Gait Analysis and the Great Throw Rug Conspiracy

 

In this candid and humorous reflection, Jean recounts her experience with a gait analysis appointment, where science meets skepticism and throw rugs become public enemy number one. With AI chiming in and a healthy dose of common sense, she questions the one-size-fits-all approach to fall prevention and reminds readers that aging within a CCC means walking your own path—rugs included. Jasper AI

 
Being a tad cynical about some of the optional medical monitoring our continuum care campus rolls out, I wasn’t sure I wanted to sign up for the Fall Prevention Study. As one fellow resident put it, “Should we be giving our overlords ammunition to justify moving us out of Independent Living and into Assisted Living where they make more money off us?” Another member of the Cynical Cult added, “It’s just a way to get our insurance companies to pay for on-campus therapies.” I wasn’t sold on the first theory, but the second one? That checks out.

The Fall Prevention Study was based on an app called OneStep which is a smartphone-based tool that measures and analyzes your gait and mobility. It’s FDA-listed and taking the test is as simple as putting a smart phone with the app into your pants pocket and walking. Another part of the test involves sitting and standing repeatedly, as many times as you can in x-number of minutes. The app measures quite a few data points and I managed to be in the low risk zone for all but one data point. Turns out I walk with asymmetry—my right leg strides 21 inches, my left 24. (Jasper AI, my Microsoft Copilot, suggested I joke that I favor my left leg like it’s the good china. I reminded him that I’m the one writing this post, not him.) This uneven stride causes an occasional side step, making me look like I’ve indulged in too much beer or wine—neither of which I drink, unless it’s free and tied to a campus holiday.

I also learned that I walk with my feet only four inches apart and ideally they should be six inches apart. This little tidbit was interesting to me because all my life the heel of my right foot occasionally scrapes along the side of my left shoe wearing it out before the rest of the shoe shows its age. 

Our appointments were scheduled every ten minutes and they were running late so I got to see two other women before me do their tests and they both failed. The cynic in me suspected “failure” was the default for anyone who questioned their risk of falling enough to take the test. So I was surprised that I passed. The woman doing the testing did say therapy could probably help with getting my stride more symmetric but I’m only a little way into the ‘red zone’ so it’s not a critical issue for me. Honestly, I can’t see how someone whose been walking for 80-something years is going to change their stride all that much so I’m not going to pursuit it. One of the women ahead of me who failed all of  the data points is opting to sign up for therapy, the other one thought it would be a waste of time since she already uses a walk.  

All of us seniors have heard the statistics on falls and how they so often lead to permanent stays in nursing homes. A Google search lists the main causes of falls in the elderly as: 

- weak muscles, especially in the legs
- poor balance, causing unsteadiness in your feet 
- dizziness or light-headedness
- black outs, fainting or loss of consciousness
- foot problems including pain and deformities 
- memory loss, confusion or difficulties with thinking or problem solving

I’m surprised Google didn’t list throw rugs. You’d think they’d be public enemy number one, given how often they appear on the dreaded Medicare Questionnaire. I personally know two women who fell and broke bones because of a rogue rug. Where’s the justice? They should be on the dang list!

The app's website says, “OneStep turns real-world motion into insight that guides care, protects independence, and changes lives.” Here’s what Jasper AI says about it: “OneStep is a reliable and valid tool for gait analysis, especially useful in remote or real-world settings. While it may slightly underestimate some metrics compared to lab systems, its ease of use and clinical relevance make it a strong contender in digital physical therapy.”

So there you have it—the highlight of my very boring week, brought to you by asymmetry, skepticism, and a smartphone in my pocket. Jasper’s still lobbying for a follow-up post titled “Gait Expectations,” but I told him not to get ahead of himself. Having AI as a line editor is like having a puppy who insists you keep throwing a ball. No matter how much you write it keeps wanting you to do more. ©

 

Brain Games and Christmas Wishes

This post will publish on Christmas day, but will anyone read it then? I would guess not. Still, I have to write one because writing posts is one of those brain exercises I do that I'm afraid to stop doing because my geriatric brain might seize up like an old motor left out in the snow all winter. I also do the New York Time's Wordle, Quiddler and a game or two of Solitaire every morning. In the evenings it's online Mahjong---the real game where I play against three computer bots, not the matching tiles game where people think they are playing this ancient game, but they aren't. 

