Life on a Continuum Care Campus and the Power of One Bold Newcomer

Living in a continuum care community is a bit like starring in a long-running sitcom—same setting, rotating cast, and just enough drama to keep things interesting. Residents come and go, apartments get flipped faster than real estate on HGTV, and the Looky-Loos arrive sniffing out their future lifestyle like it’s a Costco sample tray. But beneath the predictable rhythms of move-ins and meal plans there’s always a wildcard. This time, she arrived with purple hair, a Type A personality, and a mission to shake things up—from the Food Committee to the Secret Society of Liberal Ladies. In this post, Jean chronicles the latest chapter in her community's saga, complete with unsolicited mission statements, political provocations, and her own quiet plot to hand off a leadership baton with a sigh of relief. AI ….

Living on a continuum care campus means people come and go—some move to the Assisted Living or Memory Care building down the road, others to Skilled Nursing across town. A few die and it’s anyone’s guess where they end up. When people leave the trucks or family members swoop in to move their stuff, then maintenance does their thing to get their apartment ready to sell. Afterward, a parade of Looky-Loos on the waiting list go through it and decide if they are ready for the life-changes it takes to live on a continuum care campus. The cycle is steady and as predictable as the changing of the seasons, a doom and gloom reminder that life is fragile and we need to appreciate the here and now.

As new residents pick their way around the public areas they often look like kids who’ve moved to a new school district half way through a semester. They nervously walk into the dining room at noon, not knowing where to sit, hoping they won’t get asked to leave their first choice of tables. But they have nothing to fear at my CCC because someone from our table of fourteen will invite them over. There is always someone who’s been there long after they’ve finished eating who is willing to give up their seat to a newcomer. Of course, the newcomer gets grilled: “Where did you move from?” “What did you do before retirement”? “Do you have family living near-by?” Someone at the table will take it upon themselves to introduce the other residents. “This is our mayor. He knows everything going on here.” “If you want to get involved in the woodshop, talk to this guy.” If you want to join Bridge Club talk to this lady.” “Like Mahjong? Talk to Jean” and so on. We have a self-appointed leader for everything that goes on here including a guy who makes sure all our Amazon, FedEx and post office packages in the mailroom get delivered to our front doors. 

We also tell the newcomers, “If you don’t see an activity you like, tell the Life Enrichment Director and she’ll help you start a group.” Some resident ideas stick like Gorilla Glue. For example, the off campus Breakfast Club is well attended, others fail for lack of interest like the Crafter’s Afternoon that was my brain child. (Or should I say brain fart?) The idea was for everyone who does a handcraft like knitting, embroidery or quilting to get together twice a month—like a sewing circle and a show-and-tell rolled into one. Our LED hasn’t taken it off the monthly schedule even though in nearly a year, no one shows up including me and one other woman who quit going after three months. We suspect the director keeps it on the calendar to impress the Looky-Loos with how many choices of activities we have here. There are a few other things on the schedule that are more wishful thinking than actual activities.

A recent newcomer did not tiptoe in quietly. I should have guessed by her long purple hair that our newest resident would make a few waves around here, and she has just by the sheer number of activities she’s joined in her first few days. It takes most people at least a month before they start slowly wading into the culture. Not her. She signed up for book club, the Creative Writing Club, the Food Committee and she got herself invited to join the Tuesday Night Conversation group (formerly known as the Secret Society of Liberal Ladies). Last Tuesday as sixteen of us sat around a large conference table for dinner and conversation about national news she dominated as the main speaker. Clearly, she’s a mover and shaker Type A with great skill sets. But she wants us to invite people from the other side of the political aisle to join us "to create an opportunity to dialogue.” Someone pointed out that our group got our start because anytime politics was brought up in the public areas, the conversation would quickly get shut down by people who either didn’t want to hear it or who’d start making highly inflammatory remarks that took away any chance of civil discussion.

A friend of mine read me a letter Ms Purple Hair wrote to the Food Committee where she also came in with guns blazing. She said she had read over the notes from all the past meetings and it was clear that the group had no mission statement or guidelines for what they hope to accomplish. So she proposed that during the first meeting after the summer break they need to write one. God save me from the health nuts who want us all eating like rabbits! Thankfully, we have a kitchen manager whose answer to everything is, “State law does not require Independent Living facilities to furnish calorie counts for all their meals or plan balanced nutrition” or blab, blab, blab. That law is what saves us from having things like onion rings, mashed potatoes and red meat removed from our menu.

