She calls it ‘rat’. ‘It’ is rataouille. When he calls her each afternoon he asks what she had for lunch. This usually excites much mutual groaning. Oh, not again, he says, when she describes a mush of cheese and leeks or cheese and broccoli. Rat is the worst. A dish that seems to be the Home’s kitchen’s failsafe for the ‘vegetarian’ residents. She isn’t, vegetarian, that is, but isn’t partial to red meat so often opts for it. It rarely satifies. She doesn’t complain. A strong woman in other respects, it is hard to understand why. The complexity of living in and managing such an environment is beyond our knowing. We must respect her decision. She can air her complaints with us, however, and that is just fine. Yesterday it was turkey. And you never know next Friday it might just turn out to be lemon sole. There’s always hope, even in ‘prison’.