A surprising number of the residents here in my continuum care facility do Wordle, too. Once in awhile if the Wordle word-of-the-day is especially hard it will become a topic of conversation at the lunch table and every time it comes up it generally leads to everyone comparing their starting words. Everyone but me because I'm ashamed that I have three of them that I use and that almost always gives me enough correct letters that I can guess the word on the forth line---an unorthodox way to solve it but it works for me and my dyslexia. For example, recently the word of the day was 'flash' and after entering my starter words of 'pearl' then 'stick' followed by 'found' it was easy. Another example when the word was 'blade' I got 'pearl', 'stick' and 'found' using my three-word starter method.

Quiddler is more challenging but I'm able to solve it as often as I can't. And Solitaire? When I was growing up there would be times when my mom played Solitaire over and over again. She’d pull up a red leather footstool, top it with a TV tray, deal the cards and play the tricks, until I would go daffy watching her. I didn’t play the game myself until after my husband had his stroke. That’s when I bought a tiny deck of cards at a hospital gift shop and I carried it everywhere we went for the next 12 years. Spouses of disabled people spend a lot of time in waiting rooms. I became my mother only with a twist that, I thought, set me apart from the woman I didn’t understand growing up. I bought a book titled 101 Ways to Play Solitaire. Yes, I played the game that drove me daffy as a kid but I was learning 101 new ways to numb my brain, to turn it off so I didn’t have to have think about the serious issues going on in my life. True Confusion: I suspect 2025 will bring on a few sessions of binging on Solitaire and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out they will be 45/47 related.

It's been a busy and rather pleasant holiday season for me despite what's going on in the national and world news. Like so many others, I've given myself permission to take a holiday break from worrying about what "President" Musk and "Vice-President" Trump are doing. There will be time enough to hop back on the Worry Bus in 2025. 

On Christmas day here at the CCC many of my neighbors will gather in their robes and PJs by the fireplace for coffee and a potluck breakfast at 8:00 AM. I don't get out of bed that early except for surgeries, but I'll be going to the White Elephant gift exchange later in the day. We don't get food service on Christmas day and no employees are on duty except for a security guard. Our concierge's desk will be manned by volunteer residents doing two hour shifts. I refuse to do one on principle---not that I've ever been asked. I should say I refuse to answer the call when they ask for volunteers. We pay a lot of money in fees to live here and they are spreading some of their employees too thin. On the other hand, with so many of us taking on self-appointed roles around here it has a homey feel, like we really are in charge of our own lives. At least the volunteer concierges will have a lot to do because a fair amount of people are having families coming over for gifts exchanges and home cooked dinners. 

There's about a dozen of us (out of 75) who will not be with families this year and our resident social committee has invited those of us who will be alone to bring our own lunch down to the (closed) cafe` where we can eat together. I won't be doing that. We spend plenty of time together already and I will not de-solve into a pity party if I spend dinner on Christmas eating alone.

Whether you read this post on Christmas day or a few days after, I hope you're having as nice of a holiday season as I am. The next time I'll see you it will be New Year's Day! Until then I'm sharing a message that was in the Hallmark Christmas cards I sent out this year. I LOVE the wording and the sentiment. ©

"Christmas keeps us believing in goodness,

 in kindness, in the wonderful dream of Peace.

May Christmas always have the power

 to remind us of the connection between us all

 and to renew our wish for a more peaceful world.

And this year, especially, may Christmas bring you joy."

 A Christmas tree from my youth, 1951.

I named that doll 'Jimmy' because a grandfather figure/neighbor

used to call me that. I recently purchased a briefcase for my mahjong stuff and it's the made of the same pink cabbage roses and tan fabric as the drapes in this photo. I loved it the minute I saw it but didn't make the connection until a few days later.

Sentimental Holiday Feelings

Watching the line dancers doing a Christmas performance it hit me what a close knit community we’ve built here at the continuum care facility. A few tears rolled down my cheeks as I thought about the overlapping Circles of Friendships that have developed since our campus opened. Most of us have found our Tribes---those people in our inner, middle and outer circles. And the best part is that everyone’s Circle of Friendships connect to make this place a warm and accepting place to live despite (or maybe because of) our individual foibles and idiosyncrasies. We’re truly a microcosm of a larger community.

