Sunday, June 29, 2014

The Mirage of Isolation



Yesterday I took my bike and went "off campus" to explore.

It was great to take things slowly.  A bike pace - especially my bike pace -  lends itself to taking a chance with a side road, stopping and looking at store windows (even if those windows are in a strip mall),  pausing to walk through a garden on the local church property.   

In the middle of the ride,  I ducked in to the local library to cool off and read the current issue of People Magazine (there was no way I was handing over $5 to buy my own copy.)   The air conditioned library felt great, but I must admit I was quite a sight with my bike helmet and sweaty self.  I don't imagine anyone sat on the chair I used for quite some time after I had left...

Anyway.

Living in this 55 Plus Community, there is a gate that separates me from the greater community.   The gate is a mirage, really.  If you are in a car and can tell the guards where you are going, they'll let anybody in.  But even that mirage creates an intentional separation.  Returning to the manicured grounds, the quiet streets, the beautiful ponds and water features, there is a sense of life apart.

It's a superficial separation.  We can't live here without the resources of the town around us; within our gates we have no grocery stores, no doctor's offices, no gas stations - no nothing but houses, golf carts and recreation.   And our facilities need the income from welcoming the community-at-large to play golf, have lunch or stage a wedding. 

As a younger woman, I lived in highly diverse communities; we're talking your-car-has-been stolen-several-times-in-a-year sorts of places.   And I have worked, and will continue to, in the local schools.  But I have to admit that it is a welcome change to slip through that mirage of a gate and actually live among people my own age who come from similar economic and social backgrounds.    

Bottom line: I appreciate the town and will be there, by necessity, almost every day.  But even as I am getting used to not locking my bike when I use it "on campus",  I know I need to lock my bike when I stop somewhere in town.  The mirage of isolation seems to extend at least that far.








Saturday, June 28, 2014

Walking the Tighrope


Rode my bike to the clubhouse last night.  After a FRUSTRATING day of unpacking stuff in a house full of boxes that will seemingly never be fully unpacked, I didn't think a glass of wine (or two) was a bad idea. Don't worry; I didn't overdo.

Walking in felt good - the staff already has me figured out.  Sauvignon Blanc.  On a bar stool.  More often than not, yes, I will look at the dinner menu.  

Last night there were two seats open at the bar which was otherwise full of couples who built this place.  The pioneers.    They didn't seem to want to talk with me, each other, or anybody else, frankly.  Just sittin'.   

But guess what?   If you are not open to chatting with strangers, ask for a table.  That's my theory.  If you are sitting at the bar, you are fair game.  So I started talking with them. Slowly, things emerged.  After 20 years in this community they have seen a lot of change and are a little bit crotchety about the changes.  For the most part, they are from the Western Suburbs of Chicago.  They are coupled up, but not married.  One of the guys will celebrate his 85th birthday pretty soon.

We talked about cathedral ceilings with recessed lighting and light bulbs that are really hard to change.  We talked about water softeners and the fact that they don't have one, a conversation that included a strong recommendation that we get rid of ours. 

Mostly, though, they shared their sense of days gone by when "everyone was friendly and the place was not so 'uppity'."  (I am not sure about that one.)  They shared how much the management caters (in their view) to "snowbirds" (or part-time residents).  There were stories about the tensions between the Home Owners Association and the Home Owners -  mostly about how much things cost - to the point that the bartender tried to step in once in awhile to assure me that this really is a great community to live in.

The bartender did not have to worry.  I am not scared off yet.  These folks, despite their belly achin' have lived here 20 years.  A couple of them have already sold their first house in the community and bought a second one for goodness sake.  These are not dissatisfied customers.

But things do change in 20 years.  Prices rise,  procedures are updated and friends die.  I imagine that my neighbors at the bar have long since made peace with the HOA regulation; the challenge is to reconcile themselves to the simple fact that, if this community is going to continue to thrive, it must make way for a new generation and its new-fangled, seemingly-uppity ways.

There is a tightrope here.  It runs between new and original residents; through those born before 1955 and those born later; through those who live hear year-round and "snowbirds".  It's a tightrope worth learning how to walk.



Friday, June 27, 2014

A Down Day



Today feels like a "down day."

