Just people

The best part about living in this retirement community is the people. Early on I discovered that there are no old people here. There are just people. People with interesting—often surprising—backgrounds, a wealth of stories, and quirky senses of humor. I’ve adopted the secret task of spying. This mostly takes the form of listening in on conversations. My innocent face and quiet nature facilitate my vocation of espionage. (Some people may argue the innocent face bit.)

I also take every opportunity to talk with people, not as a spy but as a neighbor and potential friend. Opportunities include eating together in the dinning hall (which came to a halt during the pandemic and is only now starting up again), walking the campus trail down by the creek, chugging away together in the exercise room, doing projects in the art room, and serving together on any of the many committees. So many chances to get to know people and form friendships.

Following are a few vignettes of my fellow/sister residents (more to follow in future blogs):

My friend Harriet
tells me that her son
visited her soon after he died.
He came and sat on the edge
of her bed. He spoke no
words, but his presence
comforted. When Harriet reached
up and turned on the light,
no one was there.
But she knew what she knew.
“He was,” she says, “unacquainted
with the limits of death.”

********

Ray won a prize in the First Annual
Friendsview Poetry Writing Contest.
He submitted an old poem,
one he had written years ago, a poem
to his wife. He was a soldier in Vietnam,
missing his bride. The poem rhymed
and every stanza ended with the line,
“I think of you.”
Ray’s wife died several years ago.
He says he still thinks about her
every day.

*******

Bonnie decided to try a new art form
so she downloaded some instructions
from the Web, bought the paper
and acrylics, and began pouring
paint on paper, tipping it,
letting the colors ribbon
and swirl. It turned out nice,
so now she’s giving classes every Friday
afternoon. “I’m not really an artist,”
she says. “Anyone can do this.”
I wonder about that. The results
of the class are now on display.
Something in the sense of movement
stirs me, and I can’t stop admiring.
“This isn’t ART,” Bonnie claims.
“It’s more like a hobby.”
I wonder about that, too.
Who’s to say? It just may be
the real thing after all.
Like Bonnie.

*********

 Alan’s wife died last year. He’s only been here
since January. That’s a lot of adjusting to do.
Every morning he’s down in the exercise room,
walking slowly but consistently on the treadmill,
his way of choosing life. Now in his mid-90s,
his Ph.D. in medical research helps him scan
his neighbors, make wise diagnoses,
which he wisely keeps to himself.
But his life-long research in giardia doesn’t
contribute much to life in this place. It’s too clean here.
I can appreciate his work, though, having wrestled
with the beasts myself. I feel a little safer
knowing there’s an ancient giardia specialist
who lives just over by the creek.

[Note: Bonnie’s painting shown above is mixed media, in the beginning stage and the final product.]