Over the two years I’ve been living here I’ve written extensively about those foibles and idiosyncrasies. As I sat looking around I realized I write more about the funny or annoying aspects that I see in my neighbors and not enough about the endearing and admirable side of some of those same people. Heck, I’d sound like I’m living on Movers and Shakers Row if I wrote about the charity work some of these people do. They don’t just belong to do-good groups, they’ve started them or run them. I found out yesterday, for example,  that one of the guy here has helped several of the waitstaff to get college scholarships, using his connections and writing recommendation letters for them. Now I know why we've lost some of our best waitresses.

Seeing the different facets of people is one of the things I like the most living here. I see people who support causes I hate but I can still like and get along with them. Case in point our resident, most avid Trump supporter knows I like pea soup and she always gives me enough for three bowls when she makes it. She loves to cook and is generous to everyone like that. The woman who called me to rally support against the bombed-out gingerbread house makes beautiful bows for packages and does so for anyone who asks and this time of the year she’s been kept very busy. She and I had some similar experiences---I worked in the floral industry for 20 years while she volunteered making floral arrangements for club banquets and parties---and she is ready and willing to help others along those lines. I am not. I selfishly keep my floral arranging talents hidden under a basket.

What brought the tears on and caused this train of thought to come to the surface was a couple who came in late---while the line dancers were doing their thing. The woman was pushing her husband in a newly acquired wheelchair and came close to barging right through the dancers to the point they had to adjust their positions while her husband tried to get her attention to stop. She’s in the middle stage of dementia and until his recent fall he was an extraordinary caregiver to her. He still is but his row is much harder to hoe right now. Not too long after we all moved in I wrote about the first time I found myself at a dinner table with them. I had a mini melt down because she kept shoveling food off her plate and onto mine. I’m kind of a germaphobic and would never eat something that had been on someone else’s used fork. Especially from a total stranger like she was back then. I didn’t know she was having issues with early dementia at the time and I was trying not to show how freaked out I was. Fast forward and I recently saw her refuse to eat a salad because she was afraid of the croutons on top. It’s so much easier to feel compassion when we can look past our own issues and see where others are coming from.

We have another couple here who is very popular. She’s got Lewy Body dementia and a good sense of humor about it. They go everywhere holding hands. (Actually, all the couples on campus do that.) She was my Mahjong mentor two years ago but now occasionally she’ll ask me to clarify a rule and she’d been playing weekly for 35 years. He’s another great caregiver as well as another avid Trump supporter. Although he keeps his politics closer to the vest than the Trumpter mentioned above. Both of them hate Hillary to a point that it shocks me every time they voice it. He’s also the Class Clown and will do anything for a laugh. At the end of the Line Dancers routine, for example, they were asked to huddle together for a photo and The Clown sat on the floor in front of the line dancers for the photo-shoot and just to be clear he’s not a line dancer and didn’t prance around wearing reindeer horns that day like they did.

We have quite a few couples here who I admire for their devotion to each other. One couple is in their mid-nineties, super sweet to each other and to others, super religious but you don’t want to mention transgender issues around them because she thinks all the public schools are trying to make children change their sex. Boys into girls and girls in to boy for God only knows why we Evil Liberals want to do that. Then there’s the couple we could easily nickname the Complaint Department. Nothing is ever good enough for them---not the food service, not the cleaning crew, not the grounds keepers. I couldn’t live inside their skin but they do hold management’s feet to the fire over some things others collectively care about and wouldn't get done without Mr. and Mrs. Squeaky Wheel. We all have a place in the microcosm.

We have a new couple in my building. I don’t know them well enough to give them a nickname shorter than The Artist and the Eye Candy. They are social and are taking part in various activities, building their Circles of Friendships here which is what you have to do when you're the new kid on the block. Network until you find your Tribes, unfortunately for me they seem to be seeking out other couples for their Tribe. I’d love to get an invitation to see their apartment because I’m told she has an art studio set up in what I use for a den---we have identical floor plans. Her husband is the first man in my age bracket I’ve seen in ages who can take my breath away just by looking at him. Be still my heart. He’s so good looking! And immaculately groomed. A sharp dresser. They seem devoted to each other in that touchy-feely way that lets you know they are still attracted to one another which seems to be a requirement for couples living in a continuum care complex. 

I’m guessing that happy couples are disproportionately represented in places like this. The couples moving into CCC’s want to be sure their spouses are cared for after they’re gone---that’s a fact. Just ask and they’ll all tell you that. But I’m also guessing that husbands and wives who’ve fallen out of 'love' or 'like' don't want to be locked into a CCC. They both probably hope they'll be the last one standing and they don't want their finances tied up in a non-refundable jointly chosen life style. That’s my theory, anyway, based on no research and no anecdotal evidence.