Which I find surprising.  Isn't every day here supposed to feel perfect?  A new home - big and full of possibilities; blue skies that go on forever; emerging friendships; quiet; peace.

What could POSSIBLY be downer?  

To start with, moving is disruptive.  Boxes everywhere.  I can't find anything.  The kitchen is almost - but not quite - done.  In fact, most of the house is almost but not quite set up.  But I have hit a point where I can't do too much more with it until someone else does.   So, I wait.  For counter tops to be installed.  For a furniture delivery.  For Frances to put her tools away.  

And then my daily structure is shot to hell.  What daily structure?  Without a teaching gig or other daily responsibilities, my day is kind of my own.  Kind of.  I have to work around the waiting and letting people in to do things, but for the first time in MONTHS I do have time that I can call my own.  I haven't gotten to the point that the time seems freeing - I am more at the point that the scaffolding that I had been using to give my life direction and meaning is glaringly absent.  Which, far from being freeing, is disorienting.

Too, even though I have been living around Phoenix since February, everything is new AGAIN.  We had developed routines, patterns, favorite haunts over our six months in Scottsdale.   Now, with a 45 minute drive between our new home and Scottsdale,  we are having to redevelop everything. Where is the grocery store?  Can we locate the ATM?  What about the post office?  Prior to this move, we had been living in the same place for 15 years, so two homes in six months is pushing my comfort zone.  Big time.

Like most teachers, I have LONGED for this unstructured time and new beginning, sure that I would know how to fill it.  In fact, I am finding that while I know that I want to increase the creativity in my life - I am not entirely sure how that is done.  For sure, it means less restaurant meals.  It means finishing a quilt project once I find my sewing machine.  Maybe it means making the bed.  That's it.  I'll start with making the bed.  I think I can manage that.

  




Thursday, June 26, 2014

A Generous Pour



I am sure that there are exceptions to this.  Every 55 Plus Community resident is not a "keep that alcohol flowing for as long as possible" kind of drinker.  

But, from my observations so far, the easiest ones to meet sure are.

Obviously, it is easy to start random conversations with people at the bars.  Everyone is there because they want to drink and chat with their neighbors.  It's akin to drinking at home - no car is necessary to get to the clubhouse, so the restraint imposed by avoiding DWIs does not really apply.  Some folks have to be at work the next day, but many don't.  Have a third! And a fourth!  

There are alternatives of course.  The pools and health clubs are also public places, but most people at the pool are reading a book, lost in their own routines or chatting with people they already know.  And know for a fact that beer and wine are available at the pool food shack at very reasonable prices.  To be fair, I was able to talk with people when I went on a bike ride with the bike club - but that was not exactly focused conversation as we dodged traffic and attempted to keep up with each other.

That bar stool has a lot to recommend it.

I imagine there is a seasonal aspect to this.  As the "snowbirds" return in the fall, I expect to see an increase in club meetings and other activities. But if I am looking at my 55 Plus social life-to-date, a lot of it revolves around alcohol..

A neighbor dropped by last night - wine glass in hand and wine as a gift - and we had a lovely chat.  I think I will like her.  Another neighbor - who I met at the bar - invited me over to her house for cocktails.  Frances and I, not to be outdone, have installed (and stocked) a wine refrigerator and a liquor cabinet.  Can I get something for you?

This "lifestyle" is a strange juxtaposition between Health Spa and Irish pub.  The gym equipment is top of the line.  The biking and hiking can become a way of life.  The golf courses beckon.  The quiet is protected.  The library is carefully cultivated.  One can find one's self here.  

But one can lose oneself just as easily.  Somewhere between the second and the third pour.  








Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Following the Heart




One can over do thinking things through.

Ponder the possibility of this.  Consider the possibility of that.  Add up the costs and calculate the infinite ways those costs might change.  Spend a lot of time reflecting.

There will always be risks to anything.  And among the many, many things that Molly taught me was that all of the thoughtful calculations in the world can miss - probably WILL miss - the real problems that are going to emerge.  Thoughtful calculation is going to lead you to the same place every time: the anticipated action might go well, and then again, it might not.  

