downsizing

Down-sizing/right-sizing

Sizing up my options           

 

 

On February 5, 2008 I began living alone for the first time in my life.  My husband Ben died, after 47 years of marriage.

 

Born in 1942, I had shared space and my bedroom with my sister and parents until my marriage on February 22, 1961.  47 years. The first apartment we lived in had one bedroom, one bath and I slept on a day bed in the hallway.  Today, I live alone in the house Ben and I bought in 1977; three stories, finished basement, four bedrooms and three baths, rooms once filled by us, our children, and various dogs and cats fully.  In winter, I transition to a much smaller space, a two bedroom condo in St. Petersburg, Florida. 

 

That smaller space provides me comfort and convenience. I can downsize, I’ve been experimenting with it for the past 10 years and it works.   I read articles and books on aging in place; I’ve even lectured on the subject to senior groups both in Florida and home in Maryland.  At a certain age, at a certain point in time, the space we inhabit changes from a place of support, filled with memories and memorabilia to an obstacle course, filled with potential dangers; managing the upkeep and repairs of household fixtures from light bulbs to water heaters to plumbing leaks; stairs to climb, empty rooms to keep heated in winter and cool in summer, cabinets built up to the ceiling and well above the 5 foot 2 inches of the only inhabitant left. 

 

What follows is a rollercoaster of emotions: I need to downsize!  Yes, but where would I put all the furniture, pottery, paintings, tables and couches and book shelves in less space?  Each painting or drawing has its own story; where it was found, what it meant to us, what memories in evokes.  I even have a full size painted carousel horse that has pride of place in my living room.  This house is too big, too expensive to keep up!  Recently the house needed repairs to the heating system, costing upwards of $1500 dollars and shattering my monthly budget.  More importantly, why I am heating so much space, when I barely use one quarter of it, and only for 8 months of the year?

 

But there are the memories filling up the spaces, housing footprints of holidays celebrated, favorite foods cooked, birthdays remembered, our 30^th wedding anniversary, our daughter’s Bat Mitzvah reception, the Halloween ritual of eating hotdogs on rolls so we could answer the constant peal of the doorbell. The basement is now totally devoted to a potpourri of storage items long unneeded; gift wrapping papers, excess bowls and dishware and unused bedding, even a queen sized bed not used for over 25 years since our daughter moved away for the last time.  I’ve found at least 100 old record albums, but no turntable to play them on.  And books, always and everywhere the books!  Some dusty and dog-eared, some probably never read, all vying for pride of place in the front row of deeper shelves.

 

We used to celebrate Christmas day playing an endless game of monopoly on the living room floor: cheese, salami, crackers and cider eaten while the fire roared and our dog, Hersey waiting till the game was almost over to lazily wander in and walk over the game board, knocking everything over. 

 

How does one carry all those memories, pack them up, consign them to new spaces, sell, donate or gift them others, without feeling an aching emptiness? 

 

I’m usually not the kind of person who holds onto things; Ben, my husband, was the saver: olds drafts of writing, magazines by the dozens, articles to be cut from newspapers and filed away, even socks with worn out heels.  I was always the one instigating periodic sprees of organization, discarding the unused, the old, and the “we’ll never need this again” criterion for disposal.  But suddenly I find myself holding onto files or books or scarves, concert programs or pieces of pottery, not wanting to discard them, not wanting to whittle down my stuff.

 

What I am realizing now is that I do want to downsize, but only my space, not my memories.  I may end up in a smaller house or rental apartment but I am sure the walls will be covered with my collections of art work, the tops of surfaces filled with pottery, an antique mosaic tile from Spain and of course, the carousel horse. 

 

What will be missing is the companionship, the shared experiences and the stories a house well-lived in collects.  These I will keep inside.

 

Does it take a Village?

Aging in Place

 

During the 1990’s, Hilary Rodham Clinton wrote a book titled after an African Proverb, “It takes a village to raise a child.”  Fast forward to 2013, and we have begun to see a variation of this concept.  In the growing and growingly diverse literature concerning aging, there has been a lot of discussion around the concept of “aging in place.”