Until Next Wednesday… ©

Photo: The guy at the top is not my new neighbor but they could have been cut from the same cloth. He's an actor, model and photographer named Andreas von Tempslhoff, age 75.

The Art and Business of Giving

 

I’m having a hard time getting back into a post-holiday routine. I did manage to go to a lecture on the continuum care campus where I live. Our TV channel that advertises what is happening each day billed the lecture like this: “Time, Talent, Treasures...This is the history of philanthropy in (our city). We are a success story of ordinary citizens and courageous leaders who never stop believing in our community and our future. From our earliest settlers in the nineteenth century until present time, our city has been blessed with a spirit of generosity in vision and action.” I wasn’t particularly interested in going because I’ve heard the speaker more times than I can count when I was a member of the senior hall where I used to live. But I went because it was Monday and I needed human contact after spending the weekend in self-imposed isolation. Sunday I never even got dressed and I don’t feel the least bit guilty about it because I did get the laundry done and I baked a loaf of poppy-seed bread. Don’t get excited about the bread. It came from a box and I only mixed it up because I had two eggs that I needed to used or risk letting them spoil. Yes, I had them that long.

Surprisingly I came out of the lecture without the cynicism I went into it with. When did I get that way? When did I start letting cynicism cling to my coattails? (And note to self: people don’t wear coattails anymore.) The young woman who gave the lecture is just trying to make a living by giving lectures and walking tours around our city and as I sat there watching her enthusiasm I decided that I’m a wee bit jealous. She’s created a one-of-a-kind career for herself and she’s young and thin and people like her. Me, I’m old and fat and probably an acquired taste and I would have loved being the only person in the city known for doing such and such---anything short of murder and mayhem.

As for the philanthropists she talk about they were the usual suspects…the people who built the hospitals, the library, the art museum. The people who started the Salvation Army and funded the zoo. If we had enough money, we too, could buy our way into the history books. Haven’t most of us dreamed about what we’d do if we won one of the Mega Million lotto jackpots in the news recently? But what struck me the most about our local philanthropists is they didn’t start with silver spoons in their mouths and none of them made their money off the backs of poor, working immigrants that way the titans of railroads, shipping and steel did in the 1800s. The same titans who ended up being known for their philanthropy like Andrew Carnegie. Does anyone even remember how he made his money before he gave 90% of it away to do things like building the Hague Palace of Peace and libraries, universities and colleges all over the world? In a nutshell, he got rich slashing the wages of the U.S. steel workers to undercut steel prices coming from other countries and ended up with 350 million dollars excess in profits to give away in his last 18 years of life, which would be roughly six billion dollars in the 2020s.

After the lecture I walked over to the Memory Care building next door to visit my brother and I brought him some more ink pens. A few weeks ago I bought him a memory jogging guest book for people with dementia and I attached an ink pen to the book with a ribbon. Ever since then when ever I’d visit I’d find that ribbon and pen just about every where but attached to the guest book even though there were other ink pens around. This day I found it attached to his telephone. So far, I’ve brought six ink pens to his room but he only seems to use the one attached to the guest book. I'm not sure if it's a dementia thing or a guy thing. My husband used to have a large collection of ink pens---numbered in the hundreds---but he’d do the same thing of zeroing in on one pen he like using and heaven help the person who used Don’s favorite pen and didn’t put it back on his desk. I preferred using mechanic pencils---still do---so it wasn’t much of a problem for me to leave his pen alone. When I moved here I thought I had brought enough ink pens that I’d never have to buy another as long as I live, but guess what went on my shopping list this week. My brother deserves new ones that you can tell at a glance if they are going to run out of ink.