Frances and I are gut instinct people.  We will think things through to some extent, but our hearts are going to overrule our head almost every time.  So when we moved to this 55 Plus Community, we could have spent a weekend here to see if we really liked "the lifestyle".  But that seemed like setting ourselves up for a weekend of intense marketing.  Instead, we had lunch at the bar a few times so that we could talk with the bartenders and the folks at the bar; seemed more "real" to us.  And we felt at home pretty quickly.

We did not spend a lot of time in the desert in the summer before we moved - we just figured that it would be hot.  We had heard that it was a "dry" heat - much different than the East Coast humidity that we were used to. Basically, we chalked up heat waves to a universal truth that there is no perfect place on the planet and we would rather pay our dues with heat than with snow.  So far so good on that.

Of course, we did some rough financial calculations before the move; add the cost of the mortgage; throw some money in for Homeowners Association. pay off the cars before we moved.  After that, our sense was that the budget would all more or less even out.  A tad bit naive.  

Our first bumps in the road came with  utility bills. Mercy me.  We did not spend a lot of time researching those.  Correct that.  We spent no time researching them.  Which became obvious when I opened the first electric bill.  A little research might have been helpful in this area - we weren't even here for half the month and the bill was more than I had ever paid for any utility.  And then there was the cost of the service call to fix the air conditioner that went out somewhere between three teen aged boys in and out while we were moving in and the contractor leaving every door in the house open.  

We had signed a contract on the house before we became aware that we would need to pay for things like landscaping ($145 a month) and extermination ($50 a month) that are not regular expenses anywhere else we have lived and had not even occurred to us.  We also didn't factor in additional insurance costs - including insurance on the golf cart which is a new vehicle that we are going to have to take care of.   

I am not giving up having a cleaning lady.  So there is that, too.

The overwhelming gut instinct was to move.  Have there been surprises along the way?  Yes.  Might it have been prudent to do a bit more research?  Perhaps.   Do I have any regrets?  No.











Happy Birthday




Today would have been my mother's 77th birthday.

I miss her.

Our new house is the definition of happy chaos.   Nephews are painting and installing light fixtures.  Frances' mom is building IKEA furniture.  A contractor is finishing up installing cabinets.  Some furniture will be here in an hour (or some I am told; I will believe it when I see it).  Air mattresses are strewn everywhere.

Mom would have looked forward to being part of this transition.

Frankly, I would not have always wished for Mom to visit.  My mother was efficient.  She wrote articles comparing raising her children to running a business.  Her primary advice for pain or insult was "take your mind off of it."  We are not talking Mary Poppins.

I always loved my mom in the way that you do.  You know.  "I love my mom."  And yet, as I have aged, and been challenged  I have developed a deep respect and appreciation for her that I did not have when she was alive.  

Her life was a story of dreams compromised, deferred and adjusted.   Her marriage was challenging - to say the least.  Motherhood was her life's work, and for the most part, her three children exceeded expectations. But motherhood was a detour from talents that she would have enjoyed developing: music, sewing, writing. She eventually got an MBA and enjoyed her career as a certified financial planner.  Born at another time, I doubt my mother would have chosen a family life.  Born when she was, she saw marriage as a destiny more than a choice, and she lived in to that destiny with enormous creativity and all the passion she could muster.

She had great taste - her possessions all had a similar style that I could never quite identify before I spent time sorting through them after her death.  I was never able to select the right gift for her when she was alive; I am pretty sure that I could now.

Perhaps I see her in a different light as I have aged because I look in the mirror and I see her.  I take a bike ride and I know that bike riding was her passion before it was mine.  I cook a healthy meal with the recognition that she was right about the importance of healthy eating and that it took me a long time to get on board with spinach and cauliflower. I am grateful that she managed money so well, but recognize that I will not do the same.  I understand her mid-life drive toward transition - her desire to travel to Europe alone; her decision to go to graduate school; her commitment to building a career.

Even as our house is full of boxes, Mom is part of this.  A bedspread that she made and was very proud of is on the guest room bed.  Her mother's old spice tins are displayed in our new kitchen.  I've got her measuring cups and a a thought that maybe I will bake if our kitchen ever gets done.

Even so.  While I sense her presence, sometimes that really just isn't enough.  This is the first major transition of my life after her death.  I look at my patio chairs and my wine refrigerator and feel only Mom's absence. She would have enjoyed cocktails, cheese and crackers on the patio after spending the day unpacking boxes and organizing the office.