She’s joined The Creative Writing Group but other than her letter to the Food Committee I haven’t seen a sample of her work yet. That will come later this week. But I do know one thing: If Ms Purple Hair tries to take over the leadership of the group, I will gladly give up my imaginary gavel. And I will do it with a secret laugh in my gut, knowing I’ve wanted to quit that leadership role a long time ago but no one would let me. That's one cycle of change around here I'd welcome with arms wide open. ©

Processing Charlie Kirk’s Assassination in a Divided Nation

The assassination of conservative activist Charlie Kirk at Utah Valley University has ignited national debate—and personal reflection. As someone who never followed Kirk closely, Jean was stunned, not by the violence itself, but by the grief expressed by people she loves. In this post, Jean explores Kirk’s controversial legacy, the polarized reactions to his death, and the uncomfortable conversations it sparked in her life. What does political violence reveal about the state of our country—and about the values we hold dear? AI….

Charlie Kirk’s assassination last week didn’t just shake the political world—it shook me, too, in ways I hadn't anticipated. I had never paid much attention to him until the news broke and then I took a deep dive into his history.

In 2018 Charlie Kirk was included on the Forbes Magazine list 30 Under 30 in Law and Policy. He was 24 years old and several years before that he was the youngest speaker to ever appear at a Republican National Convention. Among his other accomplishments was founding Turning Point USA—a far-right organization that today claims to be the largest MAGA youth group, with a presence on 2,500 campuses. It opposes gun control, vaccines, abortion rights, LGBTQ rights, and promotes Christian Nationalism and a grab-bag of conspiracy theories. It’s not hyperbolic to say that Charlie Kirk made a name and a fortune for himself. His estate is estimated at twelve million dollars. Politics pays well.

Last Wednesday he was speaking at a large rally and just before he was assassinated he was asked by an audience member: “Do you know how many transgender Americans have been mass shooters in the past ten years?” “Too many,” Kirk said, then added. “Counting or not counting gang violence?” Those were his final words—provocative, divisive, and now immortalized in his short but impactful life.

I never gave Charlie his due for his sphere of influence. I knew he thought the Civil Rights Act of 1964 was a “huge mistake” and that its led to what the far-right thinks is a DEI culture. I knew his misogynistic viewpoint about birth control making women “angry and bitter.” I knew he’s said young women need to “get back to prioritizing marriage and motherhood,” and give up their aspirations of having careers. 

I also knew he publicly made a pitch for a “patriot” to come forward to bail out the person who attacked Paul Pelosi with a hammer. But I didn’t know that after he was shot I’d see so many of my conservative friends and neighbors express their profound and deepest grief over his passing. I thought he was just a shock jockey pod-castor on the fringe of the Republican Party. 

Learning the wide scope of Kirk's power in the Republican Party started with some Facebook posts. Friends and relatives plastered the site with their admiration and grief. One was posted by one of my favorite people on earth. In the video someone asked Charlie, “If I was dying of a gun shot and had 30 seconds to live what would you tell me?” Charlie answered that "he was about to meet the Eternal Judgment and the only important thing is if you accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior—not how many good deeds you’d done, not how much money you have or what’s on your moral scorecard. Nothing else is going to cut it except accepting Jesus.” (Quoted verbatim.)

Not long after watching that video I got a phone call from a (MAGA and pseudo religious) relative who quickly worked the conversation around to Charlie. But what was really on her mind is she wanted to know if I’ve accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior yet. I told her I believe in the historical Jesus but not the mystical Jesus meaning I believe he walked the earth and was the founder of a world religion just like Mohammad, Buddha and Abraham were—but I don’t subscribe to the idea he had any mystical powers. I would never say this to her but I think it’s utterly ridiculous to believe that accepting Jesus as your savior is the only way to find a divine consciousness or to tap into a universal, spiritual force.

After spending my morning reading about Charlie Kirk, I went down to lunch. When I sat down the woman next to me was talking about how awful it was that “they” killed him. (Current events are rarely ever discussed at our lunch table so that alone was telling.) Then she looked at me and asked, “Or are you one of those who is cheering his death?” She knows I’m part of the Tuesday Night (Political) Conversation Dinner Group which is probably why she made the jab but still I was shocked at the insult. “Of course not!" I replied. "I don’t want to live in a country where political assassinations are becoming disturbingly routine."

Someone else said we have to find a way to bring people back together. "How did we get so polarized?" another woman asked. Then I made the mistake of saying it started when Trump— That’s as far as I got before someone jumped on me, saying, “Please don’t bring politics into this tragedy!” Not wanting to add more heat to the conversation I didn’t spit back what I was thinking, and I was thinking how on earth can you NOT bring politics into a political assassination? He wasn’t shot for a personal scandal or happenstance. I didn’t say another word through lunch and the conversation around me ended in the same place as the phone call I’d gotten earlier by someone saying, "Charlie is in heaven, now, where he and Jesus are walking hand in hand." Cynical me thought, there must be a meme out there expressing that sentiment.