The next day was our monthly Resident’s Dialogue Meeting otherwise known as Bitch and Pitch Meetings where the same old, same old is usually on the agenda. Except this day the CEO announced that he’s leaving that job to be a fund raiser for our parent company. He’ll be wining and dining the rich folk all over the place trying get them to give corporate donations to keep the lights burning in my little corner of the world. When our sister campus first opened in 1906 it had ten residents who were all retired ministers. Now, our two campus’ have over 450 residents and the single biggest donation to our CCC came from a farmer who donated six million dollars. A farmer! And the moral of that little story is to never underestimate a guy wearing bib overalls and a John Deere baseball hat. ©

The Power of the Written Word

My poem about the contentious meeting between the residents and the new food service here at the continuum care campus has earned me my very own nickname. Isn’t that ironic considering I’ve spent the last ten months giving my fellow residents nicknames to give them a layer of privacy should my blog ever become public knowledge. For several days I heard “Here comes our Poet Laureate” when ever I’d approach a gathering of people. I’ll have to admit it feels good to not have to hide one of my main passions in life…writing. And I think I started something. I was talking to man here who said he thought he’d be writing a lot when he retired and he wants to try his hand at poetry but he hasn’t written a single word since moving here, so the next thing I know I’m suggesting we start a creative writing group on campus. We’ll only need five or six people and we’ve heard a rumor there is another man here who is hold up in his apartment working on a book. The Enrichment Director has given us a time slot on the monthly calendar and we'll have our first 'cattle call' in September.

Also as a result of the poem I got asked to be a part of a new “Residents Council” a committee that the ‘in crowd’ is forming that wants to plan parties, help new residents fit in and connect us all through a residents’ newsletter. They wanted me to be in charge of writing the newsletter and taking notes at committee meetings. I turned them down and three of them spent the next two days trying to badger me into changing my mind. Finally I found them a guy who does a family newsletter once a month and he agreed to do the newsletter. I told the new editor I’d submit an article from time to time if he decides to have club reporters. He lite up at the ideal of having a string of reporters under his control.

I can’t tell you on how many levels I’d hate being part of this Residents Council. One: I’m trying to be more true myself here and party planning and putting myself out there with new people is not something I’ve enjoyed doing. In fact I'd hate it. Two: I can’t take notes in committee meetings. My mild dyslexia and poor spelling gets me stuck too often and doing that in public brings up childhood feelings of being called stupid. When I’m alone I can just ask Alexa and move on with no baggage to drag me down. 

And three: Several of the key members on the committee are Trump supporters. You should have heard the conversation here last night around our fire pit when the CDC announced changed in the Covid protocol. One woman (and two others agreed) that the announcement was proof that Trump was right all along when he said there was no pandemic and all the people who died of Covid died of something else. She thinks the hospitals and coroners across the country are getting a kick back for every Covid death they record and Covid is nothing more than the common flu that comes around every year. I couldn't work with people who parrot Fox News. My tongue would be raw from biting it all the time to keep myself from going all Incredible Hulk and spewing CCN back at them. And there it is, people, what is wrong with out country. We no longer value documented facts and ethics to the point we have two sets of  'truths' coming at us, making us more and more tribal. And dumber and dumber as a nation where half our people don't see anything wrong with an ex-president illegally keeping boxes of highly classified documents about our nuclear program in the basement of a club just feet away from where people from around the world go to play golf and cozy up to him. Puts a new light on that Chinese woman who was arrested by the FBI a year or two ago at Mar-a-Lago with a bunch of thumb drives in her possession, doesn't it.

Okay, my Incredible Hulk persona is back in the box and I have one more side note on the poem. I put it up Sunday at noon and by Tuesday morning it was gone. The management took it down along with a letter someone else wrote supporting the sentiments in my poem. They said the bulletin board in our mail room is only for notices. The board is probably six by six foot and only has three sheets of paper on it. I was planing on taking the poem down by Wednesday anyway and at first I thought it as funny they felt threaten by it. But the longer I thought about it the more annoyed I got at the idea we residents can’t have a bulletin board to post whatever on.

And that became reason number four for not getting involved in a resident council and their newsletter. The committee is going to ask the management to pay for paper, printing and to use their e-mail list, etc., and in exchange the management---in my opinion---is going to want control over what goes into that newsletter. I don’t want to be a performer in that circus but it’s going to be fun watching it from the sidelines.  ©

Wild Ducks, Wild Man and Wild Conversations on Campus

 I went down to visit the swans today after lunch but they were on the other side of the lake, which is a mile walk to get there and back. So I sat on a bench 15 feet from the water’s edge and not more than a minute later four Brown-Teal Ducks waddled by me and dove into the lake right in front of me. Seconds later a mother Mallard and her six babies came marching by and the babies got herded into a stone-lined creek that meanders through the campus and ends up by the underground parking garage entrance. The stream was cast in dark shadows and the babies seemed to be taking a bath. It was Saturday so why not.

