per Fisher tradition I played from Twice 55 and Rise Up Singing. The song titles of some of the standard classics--Strawberry Roan, Streets of Laredo, Juanita, Tumbling Tumbleweeds--she recalled as if they were the names of old friends. As I played Old Folks at Home, she recited all the lyrics, no help needed.
Per Fisher tradition I played from Twice 55 and Rise Up Singing. The song titles of some of the standard classics--Strawberry Roan, Streets of Laredo, Juanita, Tumbling Tumbleweeds--she recalled as if they were the names of old friends. As I played Old Folks at Home, she recited all the lyrics, no help needed.
Dec 23: Morrow Plots
I heard a playful series of honks from behind. Jim and Maxine had arrived in their grey Honda Odyssey to pick me up and give me a tour of the University of Illinois campus. Jim and Maxine had been professors here for over forty years.
Maxine drove. The campus was mostly deserted for the holidays, and with the bus lanes and ubiquitous crosswalk yields, Maxine trapped herself in the wrong way of a one-way. As she was trying to find an escape, I saw a montage of passersby, street-crossing pedestrians, and other drivers giving us the same upset look. Mouths agape, angry brows, and those "What are you doing?" arms. I experienced all of it in slow motion. I thought it should have been set to the Danube Waltz.
When not anxious about the road, Maxine and Jim happily carried on with the tour. They told me that the University of Illinois was the first original public land-grant university in the country. It was also one of the best designed universities for people with disabilities, both in its infrastructure and in its academic resources. In many ways, the University is still ahead of its time.
Maxine shifted her focus onto a building far in the distance, a good half-mile off. "That is the Krannert Center," she said, emphasizing the fact by suddenly yielding in the middle of the road, which gave the impression that the Krannert Center was this very spot. She was now in the campus bus lane and, still with eyes locked on the Krannert, told me that the University blew its entire quota of teak on this building, imported from Thailand. Meanwhile an almost-hit pedestrian flipped us off although I may have been the only one to notice this.
Jim and Maxine were infectiously enthusiastic about their old haunts, both encyclopedias of fun facts about every building we passed. Even the buildings they didn't know much about were at least given over to speculation. "Dorms," Jim said as we passed two identical blocky structures that indeed could be nothing else. He then explained the large population boom in the 1960s.
Our van crawled in search of an exit. There was a large city bus trundling towards us at not a snail's pace. I briefly thought of how monstrously unfair it would be if Maxine killed all of us just then before she safely tucked into the curb.
By coincidence we had stopped in front of the main attraction, what we had previously discussed at dinner: the Morrow Plots. These are the country’s oldest experimental crop fields--second oldest in the world--with the University planting maize here continuously by the same traditional methods since 1876. The sign at the entrance read: “Results demonstrate that use of science and technology as increased crop productivity over four-fold.” As a historical relic as well as a research site, the plots continue to offer many insights into the effects of fertilizers and the longevity of natural soil in monoculture practices.
Overlooking the Morrow Plots was the Astronomy building, an old buttercup yellow house with white trim and a 12-inch telescope crowning the top, its aluminum dome glinting in the sun. As an Astronomy professor, this was Jim's palace. From the window of his top-floor office, he would look down at students frantically clapping wooden blocks together in the field to scare away the crows. We giggled. “Fond memories,” he said.
Maxine drove. The campus was mostly deserted for the holidays, and with the bus lanes and ubiquitous crosswalk yields, Maxine trapped herself in the wrong way of a one-way. As she was trying to find an escape, I saw a montage of passersby, street-crossing pedestrians, and other drivers giving us the same upset look. Mouths agape, angry brows, and those "What are you doing?" arms. I experienced all of it in slow motion. I thought it should have been set to the Danube Waltz.
When not anxious about the road, Maxine and Jim happily carried on with the tour. They told me that the University of Illinois was the first original public land-grant university in the country. It was also one of the best designed universities for people with disabilities, both in its infrastructure and in its academic resources. In many ways, the University is still ahead of its time.
Maxine shifted her focus onto a building far in the distance, a good half-mile off. "That is the Krannert Center," she said, emphasizing the fact by suddenly yielding in the middle of the road, which gave the impression that the Krannert Center was this very spot. She was now in the campus bus lane and, still with eyes locked on the Krannert, told me that the University blew its entire quota of teak on this building, imported from Thailand. Meanwhile an almost-hit pedestrian flipped us off although I may have been the only one to notice this.
Jim and Maxine were infectiously enthusiastic about their old haunts, both encyclopedias of fun facts about every building we passed. Even the buildings they didn't know much about were at least given over to speculation. "Dorms," Jim said as we passed two identical blocky structures that indeed could be nothing else. He then explained the large population boom in the 1960s.
Our van crawled in search of an exit. There was a large city bus trundling towards us at not a snail's pace. I briefly thought of how monstrously unfair it would be if Maxine killed all of us just then before she safely tucked into the curb.
By coincidence we had stopped in front of the main attraction, what we had previously discussed at dinner: the Morrow Plots. These are the country’s oldest experimental crop fields--second oldest in the world--with the University planting maize here continuously by the same traditional methods since 1876. The sign at the entrance read: “Results demonstrate that use of science and technology as increased crop productivity over four-fold.” As a historical relic as well as a research site, the plots continue to offer many insights into the effects of fertilizers and the longevity of natural soil in monoculture practices.
Overlooking the Morrow Plots was the Astronomy building, an old buttercup yellow house with white trim and a 12-inch telescope crowning the top, its aluminum dome glinting in the sun. As an Astronomy professor, this was Jim's palace. From the window of his top-floor office, he would look down at students frantically clapping wooden blocks together in the field to scare away the crows. We giggled. “Fond memories,” he said.
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| Jim and Maxine |
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