Scattered throughout the South is a string of restaurants called Piccadilly Cafeteria. From an outsider's glance, they look like any other buffet-style eatery; but to those in the know, they are unique places where the elderly are treated with kid gloves.

In every Piccadilly, smiling employees hurry to take food trays to the table for anyone of age, and younger family members hover about making their elderly the focus of attention. The experience often begins when the grandparents take their young grandchildren to the Piccadilly for special occasions and continues as these adult grandchildren reverse roles and return with their frail grandparents.

The unspoken philosophy embraces the concept of respect and homage for our elders. The Piccadilly gives a feeling so distinct that, other than with a personal visit, it would be difficult to know.

But Clyde Edgerton, Southern tale-spinning master, knows, and he presents a perfect image of what the Piccadilly is really all about. Lunch at the Piccadilly, Edgerton's eighth novel, is a sensitive, sympathetic and wise look at the many challenges of aging. The bonus of the novel is its vintage sense of humor - trademark Edgerton - strewn throughout the story.

Lil Olive is a recent arrival at Rosehaven Convalescence Center, but her stay is temporary, mind you, and according to Lil, she'll be done with the walker and the "home," ready to move back to her apartment, use her '63 Kirby vacuum and drive her '89 Oldsmobile sooner rather than later.

For the time being though, she is willing to let Carl, her nephew, drive her about on errands, visit and take her to lunch - at the Piccadilly. Middle-aged Carl has taken his frail Aunt Lil under his comforting wing because he is tenderhearted and kind and he understands the importance in caring for his elders.

The "regulars" at Rosehaven are a colorful bunch: L. Jay Flowers, evangelist extraordinaire with a vision for a national movement to unite churches and nursing homes into "Nurches"; Mrs. Clara Cochran, who has a glass eye she likes to take out for unwarranted show and tell; Mrs. Flora Talbert, who believes a person's shoes tell the true story behind the wearer (tassels indicate loose morals); and Beatrice Satterwhite, who has the distinction of owning a three-wheeled walker, "a Cadillac among Chevrolets."

They are a family of sorts and without tangible awareness, they depend on and thrive with one another.

When Carl is not running errands for his aunt and her friends, he is writing verses for songs the preacher will sing to his new "congregation," and mustering up courage to ask Anna, the attractive-young-divorced-mother-of-two who manages the center, out for a date.

In the meantime, he is trying to gently persuade Aunt Lil that it is time to give up her license. As harsh and unsettling as such a scenario can be, Edgerton manages to fill it with tenderness and humor.

In one scene, after parking in their usual spot of the double-decker mall parking lot, Carl has taken Aunt Lil to lunch at the Piccadilly. She is dressed in "gold slippers, tan slacks, Hawaiian shirt, striped jacket, and makeup that stops along her jaw like the border of a country."

Carl is set to give her a last practice-drive and then he must tell her that driving herself is no longer a safe option. Aunt Lil, determined to show Carl she can drive as well as he, decides to find the exit and head for the highway.

As Carl explains gently why this is not a great idea, Aunt Lil spies the exit, swings left down the ramp into the relative darkness of the ground level.As they both adjust their eyes to the dim light, the tires hit the curb and for a moment the car is still. Carl thinks it is probably a good time to break the news. Here is the pertinent dialogue:

"What's wrong?" Aunt Lil inquires innocently.

"You keep running up against the curb."

"Oh. Am I driving?"

"Yes. Yes. You're driving . . . I'll take back over."

"I just need a little more padding under me. I'm too low in this seat."

"I don't think that is the basic problem, Aunt Lil."

Here, Carl eases out and walks around to exchange seats. Aunt Lil, reaching over to grab her purse from the floor, loses her balance and with both gold-slippered feet hanging out the driver's door, the car begins a slow circle around the concrete columns.

As Carl tries to intercept his aunt and the car, he runs smack into the column, staggers backwards, then jumps for the car and the hand brake, pulling firmly for a safe ending to this particular excursion. Aunt Lil is confused:

"Where'd you go?" she asks.

"Where'd I go?"

"Yes."

"I didn't go anywhere . . . You drove off without me, Aunt Lil."

"Why?"

"I . . . That's a good question. Here. Let me get the keys."

Edgerton touches on sensitive issues, such as losing independence, dementia, incontinence and illness, with a loving hand. There is not a disrespectful word or image in the book. Each character is drawn with an attentiveness and skill that pays true homage to the elderly.

The subject is a delicate matter to depict, but Edgerton makes it look as natural as the aging process itself. And he pulls it off with the flare and talent seen in each of his previous novels.

This is a book for all ages indeed.

Quinn Fitzpatrick is a freelance writer living in Denver.

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