My office would be better organized if she were here.  Mom would have had some creative decorating ideas that I am never going to think of - and would have probably liked.  She probably would have said something that would have gotten on my last nerve.  And I know that I would have irritated her, too.  And it would have been okay.

Happy Birthday, Mom!






Thursday, June 19, 2014

Not Quite Yet



Some of this is going really, really well.

Like, I walked in to the clubhouse bar last night for the big 65th Wedding Anniversary Karaoke Party that offered free drinks to anyone who showed up, and I immediately felt at home.  I was not a stranger.  I knew a few names, met some more folks, enjoyed the conversation.  It was fun.    And the bartender knew my name, asked where Frances was, and remembered my "usual."   

Not bad for living here just over a week.  And no, I have not been to the clubhouse EVERY DAY.  Not quite.  

I will say this, though...  it is the nature of these homes to drive in to the garage, close the garage door, and walk in to the house without encountering a soul.  Had I not picked up my butt and proactively sought people out, I would have met nobody.   There is work involved in this.  Or so I tell myself as I sip a second glass of Sauvignon Blanc!

The social stuff is what is important, really, and I have been impressed with the folks I am meeting.  Kind, generous, interesting.  Many are still working.  By and large, they have well-rehearsed stories that they tell well and enjoy telling.  

And my oh my, if the couple celebrating their 65th Anniversary is any indication of the benefits of this lifestyle, then sign me up.  They appeared to be vibrant, healthy and very, very happy.

So, there is that.

And then there is the rest of this crap.  Moving sucks.  Plain and simple.  The moving company, who gave me a THREE WEEK window for delivery of our stuff, is not delivering within that window and decided to share that with me yesterday.  "It's the nature of the business" was their comment.  At least they had a comment; they have only initiated communication with me to collect payment.

And it appears that the kitchen installer guy had quite a Father's Day Weekend..  He needed TWO AND A HALF DAYS to recover.  Which would have been at least understandable if I had not been sitting on my back porch waiting for him.

Definitely not paradise.  Not yet. 










Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Handling It




Let's see where we are at the moment.

Oh yes.  The kitchen has been torn out and donated to Habitat for Humanity and the new cabinets have been delivered.  But they are not installed. The installer guy was here on Friday - did great work - and has not been seen since (it is Wednesday).  Our stove is unplugged and stowed in a corner.  There are cabinets stacked everywhere.  We have less functionality than when this guy started his installation and I am beyond convincing that he is going to finish this gig anywhere close to on time.  (On time would be tomorrow.  There is no way.)

Which I could handle.

Except that our moving truck seems to be permanently stuck somewhere in New Mexico.  Our move is relatively small, so we have no pull with the company.  They will deliver our stuff when they get good and ready and have nothing better to do.  Which is beginning to feel like it could be weeks from now.  

Which I could handle.

If it weren't for the relatives who are piling in here tomorrow to help us unpack. A great-aunt, my mother-in-law (who just had shoulder surgery), a sister-in-law and her three teen aged boys.  We have been saving assembly jobs for the boys so we will be able to keep them busy, although my best case scenario is beginning to look like three teenagers tripping over the moving guys who will, in turn, be stacking boxes around the cabinet installer.  And there will be nowhere to put anything because the cabinets are not installed.

Which seems like a lot to handle.

One additional wrinkle.  We don't have beds for these relatives.  Our first shipment of new furniture (including beds)  is delayed in Mexico for some reason that is not entirely clear to me; we do have an air mattress on the truck that is currently in New Mexico where it appears to be going to stay. I am led to believe that some sleeper couches are due to be delivered in two days.  Might as well add to the chaos.  

I don't blame Frances for working the whole entire time - we could use the overtime.  But it does mean that I get to preside over all of this.

Which I am just going to have to handle.






Tuesday, June 17, 2014

This Is Not a Senior Citizen Class



I confess that my initial thought was that I am in pretty good shape and that taking an exorcise class in my 55 Plus Community would  not be particularly challenging for me.

After all, I am younger than most folks who live here and in the last few years I have pushed and climbed and disciplined myself into what feels like the best shape in my life.

Let me be very clear.   The Body Conditioning class kicked my butt.

