Never, in all my life, have I felt so young. Never have I received so many comments about my age - or lack of it to be more precise. When you are the youngest person in a community, younger by a decade than the average age of 75, it causes comments.
In the first days residents would ask which parent I was visiting. Or, when I asked to join people already seated in the dining room, they wanted to know which new position I had taken on staff. Or they would stop me, when walking down a hallway, to ask if they could direct me somewhere. When I was asked at the Wellness Center (the gym area) for a copy of my medicare card, the staff member visibly gulped when I told her I didn't yet qualify.
I quickly realized that this was a unique opportunity, that this would never happen again, so why not enjoy it? I loved answering, "Oh, no, I'm a new resident. I live in E Wing" and then watch their responses. It was priceless. First, always, a bit of confusion crossed their faces, then good manners surfaced and I would receive a warm welcome with some comment like, "Oh my goodness, you are just so young."
When I entered the dining room in those first weeks I could see messages being communicated among tables, "There she is." The funniest was when a man I didn't know stopped behind my chair, pointed down to me, and said aloud in a delighted tone, "Look how young she is." Whenever I met new people, they always wanted to know why I had chosen to move in when I was so young?
Generally people like it when you agree with decisions they have already made so my reasons for moving in at the YOUNG age of 64, pleased them. A few whispered to me, in asides, that they wished they had moved in earlier - they would have been better able to enjoy the amenities and activities. It made me think of my mother who moved to Canterbury Woods in Pacific Grove at age 80 - she enjoyed it but also recognized how limited her abilities to participate were.
Now that I have been here all of 3+ months they are more playful. One staff member recently called out, "Do you have a hall pass, young lady?" A resident asked, "Are you really old enough to have a library card?" They step aside to let me pass as they hear my more rapid steps approach behind them. "Go on, young'un," they will say as I pass by. And they take advantage of me. I am now asked to hand out programs at auditorium events. Or to jump up and get things when needed. But my favorite was when I realized I had been seated at "the kid's table" at a small community dinner. I was the one asked to get up and clear plates! So very funny. When, when, when will this every happen again?
As truly charming and welcoming as everyone has been (no, one exception - a really unpleasant rude woman I sat with at dinner - and quickly realized I was grateful she existed because otherwise I would suspect I lived in Brigadoon!) I have not met as many residents as I would like because I remain so busy. Most weekdays I am either with a grandson or volunteering in Portland. I rarely have lunch here and get home just a bit before dinner. It is, as I had suspected, the same life I had before, I am just sleeping in a different unit. But this time the neighbors are quiet and absolutely charming.
They all adore Wesley (as they should!). In reality, he has 400 additional grandparents. Most days I eat breakfast in my unit but on Fridays (after Wesley has spent the night) we go down to breakfast together. After all, says Wesley, "It's bacon and pancake day!" They all know he is coming and greet him when we walk in - residents and wait staff alike. His favorite table is right against one of the windows that look down on the Willamette River. It has become "our table." Last week he graduated from preschool (he enters pre-Kindergarten next year in the same school. To keep things straight, he graduated from their child care section last year - fine gradations here) and was awarded a "gold" medal on a ribbon to wear around his neck and a balloon. He insisted that he wear the medal and bring the balloon to breakfast the next morning. He wanted everyone to see and they responded perfectly - congratulating him quite seriously as he smiled proudly. When he brings a stuffed animal they ask how it is doing. When he fell face first on the dining room carpet they asked if he was okay (and then whispered to me that if any one of them had taken such a tumble, they would be down for the count!).
You know, I think I am going to be a bit annoyed when someone younger than me moves in.
In the first days residents would ask which parent I was visiting. Or, when I asked to join people already seated in the dining room, they wanted to know which new position I had taken on staff. Or they would stop me, when walking down a hallway, to ask if they could direct me somewhere. When I was asked at the Wellness Center (the gym area) for a copy of my medicare card, the staff member visibly gulped when I told her I didn't yet qualify.