 

 

Why is so much attention being paid to the elderly?  The reality is that the aging population in America is growing significantly. Unfortunately, programs, services and alternative living options have not kept pace with the changing needs and expectations of the “newly aging” generation born before or during WWII, the pre-baby boomers.  Some basic statistics tell the story best:

 

“In the United States, the proportion of the population aged >65 years is projected to increase from 12.4% in 2000 to 19.6% in 2030 (3). The number of persons aged >65 years is expected to increase from approximately 35 million in 2000 to an estimated 71 million in 2030 (3), and the number of persons aged >80 years is expected to increase from 9.3 million in 2000 to 19.5 million in 2030 (3).” (CDC Public Health and Aging, 2003)

 

Grandma isn’t so ready to take over the small front room of the house, or live out her remaining years in a nursing home environment, circa 1950. Two major trends have begun to emerge to meet the combination of needs the “new elderly” are faced with; aging in place, i.e remaining in your current home with adaptations and retrofitting of to accommodate safety and accessibility issues; and coordinated planning for transportation, recreation and medical services.  A second model is referred to as the Village concept. The Village concept aims to “support the medical, functional, emotional, social, and spiritual needs of older adults.” Seniors living in their own homes join together in their neighborhood and set up networks, public and private, to help coordinate and deliver  essential services, thus creating  a “Village”.  Villages reflect their communities through variations in design, capacity, and operation. Many older adults join these Villages because of a desire to remain in their homes and not be totally dependent on family members and friends.  A good summary of this concept can be found through the AARP Public Policy Institute Fact Sheet 177, March 2010.

 

Buts let’s talk about us.  Aging can be daunting.  For those of us in our early 70’s and 80’s, the gradual loss of energy, or resiliency, not to mention hearing, vision, balance and memory looms over our daily lives.  One friend remarked that if she had to ‘age in place’, that place should be, say, the 1970’s!  Even the language we use to describe ourselves is weighted with hidden, unwelcome images: old, elderly, decrepit, “loosing it”, aged.  When I say these words, images of my own grandmothers appear; stooped over, with white, thinning hair;  wrinkles on their wrinkles.   

 

One way we might choose to help guide us through this next phase of our lives is to ask  some basic questions:  I’ll list some here, but do join in the conversation; add your own questions.

 

1. Is my current living arrangement comfortable, safe, and accessible to me NOW,
2. Would this change if I encountered a temporary or permanent disability, e.g. injured arm, leg, back; post surgery body-part replacement (hip, shoulder, knee and yes, we have two of each!!!)
3. Would this change if my energy level or difficulty breathing limited my ability to meet all my basic needs, (cooking, shopping, showering, simple house cleaning)
4. Would this change if I lost my spouse or living partner who shared tasks with me.
5. Would this change if I could no longer drive, or only drive in daylight?

 

 

Over the next month, I’ll be looking into these models, and would love feedback.  Ideas, models that work, questions that need to be asked and answered. Join the conversation.

 

October 4, 2013

 

Living Dangerously, or is it time to move yet?

Living Dangerously

Or

Is it time to Move Yet?

 

As we age, there are frequently two life-changing decisions that face us:  “Do I have to give up the car keys?” and “Is it time to move?” In both instances, we come to a crossroad; two paths to take, a complex choice to make.  Do we hold tenaciously onto independence, the freedom to leave home to complete daily chores such as shopping, social outings, visits to friends and family when it’s convenient for us.  You just get in the car, assure there is enough gas, and you’re off.  Ah, then doubts creep in; “Can I see clearly enough in the dark?” “Can I easily twist my head around to check for passing cars?” Has my reaction time slowed dangerously?” “What if it starts to rain or snow?”  “How close to my destination can I find parking?”  We dread the day our grown children begin making subtle hints to us; joking about the need to take away Granny’s keys.  Not funny.  We know they’ll come a time when we have to make that judgment, give up that bit of independence, depend upon the kindness of friends and family, or often simply stay home in isolation and frustration.  Resources exist, more abundant in urban areas, such as bus lines, neighbor care riding programs, ride share programs offered through religious and community service groups.  But that means the loss of spontaneity, the creeping need to ask for help.