I neither mourn nor celebrate Charlie Kirk’s death. But I do mourn what it reveals about the country I (used to) love—and how far we’ve drifted apart in what we value about life, liberty and patriotism. The fact that the president wants to posthumously award Mr. Kirk the National Medal of Freedom and allow him to lie in state in the Capitol building is not only inappropriate it puts a giant explanation point on our deep divide. ©

“We can return violence with violence. We can return hate with hate. And that’s the problem with political violence,” Governor Cox of Utah said. “It metastasizes, because we can always point the finger at the other side. And at some point, we have to find an off-ramp, or it’s going to get much, much worse.”  

Fall Layers and Closet Truths: A 30-Day Purge Begins

September in Michigan brings more than falling leaves and back-to-school chaos—it sparks a personal reckoning in Jean's closet. As the weather shifts, so does her wardrobe, and this year she's committed to a 30-day clothing purge. With decades of fashion, fluctuating sizes, and sentimental garments hanging on padded hangers, she is confronting the emotional weight of letting go. This isn’t just about de-cluttering—it’s about identity, memory and making peace with change. AI...

 

September brings change to Michigan. The biggest shift? Kids heading back to school while parents scramble to fill calendars with carpools, practices and pick-ups. A longer-lasting transition begins in the trees, which start their slow dance of changing colors—pale pinks and yellows taking the first steps toward October’s grand finale. The high temperatures of summer are also ushered out on the tail end of hurricane season on the Gulf of Mexico and along the Eastern seaboard. And September means I start digging around in my closet for clothing that bridges summertime weather and winter layering. 

I’m the undisputed queen of layering. Summer means sleeveless shells under ¾-length shirts. Fall brings short or long cotton sleeves under flannel. By November, it's turtlenecks pair with sweaters or sweatshirts. And in winter? I might add a third layer—a cotton camisole or quilted vest for extra warmth. In the “black” section of my closet alone, there are fourteen tops in various weights and sleeve lengths. No one needs that many. Same goes for the sweater section—eighteen, all hanging on padded hangers. And pants? Nineteen pairs, including three pedal-pushers and four pairs of blue jeans. No one needs that many pants. Unless, of course, they do—because like me, they have two sizes in each category. 

I need a major purging project because my closet can’t hold another hanger!

It’s no secret—I struggle with my weight. It goes up, it goes down, and right now I’m living in the larger sizes. You’d think purging would be easy: just toss what doesn’t fit. But other fatty-fatty-two-by-fours might back me up when I say that letting go of smaller sizes feels like giving up on ourselves. I did that once and what happened is that larger size became the smaller size as I added on more pounds. Now, years after that disastrous purge I hear a little voice in my head reminding me that I shouldn’t get rid of anything in my closet, because I won’t be able to afford to replace whatever I’d purge. Tariffs combined with a fixed income are a bitch.

On September 1st, I went looking for a hanger to store a new top—and found none. Not. Even. One. That was my breaking point. I came up with a plan: purge one garment a day for the next thirty days. I’m in day eight as I write this and so far I’ve kept my promise to myself. I started with things I don’t like and never wear and next I’ll go for the things that don’t fit. I’m putting my daily choices in one of two boxes: ‘Donate’ and ‘Hold for a Year.’ Somehow knowing I'm not donating everything makes it easier to perform the task. Purging thirty space-wasters should make a huge difference in my small closet and I’ll be able to see if I have a need for anything new. If I do it will be pants. I have some that are a quarter of a century old. My pants size doesn’t seem to change like my top sizes. But I have some that are too short.

This is the third time I’ve written a post about closet purging, the first time was in 2014. “I started with a book titled, Ten Steps to Declutter Your Closet,” I wrote.  “Short and sweet. Twenty-five pages of standard stuff: haul everything out of the closet, try on everything and purge the stuff that doesn’t fit, is stained or needs repairs or that you haven’t worn in the last year. One Year! I’ve got nearly three feet worth of closet rod taken up with vintage clothing from as far back to the Kennedy administration.” Before I moved here, I managed to pare down my vintage collection. But I still have three garments I can’t part with. They make me happy just to see them now and then: a dress from my clubbing days with Don in the ’70s, a size 11 sailor-themed, two piece outfit from the late ’60s (the smallest I ever was in adulthood), and my beloved hippie/bicentennial dress from 1976.

In 2020 while faced with another closet purging I wrote: “My master closet has always been a walk-in hell-hole of clothing (in three sizes), shoes, Crocs, purses, hats and anything that I want to hide from the world---the volume of which needs to be cut in half before I move. I’ve never enjoyed purging clothes. My size changes so often that I’m afraid to let go of things that don’t fit. I know—it’s a messed-up mindset. Life coaches and diet experts would say keeping three sizes traps us in a cycle: we bounce 15–20 pounds up and down, grabbing the next size up instead of facing the snug truth.” Re-reading this post made me realize I have made some progress, given the fact that my current closet only holds two sizes. Maybe if I live to be 100, I’ll die with just one size of clothing to my name. But let’s be honest—it’ll probably be one of my nieces who makes that happen, when and if I get moved to Assisted Living.

