“Not in Assisted Living (Yet): Dispatches from the Edge of Independence!

Welcome to my World---Woman, widow, senior citizen seeking to live out my days with a sense of whimsy as I search for inner peace and friendships. Jeez, that sounds like a profile on a dating app and I have zero interest in them, having lost my soul mate of 42 years. Life was good until it wasn't when my husband had a massive stroke and I spent the next 12 1/2 years as his caregiver. This blog has documented the pain and heartache of loss, my dark humor, my sweetest memories and, yes, even my pity parties and finally, moving past it all. And now I’m ready for a new start, in a new location---a continuum care campus in West Michigan, U.S.A. Some people say I have a quirky sense of humor that shows up from time to time in this blog. Others say I make some keen observations about life and growing older. Stick around, read a while. I'm sure we'll have things in common. Your comments are welcome and encouraged. Jean
Showing posts with label condos for baby boomers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label condos for baby boomers. Show all posts

Friday, February 27, 2015

Dreams, Lighthouses and Moving



If dreams are a window into our subconscious thoughts then I must be obsessed with toilets and my husband. I often wake up during dreams where I’m looking for a bathroom. It might be in a building with a hundred doors to open or I might be looking in a house of hallways with no doors at all. It’s not hard to figure why these reoccurring dreams happen because I wake up with an urgent need to pee. As for my husband, the past few months I’ve dreamed of him nearly every night and I can’t figure out why. I did that at the beginning of my widowhood but those dreams got farther and farther apart until it would only be a night or two a month when he’d come to me in my sleep. 

Last night was the first time when I dreamed about toilets and my husband in the same dream and it was freaky because he was doing something I hadn’t thought about or seen done in nearly fifty years.  Back then, I remember seeing women take dirty diapers---the old clothe kind, not the paper ones like they use today---and hold them tight at one end while flushing the toilet to clean the solid waste out of them. Having never been a mother, I never did it myself or if I did I was babysitting and it wasn’t very often because over the years I developed a rule: I don’t babysit any child who isn’t old enough to say, “My stomach hurts. I want to go to the hospital.” 

Anyway, in my dream Don was in the bathroom holding various things over the toilet bowl and flushing---ordinary clothing and hand towels, etc. I asked him what the heck he was doing and he said he was doing the laundry. Sure enough, sitting on the floor was a pile of wet, soggy stuff. That’s when I woke up, aghast that he would do such a thing. I cannot figure out where this random diaper memory came from and why all these years later it appeared in my subconscious thoughts. And as for Don doing the laundry, the man barely knew where the washing machine resided in the house. His idea of doing the laundry was to pack it up and drop it off to a laundromat where an attendant would do it for him. He could drive and repair any piece of heavy equipment on a military base or on the road but a washer and dryer was above his pay scale, as they say. I think one time he tried doing laundry and he got the classic, pink underwear of a beginner and he never tried doing the laundry again. 

This week I went to a lecture titled, “Ladies of the Lights.” It was presented by an energetic speaker from a group that promotes Michigan’s tourism industry. It was about forty women who were lighthouse keepers on our Great Lakes, dating back to the 1840s. (We have thirty lighthouses within 100 miles and about a third of them are on islands.) She read diary excerpts from some of these lighthouse keepers and, boy, were those passages engaging! When you think about the cold, ice and snow we’ve had this winter and how it can isolate us in our homes, can you image being in a lighthouse in the decades before the internet, TV and even telephones were invented?  It was a fascinating lecture and one I’d recommend to anyone who gets a chance to see it as it moves around the Great Lake states. I can’t wait until her next lecture in the fall when she’s coming back to do one on haunted lighthouses. 

I just realized I’m signed up for a day trip next week, to go to a large antique mall near Lake Michigan in my favorite tourist town of Saugatuck. When I signed up, March sounded so far away and warm and spring-like but it’s still supposed to be cold and snowy. Great. If you hear about a highway pile up in West Michigan think of me. I don’t like being on the highways in the winter! If the weather turns out to be bad enough to close the schools, though, the trip will get rescheduled. Our senior hall bus is housed and maintained by the school district, even though we raised the money last fall to buy it and pay for its upkeep. This will be my first time riding on it. In the past we’ve always rented buses. But through the winter they’ve used the new bus to go to plays, musicals and other productions downtown which aren’t my thing but I mention them here because senior halls “can be” a wellspring of activities at a reasonable, no profit-built-in price. 

