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. 

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.

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!

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.  

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!

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.

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!