The teacher was Jamie - a young, African American guy with a military demeanor.  "Kate Owes Us Two" he announced - with a smile on his face - as I struggled to lift myself up off the floor and on to a step using arm muscles that I was previously familiar with but cannot identify.  "We'll wait for you, Kate," as I struggled to listen to his direction and follow it at the same time.  He corrected my form.  He was nice about it, but he was also firm.  Everyone got a taste of his "personal attention" as he bellowed "THIS IS NOT A SENIOR CITIZEN CLASS."

Jamie was careful to point out, as I sat on the floor with both legs in the air, torso raised with one hand overhead, that the woman next to me was 76.  She was having no trouble with any of it.  I was panting like a dog.

Jamie's style could have been considered intimidating, I guess.   But I found it inspiring  He learned my name; he used it.  I was not anonymous and I was challenging myself - reasons one and two why I moved here in the first place.

The other folks in the class were all in good shape, clearly valued fitness, and encouraged me to come back after chastising me for not bringing a water bottle.  I may have been the youngest - but not by much.

I would like to think I will go back.  After my arm muscles recover!




Monday, June 16, 2014

Wasting Time





There is a couple who lives here that I had noticed before.

Older than most.  Probably mid 80s.  

They sat down next to me at the pool when I first noticed them.  I was not trying to eavesdrop - in fact I was wearing noise cancelling headphones in an attempt to drown out the 1970s soundtrack that plays over the speakers all day.  But the headphones were not terribly effective and I could not help but follow along with their conversation.

She has dementia.  No doubt.  As we sat resting in the sun, he patiently - or at least as patiently and anyone could be expected to - answered her as she asked the same questions over and over again.  "Who is coming to dinner?  Are we going to the clubhouse?  Are we having chicken or pizza?"  

She was once beautiful.  Her hair and nails are well-kept.  She wears her bathing suit with a perfectly coordinated cover-all.  Her lipstick is red and perfectly applied.  He sits at the pool doing Soduko, hoping I suppose to keep his own brain firing.  There is a tenderness there.

They are not the typical 55 Plus Community couple.  Many of my neighbors are still working; Frances played golf this past weekend with two women who are still very much at the top of their careers - one in anti-terrorism and one in retail management.   Young families visit the pool, eat in the restaurants and visit. Most of us are at least several golf games and a 20 mile bike ride away from a nursing home.

I imagine that this older couple is trying to hold on to what they once had, and I get that.  It was not surprising that they were at the pool again today.  They were in the water...  cooling off.   I couldn't help but make my way up to her, smile and say hello.  

She smiled and said to me, "This is a lovely way to waste time, isn't it?"
Oh my.  Is that what we are doing?  I feel myself adapting to the leisurely and somewhat indulgent pace.  As I read books and take Pilates classes, I tell myself that I am recuperating after years of turmoil and six months of insanity in an 8th grade math classroom. 

But she nailed it.  The risk IS that I am wasting time.  The risk is that I become insulated by this gated community and confuse its petty dramas for the real world.  The risk is that I am not the better or the more effective for living here. The risk is that I confuse this "lifestyle" with a life.  






Saturday, June 14, 2014

Something to Talk About




Woke up this morning to a text from a new friend: "You were at the the bar last night; just heard all about it! See you at dinner tonight."

I HAD been at the bar the night before.  By myself.  Talking to a few folks, but mostly just chatting with the bartenders.  No dancing on stools.  No slurring my words.  Left on a bike.  Nothing memorable.

Since our kitchen is a construction zone and because the club house is the only place to get breakfast within a 5 mile radius, Frances and I went back to the same bar for breakfast.  And the bartender - who must work a million hours - came up to us and noted that he knew we were coming back for dinner because folks had been talking about us last night.  .

And to add to the small world of it all, when we were at dinner, someone visited our table noting that she had met us last year when we had been visiting and had stopped by the bar to talk with people and get a feel for the place.

Welcoming?  I am choosing to think so.....  Do we stick out a little bit?  I think that is true too.

But hey, Frances is up early to play golf with new friends  Which is a good thing because she needs to figure out the golf courses around here; our living room carpet won't take too much more putting practice!



Friday, June 13, 2014

Breaking the Rules



It is 7 AM and the garage door is open.

And it is going to be open all day.   For the next four days.