Until Next Wednesday ©

Review of The Book of Two Ways by Jodi Picoult — A Deep Dive into Death, Desire, and the Dilemma of ‘What If’

 

If you’ve ever wrestled with the haunting question “What might my life have looked like if I’d chosen differently?” then The Book of Two Ways will hit close to home—and possibly leave you fuming. In this spoiler-heavy review, Jean unpack Picoult’s ambitious novel that blends death doula work, Egyptian archaeology, and quantum theory into a tangled narrative of love, loss, and unresolved choices. While the book is rich in research and philosophical depth, its ending left her unsatisfied and emotionally rattled. Read on if you’re ready to explore the messy beauty of parallel lives—and why sometimes, closure matters more than cleverness. AI….

Spoiler Alert: If The Book of Two Ways is still on your “To Read” list and you prefer to go in blind, skip this post. I’m about to work through my frustrations with how Jodi Picoult chose to end this well-researched but emotionally packed and surprising novel.

The protagonist, Dawn, is a Death Doula. According to Wikipedia, a Death Doula "is a person who assists in the dying process much like a midwife does with the birthing process. They’re non-medical professionals who help the dying wrap up loose ends while offering emotional and spiritual support." Loose ends might include anything from completing a 'Honey-Do List' to tracking down a lost love and delivering a final letter. Whatever the client needs.

Personally, if I had a Death Doula at the end of my life, I’d ask her to make a vibrator disappear. Too much information? Maybe. But I’m hoping that it adds a little shock-awe-humor to this post. Whether it’s true or not—I’ll let you decide.

Back to Dawn. In her college days, she was a budding Egyptologist, but life intervened—her mother entered hospice care, and Dawn left her undergrad program unfinished. (Been there, done that.) During an archaeological dig fifteen years before the book’s present timeline, she had a summer affair with a fellow student named Wyatt. Fast forward: she marries Brian, a man she met while both had loved ones in the same hospice home. They build a good life together while raising a daughter—who Dawn initially believes is Brian’s, but turns out to be Wyatt’s.

The book’s title refers to a map painted inside Egyptian coffins, showing both a land and water route to the afterlife. In Picoult’s plot, these maps become metaphors for Dawn’s choice: stay in her stable marriage or rekindle her relationship with Wyatt and return to the life she left behind. It’s the classic “What If” game many of us play as we age.

Major spoiler alert: Picoult ends the book without revealing what Dawn decides. Some readers on a fan site say this mirrors “the idea of parallel lives and the unknowability of fate.” Others call it a cop-out. Still others note that Picoult often presents moral or emotional dilemmas rather than tidy conclusions.

I’m firmly in the camp that felt cheated. She created an impossible choice—one that hurts someone no matter what Dawn chooses. The old romance reader in me wanted one more chapter. I wanted Dawn to stay in America until her daughter finishes high school, not abandon a 15-year relationship for a romanticized summer fling. The idea that she’d throw away a shared life for something that might not live up to the fantasy made me angry. It’s easy to romanticize the past and take for granted the quiet strength of a long-standing relationship. I think most of us make peace with our choices. We'll never know if Dawn did the same.

Can you tell I’ve played the “What If” game a few times? 

And that wasn’t the only thing that made me angry. One of Dawn’s clients wrote a letter to a lost love, and Dawn planned to deliver it before the client died. But when she saw the man through a window—seemingly happy with his family—she chose not to disrupt his life. That decision, while questionable, was forgivable. What wasn’t forgivable was telling the dying woman, just moments before she took her last breath, that she hadn’t delivered the letter. A letter the client said was her most important final wish. If ever there’s a time for a little white lie, it’s on someone’s deathbed!

The book also dives into heavy themes like quantum physics—legitimate theories about parallel lives that sound like hocus-pocus but aren’t—and offers a fascinating glimpse into archaeological digs. But if I had to boil the book’s main theme down to one philosophical question, it would be: Do we make our choices, or do our choices make us? ©

Until Next Wednesday.

Favorite Quote from The Book of Two Ways: "Love isn't a perfect match but an imperfect one. You are rocks in a tumbler. At first you scrape, you snag. But each time that happens, you smooth each others edges, until you wear each other down. And if you are lucky at the end of all that, you fit."

Photo Credit at the top: Part of the Book of Two Ways on Coffin B1C, from Wael Sherbiny, Through Hermopolitan Lenses, Image by Jordan Miller.