I quickly realized that this was a unique opportunity, that this would never happen again, so why not enjoy it? I loved answering, "Oh, no, I'm a new resident. I live in E Wing" and then watch their responses. It was priceless. First, always, a bit of confusion crossed their faces, then good manners surfaced and I would receive a warm welcome with some comment like, "Oh my goodness, you are just so young."
When I entered the dining room in those first weeks I could see messages being communicated among tables, "There she is." The funniest was when a man I didn't know stopped behind my chair, pointed down to me, and said aloud in a delighted tone, "Look how young she is." Whenever I met new people, they always wanted to know why I had chosen to move in when I was so young?
Generally people like it when you agree with decisions they have already made so my reasons for moving in at the YOUNG age of 64, pleased them. A few whispered to me, in asides, that they wished they had moved in earlier - they would have been better able to enjoy the amenities and activities. It made me think of my mother who moved to Canterbury Woods in Pacific Grove at age 80 - she enjoyed it but also recognized how limited her abilities to participate were.
Now that I have been here all of 3+ months they are more playful. One staff member recently called out, "Do you have a hall pass, young lady?" A resident asked, "Are you really old enough to have a library card?" They step aside to let me pass as they hear my more rapid steps approach behind them. "Go on, young'un," they will say as I pass by. And they take advantage of me. I am now asked to hand out programs at auditorium events. Or to jump up and get things when needed. But my favorite was when I realized I had been seated at "the kid's table" at a small community dinner. I was the one asked to get up and clear plates! So very funny. When, when, when will this every happen again?
As truly charming and welcoming as everyone has been (no, one exception - a really unpleasant rude woman I sat with at dinner - and quickly realized I was grateful she existed because otherwise I would suspect I lived in Brigadoon!) I have not met as many residents as I would like because I remain so busy. Most weekdays I am either with a grandson or volunteering in Portland. I rarely have lunch here and get home just a bit before dinner. It is, as I had suspected, the same life I had before, I am just sleeping in a different unit. But this time the neighbors are quiet and absolutely charming.
They all adore Wesley (as they should!). In reality, he has 400 additional grandparents. Most days I eat breakfast in my unit but on Fridays (after Wesley has spent the night) we go down to breakfast together. After all, says Wesley, "It's bacon and pancake day!" They all know he is coming and greet him when we walk in - residents and wait staff alike. His favorite table is right against one of the windows that look down on the Willamette River. It has become "our table." Last week he graduated from preschool (he enters pre-Kindergarten next year in the same school. To keep things straight, he graduated from their child care section last year - fine gradations here) and was awarded a "gold" medal on a ribbon to wear around his neck and a balloon. He insisted that he wear the medal and bring the balloon to breakfast the next morning. He wanted everyone to see and they responded perfectly - congratulating him quite seriously as he smiled proudly. When he brings a stuffed animal they ask how it is doing. When he fell face first on the dining room carpet they asked if he was okay (and then whispered to me that if any one of them had taken such a tumble, they would be down for the count!).
You know, I think I am going to be a bit annoyed when someone younger than me moves in.
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| Favorite bench where I sit and read at my new home |
As I read your entry, I laughed because I understood the older folks in your story and you (I think).
ReplyDeleteJust a few days ago, I had a completely opposite moment. Perhaps an "old" moment. You know what I'm talking about because you've thought it when you see someone older being inappropriate like "cougars" or bald old men driving expensive sports cars. For me the incident wasn't so desperate, but just as jarring. Tupac's "All about You" started playing on the Sonos, so I turned up the volume. I started dancing as if I was in da club and then our 23-year-old au pair walked in (to the kitchen where I was cooking & totally got distracted). I wasn't embarrassed (just as any cougar wouldn't be), but I did have the realization that maybe I'm not 20-something anymore (what cougars should realize). As our au pair laughed, my husband enters with the white man's overbite, which was followed by my 4-year old's krunk-ish dance (poor girl has no rhythm; let's hope she's super smart) and my moment was over. The following day when I was unloading the Kia Soul (yes, the car which hamsters are dancing to the latest club music), a lifted trucked with big wheels roared by with terrible music blaring. And then I thought, he thinks he's cool like the old men driving their expensive cars. Now I think my "old" moment became a family moment.