And we have a guy who is sawing in the driveway. 

We must be breaking at least 20 of the 1,000 or so rules of this place.  I imagine PATROL driving around trying to figure out what do with us as I type.

I have never been an outlaw, and would much prefer to not be drawing attention, but there is not much alternative here.  If we are going to have a kitchen - a room boldly torn out and given to Habitat for Humanity last week - then we are all going to have to endure some inconvenience for a few days.   

Generally, I don't ascribe to the "Act first, Apologize later" school of thought, but in this case I think it applies.  And hey - perhaps I will use the new kitchen to whip up some chocolate chip cookies and freshly washed strawberries for my neighbors if we are able to get through this without fines from PATROL.

It occurs to me that I am probably too old to be bothered with what my neighbors are thinking... but I also know that one of the reasons that I am happy to be moving to this community is that it is quiet and ordered and folks generally adhere to the rules.

So, yes, we'll get that garage door down as soon as we can.  Which will be in about four days.







Thursday, June 12, 2014

Activity



This morning I am feeling like I need to pinch myself.  Am I really living here?  

Let's see.  I started my day on a 10 mile bike ride with the biking group.  The guys (and it was mostly guys; I was the only woman who could keep up) were really knowledgeable and had ALL lived in Chicago at one point or another.  Since I was raised outside Chicago, that gave us a point of connection right away.  They knew the community outside the gates and were informative tour guides.  Really fun.  And free!

I followed that up with coffee and yogurt at the clubhouse.  Not free, but cheaper than Starbucks and just as good.  Sat outside with breakfast and the paper, called my dad, watched golfers zip by in their golf carts. Bunnies romping around.  Hummingbirds flitting about.  Not too hot yet.  Perfect.

Last night, I headed out to the clubhouse for dinner.  I told myself that I was doing this because we don't have an installed kitchen at this point, but the reality is that I would probably have gone up their anyway. I am ON A MISSION to meet people.  In an attempt to even out the physical toll of too many meals from the bar,  I rode my bike.  Probably not enough to even things out, but I am trying.

I was told right away that it was Karaoke Night.  A big deal.  Special menu.  Fine.  People were friendly, and I guess that I was even invited to sing along on a group number that a bunch of women were doing if you call "And everyone at the bar, come join us" an invitation.  I opted to sit that one out.

The singing was good.  Really good.  I didn't really know most of the songs: I had heard "I Will Always Love You" and "Cabaret" before, of course, but for the most part these folks were digging deep into the 1950s.   Makes me chuckle; I can just imagine these Karaoke nights 20 years down the line with everyone rapping or singing Madonna.  

A couple is celebrating a big wedding anniversary next week at Karaoke night, and to celebrate, they are paying the bar bill for everyone.  It's probably not fair, but I will likely stop by.  Free drinks, some singing, a little neighborhood networking.  What's not to like?  I will also remember to wish the couple well.

If we had just moved in to a typical neighborhood, we would have met 2 people by now.  Maybe.  And we would not have done anything with them.  In less than one week, I have gone bike riding with the biking club, gone to Karaoke night and accepted a dinner invitation for Friday night.

It feels like I am on vacation. I suppose at some point even vacations get monotonous, but for now, I am loving this!







Wednesday, June 11, 2014

The New



I really did not expect this.

I am surrounded by new.  New time zone.  New house.  New car.  New bike.  New job. New people. New, new, new, new.  My life bares little outward resemblance to what it was this time last year.

And there is quiet.  Lots of waiting for contractors, waiting for deliveries, waiting for paint to dry - very literally on the paint drying    Within that waiting, there is silence.  Our electronics are on a truck somewhere between Washington, DC and Arizona so we are not making much noise.  But nobody else is either.  No trucks, no cars to speak of.  Most folks seem to be inside enjoying the air conditioning.  

I expected both the new and, to some extent, the quiet.

What I (naively) did not expect was the mourning.

Don't get me wrong. I am deeply enjoying this transition and looking forward to all of the new that is yet to come.  We have friends yet to meet, work yet to do.  Rooms yet to decorate, and decorate again.  Still, in every one of those new experiences is a renewed emptiness.  It is as if I had comes to terms with Molly's memory in the corners, relationships and experiences of our old patterns.  Now, whatever unconscious mechanisms work to get me through the day seem to be working overtime to place Molly here. Her absence resonates off of the walls and bombards me. 

