Community Spirit

I’ve been busy modernizing my basement so that I can have a tenant to fund my trips to San Diego. Peeling back layers and frayed electrical wiring was quite an experience, but even more entertaining was interviewing the applicants. I chatted with a botanist, pastry chef, woman fleeing from abusive husband, pool cleaner, shuttle driver, web designer, nurse, punk karaoke singer, LGBT support group organizer, ladies who insisted their elderly dogs would bond with my cats, and really tall men who hit their heads on the short bathroom ceiling. Friends expected that I would go with the pastry chef (her specialty is lemon bars), however I selected the hospitality supervisor at the Westin Hotel. She’s delightful, quiet, and most important, under 5’ 6”. Decades ago I shared a place in Washington DC where the middle-aged owner had post-it signs everywhere saying “Abdul is coming.” I never knew if it was religious conviction or she was reminding herself to pick up a guy at the airport. Let’s hope I’m not quite as bizarre, now that the roles are reversed.

Helping with the early stage memory loss support group is fascinating and occasionally tough. I observed how the social worker handled a group discussion about terminal illness; I learned about grace and coping strategies. Afterwards the facilitator told me that some of the volunteers wanted to work with young children to get lifecycle balance, was I interested? Hell, no, hyperactive kids would send me over the edge. Instead, I’m interviewing seniors who have joined the local aging-in-place community organization to assess their needs. Currently there are lots of wonderful services, including transportation, home repair, and gardening (all of which I need, but I don’t qualify - yet). Interestingly, survey respondents are mentioning healthcare advocacy, particularly assistance with insurance decisions and medical care, as something they want. Little did I realize that this mini-focus group would validate my future career path; finding a job may be right under my nose.

Yesterday my neighbor and I checked out an estate sale around the corner, where an elderly lady had recently died. It was an old house with whirligig animals that were hand carved and painted by her deceased husband. Flying high on decaying fence posts, they reminded me of the carpentry my father did a while back. Woodworking was one of his better skills, along with making animal balloons. I love folk art, and I took home two pieces for repair and rescue (Road Runner and Wylie Coyote). Feeling nostalgic, I mentioned it to Dad today, thinking he might relate. He was so excited and thanked me for giving these pieces new life. Then he had to rush off to watch the competitive basketball tournament put on by his facility (independent living and assisted living staff duke it out in the parking lot).

Lots of seemingly random events are coming together to make me confident that I’m choosing my own right path. I’m enjoying the transition.