As I tracked the swans as they moved ever so slowly closer I was thinking, “Why would someone put a pole right in the perfect viewing spot for lake gazing?” Then I noticed a 7-8 inch pulley with a chain attached to the pole and my eyes followed the chain upward. It ended with a 16 unit Purple Martin condo. I’d been to that bench before but I’ve been so busy watching for goose poop I don’t want to step in that I hadn’t bothered to see any higher up than the cattails along the shore.

Speaking of water foul poop, the maintenance man put on quite the show this week. He is tasked with scraping goose poop off the sidewalks every day and he was using a golf cart to get around when he encountered a group of 35+ geese in our parking lot which isn’t far from the lake the way the crow flies (or in this case a goose flies) but it's quite a long away from the lake if you walk around the building to get there. Our poor maintenance man was chasing on foot and by golf cart all the geese, trying to round them up so they’d all go in one direction---back towards the lake. Those of us who were on our decks were having a good time watching and worrying at one point he’d tip the golf cart over or run it into a tree. But the harder he worked the more the birds tried to scatter in all directions. Of course we had to heckle him and he shouted back, “As soon as those babies can fly there’s going to be an all out war!” 

I’m from the camp that enjoys seeing and hearing the ducks, geese and the bullfrogs but there is another camp that would love to see them all shot or poisoned which is against the law. Some hate them because of the poop and others because their honking, quacking and bullfrogging around interferes with their sleep. I keep reminding them they chose to live on a lake. Lakes come with wildlife. And ohmygod, this lake comes with tons of dragonflies which probably explains why we don’t have the mosquitoes that everyone feared we get. As I sat on the bench I easily saw several dozen dragonflies playing tag in the cattails. By the way, did you know that dragonflies can literally die of fright at the sight of fish, according to an article I just read? Everything is relative, isn't it. If a pride of lions was stalking me I would hope I'd die of fright before they started eating me for dinner.

Speaking of dinner, recently four people spent the entire time talking about their dissertations in great detail while I and another woman without an advanced degree sat stone quiet. At one point I wondered how something that happened so long ago could be so important to them now when the world around us seems to be falling apart. Mass shootings, the January Sixth Hearings, supply chain issues in the stores. Covid. Current events are rarely ever discussed here, except in book club as it relates to something we’ve read. (I love that group.) I miss talking about current events. Admittedly my husband and I used to be news junkies, but here those kinds of conversations get shut done quickly when certain people are in the mix. They want to pretend we’re living in Never-Never Land where the illusion is that everything is fun and beautiful. But ignorance is not bliss when there’s a darkness waiting to destroy Never-Never Land aka the world as we know it.

At that dinner it came out that I was taking art classes on the same campus at the same time as one of the women talking about their dissertations and she was naming professors trying to figure out if we’d been in any of the same classes. I could no more name the professors I had back in the ‘60s than I can name the countries in the old Soviet Union or the members of the Backstreet Boys, for that matter. I’ve always known my mind tends to focus on the broader context and not the details but here that foible smacks in the face every time my peers talk about this kind of stuff. My peers can even name their grade school teachers. Not me, but I could describe what my grade school teachers wore to work---their sensible black shoes with the chunky heels, their dark colored cotton dresses with their padded shoulders and broad, white lace or matching collars. I can remember the kindness of one teacher and the pure evil of another who smacked me and the other left-handers daily with a ruler.

At the end of our last book club we talked about getting our Life Enrichment Director to start a monthly discussion group for those of us who want to talk about current events. She’s usually very responsive to our ideas so fingers crossed I might find a place where those of us who want to compare our reactions to the world outside our campus can go and not get the Never-Never Land treatment. ©

 

Photo at the top is one I snatched off the internet of a martin house located in the Iroquois National Wildlife Refuse. Ours is below and was built by the residents in the assisted living building. I can't take good photos anymore but I tried with my phone. (below).

This is our bird condo with the bench I sit on to the right. In the distance on the right is the Memory Care building, on the left are our town houses.

Hard to see but it's a swan chasing a goose as seen from the bench in the photo up above. Also hard to see through the trees is the independent living apartments where I live.

One of the swans, photo taken from the bridge in between the town houses and the Memory Care building.

This is the creek where the baby ducks played and that's an assisted living building on campus. Being on a continuum care campus it's comforting to know where exactly I'd get down graded to if something drastic happens to my health. There are 7-8 couples here where one of them lives in our independent living apartments but their spouses are a short walk away in one of these other buildings on the lake.