I think she would have enjoyed visiting us and would have playfully joshed us about how her parents were getting to be truly old farts.  She would have looked forward to french toast in the morning and clean sheets on the bed.  I must speak Molly's name ten times a day.  Out loud.  Where is she?  I can picture her here, but she will never walk through these doors. 

And mom would have enjoyed this too.   She went through her own "Georgia O'Keefe" period not that long ago after visiting Santa Fe with a friend.   Mom enjoyed the art and the quiet ruggedness of the southwest landscape and came home with a cow skull, which we ended up giving to whoever took her sewing machine; she also came home with a framed O'Keefe poster which I AM going to hang somewhere in this house.

I did not expect to be surrounded by grief.  But I suspect that my soul needs and is ready for  the mourning that is triggered by silence and new spaces.   This is the next chapter in a healing process that is never, ever, going to be complete.





Tuesday, June 10, 2014

First Night

Spent the first night at the place in the 55 Plus Community.  On the expensive but much needed new mattress.  No verdict yet on if the mattress is the one step short of miracle that it claims to be but I can keep you posted on that.  

Yesterday was dedicated to installation of lighting; it's one of those things that we have wished we had done in our other homes, and just decided we were going to do this time around.  The same reasoning has led to the installation of new kitchen cabinets, a built in entertainment center and integrated shelving for my office.  The money is going to run out pretty soon, or there would have also been new interior doors, a backyard fire pit and some sort of water feature.  Someday.

Frances worked last night, so after the electrician left - at about 6 PM - I decided to go up to the clubhouse for dinner.  Check out the social scene.   Start trying to meet people.   Have a drink.  Test out  this heavily promoted community lifestyle.   And I've got to say that I had a great time.  Bartenders were friendly.  Folks were happy to chat.  Even snagged a dinner invitation for Friday night. 

I certainly was not talking with a scientifically or randomly selected sample, but the people I was talking with last night really love living here.  They were also  - overall - a tad bit drunk.  A benefit, I guess, of living in a gated community where drinking and driving is not too much of an issue.  I was glad that we were on summer hours and the place closed at 7 or I would have likely joined right in.  More like I definitely would have joined right in. Which would have been a BAD idea....



Saturday, June 7, 2014

A Price to be Paid

We have chaos for sure.

The kitchen has been torn out and a new wine refrigerator has been ordered.   We have virtually no furniture, and while we have ordered some and moved some, there is a bit of uncertainty as to when it is all going to be delivered.  With our luck, we will have three deliveries at the same time as the kitchen cabinets are being screwed in to the wall....which will cause us to exceed our limit of vehicles in the driveway, triggering some sort of sanction.  That being said, the cable has been turned on and we bought a new TV (which is actually kind of cool; the picture is good and the TV connects to the internet very efficiently.)  So, we can sit on the floor with a glass of warm wine and watch a marathon of Law and Order or Orange is the New Black if we want to. 

(A piece of me will miss the simplicity of this home without "stuff.'  But let's not overdue the simplicity thing - my knees will appreciate having chairs to sit in - and get up from!)

My car transpoder for the community gates was installed today.  The appointment was at 9 AM and it was my THIRD visit to the clubhouse to deal with the paperwork/scheduling/installation of this piece of sticky metal.  The whole day was scheduled around this appointment.    And you can easily guess what happened as I lined up my car in perfect alignment with the cones just 12 inches from the curb - - they could find no record of me.  No paperwork.  No appointment.  No name on file. 

I momentarily forgot that these partrol officers were in fact my neighbors. I believe that they understood that I would not be leaving without a transponder and that they would be finding my paperwork.  Which they did.  Eventually.

Overall, despite my frustrations with a slightly entrenched Homeowners Association that appears to be working from a model that made sense when this community was 100 homes and some courageous homesteaders, I am very excited to move in.  This is a beautiful place to live, and the beuracracy that could drive me crazy is exactly what keeps the community intact.  We don't get to do anything we want to do without someone looking over our shoulder.  That was the deal from the get-go.   

We wanted community - and we realize (sometimes less thn gracefully) that there is a price to be paid for that.




