The perceptible turning came one day when snow was deep on the car, Jerry had a 9:30 appointment, I had just had surgery, and the man we sometimes pay to clean off our car was out of town. Finally, I was able to call on our generous neighbor Gary.
When I say turning, haven’t I been adamant that I didn’t want to move to “Cordia Senior Residential Club,” at the north end of our three-quarter-mile long building? It felt, well, old. Remember how you would have felt about that when you were young? Humans have a built-in bias toward youth, of course we do, we want to live! To be vital, engaged!
But suddenly I felt tired. The second of my two surgeries this winter has been hard to recover from. And I have taken care of people literally all my life. I’m not resentful—it’s been sometimes a pleasure, sometimes just what you get through. Suddenly I wanted to be taken care of. I wanted to go to dinner and have it beautifully prepared and ready. I wanted to walk away without thinking about the dishes. At least for the winter, when we’re not at the cottage. I wanted someone to wash my sheets and change the bed.
Of course you can devise assisted living right where you are. You can pay people to do things for you. We know people who would rather be boiled in oil than move to Cordia or any such place. I have looked deeply at this, because I don’t want to regret this move. I seem to be one who is very happy with apartment living. I like the comfort of being in my own small space, then opening the door to a whole community when I want. Since my life is mostly reading, clicking away on my computer, and walking in the woods, I don’t need a whole house to do those things. Both of us also like tinkering with a house, but apartment-tinkering can also be done.
Jerry’s 81; his mobility is poor and his health is delicate. It’s an effort to go to concerts and the theater. It seems like a good idea to have the musicians from Interlochen come to us. It seems like a good idea to have a gym in our building, to have classes and discussion groups to attend if we want.
Will this move make me feel old? It remains to be seen. I examine myself. I feel somewhat ageless. Labels don’t stick very well. You may understand what I mean.
Will we hate to give up our utterly dazzling condo? Well, we have loved it for eight years. It has been a pleasure. It seems that we’re done with that.
Well, not yet! The waitlist at Cordia is long. We’ll have to move into a temporary unit when one opens up, anything we can get, to qualify for the internal waitlist. Who knows? It could be eight months to a year before we get a nice two-bedroom one.
Meanwhile, we will be agonizingly weeding out books. We’ll probably keep half. (How would YOU cut down to half?) Once we have the apartment we want, we’ll have bookcases built. Once again. I love bookcases, what they mean, all those favorite words at your fingertips.
People age so differently! That is, the people who manage to age. The ones whose country is not ravaged, whose dwellings are still standing, whose health care has enabled them to age.
Imagine weeding these, plus two other bookcases, down to half. More on this as we tackle it, later.
I can’t begin to express my gratefulness that, even though I can’t hear worth a damn, I’m good. I’m excited about my new poems, I’m watching videos on quantum physics, which, along with what I’ve learned from Buddhist texts, continues to amaze my perceptions, to leave me floating in space, unmoored, unlabeled.
So, as we move through the changes, I’ll take you with me. We’ll see how a different life registers on what I write. I’m wondering if there might be a book in this. But then, I’m always wondering that. :)
The P.S. . . . .
I’ll be teaching a three-hour poetry workshop on Saturday, April 9, 1-4. This workshop is for any level. If you’ve been noodling around with poems and want to learn more, or if you want to stretch into new territory, I’d love to have you.