And that fact makes it so hard when I think about moving to the other end of town. I’ve checked out the senior hall activities down there and they can’t compare to what’s only five minutes away up here. Oh, they have the card games, exercise classes and the crafts the same as we do up here (that I don’t take part in) but they don’t have the lectures and day trips that I like the most. I’ve been driving myself crazy weighing the pros and cons of moving closer to my family. I’ve pretty much come to the conclusion that I’d have to find a pet friendly, zero-steps condo community that has planned activities to balance out what I’d be losing in my social life up here. So far, I’ve only found one community that checks all the boxes and I’m not sure I can afford to live there. When the weather gets nicer and I can do their tour, I’ll find out more. Too many “ifs” and “buts” to make this old widow sure of anything! ©

Sunday, June 3, 2012

Picking out my Future

"It is strange that the years teach us patience; that the shorter our time, 
the greater our capacity for waiting.
Elizabeth Taylor
 
This past week I’ve been touring condos on the annual Parade of Homes. I can’t say that I like the new trends in home décor but it doesn’t matter, I don’t plan to buy brand new next spring when I’m ready to move. Ideally, I’ll buy something 5-6 years old where I won’t feel guilty about replacing carpeting and wall colors to something more in my desired color palette. Did I mention that I hate dark brown floors and brown marble countertops? Call me crazy. Call me old fashioned. I still like the ‘light and airy’ look. I dream of beach cottage décor and pastels.

On one hand it seems strange to be planning a new life in a new location that will entail leaving behind many of the things in our present home that represent a blending of tastes and years of joint decisions. On the other hand, the artist in me is looking forward to building a new ‘nest’ and hopefully a new life that sheds the loneliness that Don’s passing understandably dumped in my lap.

I just discovered I have mole growing deep inside my belly button. Don’t ask me how. It’s a long story. Since I’ve already had a couple of cancerous moles removed I suppose I should get this one checked out before my ‘innie’ becomes an ‘outie.' It would be embarrassing to have my obituary read: Cause of death---belly button gone wild. Since Don’s death I’ve become somewhat paranoid about my own death coming sooner rather than later. If I died in this house, for example, no one would notice until the mail carrier couldn’t stuff one more thing in the box and then she’d probably think I was on vacation and rudely forgot to notify the post office. I don’t want to be that old person you read about in the newspaper whose dog ate the corpse because there wasn’t anything else eatable left in the house. I don’t want to be the person who slides off the highway into a river and isn’t discovered until their license plate is too rusty to read. A condo in a Baby Boomer community, I’m thinking, will resolve all those worries because there is bound to be a least one nosy neighbor near-by who will memorize my comings and goings and start asking questions when I don’t show up. Who knew having a nosy neighbor could serve a useful purpose.

One of the condos I looked at had a to-die for patio that was totally private. Along the tall white fencing was an area where I could plant stuff, have a bird bath and other things to entertain the dog. He loves to decapitate pansies and pick the potted strawberries on my deck and chase the birds away that are dying of thirst. I want a condo patio like that but alas I must wait until my period of mourning is up. That’s the rule: don’t make any big changes until you’re a year out from your spouse’s passing. I know that’s good advice and after a lifetime of following the rules of life I’m not going to go start ignoring them now. So while I wait and plan and dream I will continue meditating while contemplating my navel. Oh, crap! That reminds me I have to call the dermatologist tomorrow. ©

 "...If we learn to think of it as anticipation, as learning, as growing, 
if we think of the time we spend waiting for the big things of life as
an opportunity instead of a passing of time, what wonderful horizons open out!
 Ann Neagle


P.S. The photo above is of a print I just bought to inspire the color palette for my next house.