Friday, June 6, 2014

Overheard

So, I had to go up to the clubhouse to give the HOA a copy of my car registration (this place is  VERY detail oriented!) and decided to walk through the library to see if there was anything that I wanted to borrow.

Two women were sitting in the libarary - I am guessing they were in their lat 70s.  And they were chatting.   My first thought was, "My goodness, we are talking rather loudly for a library, arent' we?"   But their decibel level did give me a chance to listen in on their chat.

They were talking about grief.  And loss.  And taking things one day at a time and how everyone grieves differently.   One of them metioned that she had written a book.  They were talking about their mothers-in-law and the South and their life-lessons.

Except for the South part,  I think I am going to fit right in.

Thursday, June 5, 2014

Slowing Down

I get it.

Sort of.

We have moved in to what is - for all intents and purposes - a retirement community.   By and large the profile of folks who live here would be money in the bank and time on the hands.

So, it works out great for most people if they are told that to have a transponder placed on their car in order to enter the gated community without benefit of a guard,  they need to present themsleves and their car with registration to community patrol on Saturday between 11 AM and 1 PM to have a transponder installed.   It doesn't feel like an inefficient pain in the neck to my neighbors; they have the time and why not let the kind gentleman (I'll be shocked if we are talking about a woman) install the 8 ozs worth of plastic for them

And I can't just show up on a Saturday (I DID try that).   An appoinment is required - mostly, I think, so that they can collect the fee - if due.  We may have a 2 and a half car garage, but only one transponder is included in our Home Owner Association dues.   The process, then, is AT LEAST 2 - pronged: visit the Home Owners Association office to make an appointment (HOA is open 10 AM - 3 PM Monday - Thursday) and then show up for installation.

I am sure that little piece of velcro that they are going to use to install this thing on my windshield requires professional oversight.  No doubt about it.  The HOA lady couldn't just give me the darn thing.  My feeling is,   if I can assemble IKEA furniture,  I can install a transponder. But no.
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In a spirit of full disclosure, I made the first appointment,  so Frances will have to pay the fee for the second transponder.  Ha!  Little chuckle there between me and the Home Owners Association lady.

The HOA lady and I needed the chuckle, because I think we already pushed her buttons on another issue.  We wanted the list of "approved" contractors so that we could start to schedule work before we moved in.  She had our name as buyers and everything - we weren't a mystery to her.  But no.  She could not email the list.  She could not mail the list.  She could not fax, text or courier pigeon the list.  The list was not available on line. But we were sure welcome to come come and pick up a copy anytime between 10 AM and 3 PM Monday  - Thursday.

No exceptions.

Did I mention that we still work?

But I get it.

Sort of.

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

55 Plus

Let's get one thing straight from the beginning; I am not yet 55.   My dear parter of 30 years is not 55 either.

But, we are moving in to a 55 Plus Active Adult Community anyway.  This should be interesting. We are Irish.  Gay.  I don't play golf, but Frances does - or used to before she banged up her shoulder.  I moved the golf clubs in to the new house today and we have the golf cart in the event that the shoulder improves....

I have met some of our new neighbors.  Bill and Helene from Germany seem nice; she is recovering from knee replacement surgery and he is the "unofficial" mayor of our little cul de sac - or would be if Clint from Montana did not want the job.  Lidia has a heart of gold from what I can tell; she is 75 years old, healthy and - at least so far - not an unkind word to say about anyone.  Of course, we haven't fully moved in yet.

This community is huge and right outside of Phoenix.  Dad wants to know if we have met any illegal aliens yet - this because his only sense of Arizona is from Fox News.  I assured Dad that we most likely had already welcomed illegal alliens into our home several times; case in point, I have not asked for the papers of the guys who are tearing my kitchen cabinets out as I type.  I am pretty sure that the guys who are installing the new cabinets next week will have papers, but I am  not asking.  Don't ask. Don't tell.    Wasn't that the Clinton administration's answer for complicated diversity issues?  Works for me.


We are moving here because we really want to be part of a community.    We want to easily meet people.  We also have more in common with boomers than with parents of toddlers; if I am going to hang out with somebody, parents of toddlers are really not my target market.  Unless they are related to me.  In which case, I have arranged for a slightly uncomfortable pull out couch and I hope that they will visit often.