 

“Is it time to move?”  This presents a more daunting challenge.  This is your home. It holds countless memories, echoes of children shouting down the stairs, or across backyards; worn parts of throw rugs, shelves laden with books read and re-read, plants and gardens you’ve nurtured.  Of, course, there are also the steps leading down to the first floor and basement; the “handicapped inaccessible” shower and tub; the need to change light bulbs, fix leaky faucets, repair plumbing, or roofs.  When both spouses are alive, one often takes on the chores of the relatively more fragile or older partner, and it works for a time. For those living alone, the barriers loom larger. Often our first reactions land in the usual ‘mental baskets’ of denial, anxiety or stubbornness.  Sometimes, a new illness, a fall, or a change in visual acuity or hearing forces the need to pause, reflect and look at options and choices.  As you face these challenges, you might find it helpful to frame your thoughts around some key questions/issues.

 

 

Safety: So let’s get real.  Can you continue to drive a car, maneuver through traffic, hear, see and react to other vehicles and get to your destination safely and without near-misses? Be honest with yourself. Remember, this should be a dialogue between you and your spouse, or with yourself.  No hiding behind a brave front.  At home, can you do all that needs be done for yourself without the danger of falling, loosing balance or forgetting to turn off the oven?  Do you have a cadre of family, neighbors or friends who can be called to change a light-bulb, repair a leaky faucet, and winterize your house?  

Many communities offer home assessments for those who are ‘aging in place’ to recommend or install a variety of safety and accessibility modifications.  Search for them and use them.  Asking for a little help early may serve to extend your independence. 

 

Health/fragility:  Here is where a frank discussion with your doctors can be critical in making the decision to move from single to congregate living quarters.  Do you take multiple medications, and remember which ones to take when?  Does an illness, if unstable, lead to medical crises; loss of balance, bleeding, severe pain, loosing consciousness, difficulty breathing?  What’s your crisis plan and is it workable?  And no, a son or daughter living an hour away with family and work commitments is not workable for emergencies. 

 

Housekeeping/daily chores:  Can you keep your house clean and relatively neat without help?  If you need assistance, do you have access to a cleaning service, or local community members who can provide help for a modest fee?  In some communities, barter systems have developed, with more able-bodied neighbors doing the heavy work, and others provided meals, or other less physical jobs.  If you plan to age in place, looking for cooperative programs through neighborhood exchanges, or religious or community groups can make a difference.

 

Meals:  Eating foods that are healthy and adjusted to dietary restrictions on a regular schedule is critical to maintaining overall health stability.  Skipping meals when you’ve forgotten to shop, or if you’re just too weary to stand over a hot kitchen stove is not OK.  It should be a warning sign to you.  I’ve taken to buying semi-prepared foods in local markets, and often “assemble” meals.  But mealtime also holds a myriad of social memories and experiences. How often have you heard, or said, “Why should I bother to cook just for me?  Too much trouble!”  My reply is often “why not?  You are important.  Treat yourself!” Lunch dates with friends can take the isolation of eating alone away, and if that is a stretch in your budget, taking turns with friends cooking for each other is a great way to combine the health and social benefits of eating. 

 

 

Social life: We are, by nature and experience, social animals.  From our earliest years in families and school, religious organizations, recreational activities and community programs, we join together in groups, learning from others, sharing common experiences, working together, born into and creating families.  Yet as we age, family connections can change; older members die, children leave home for school, marriage, their own families, and these natural social relationships and interactions shrink.  In our increasingly mobile society long time friends may move across the country or relocate to more temperate climates.  One of the least expensive and most effective ways to stay alert, engaged and involved is to keep and expand a wide variety of social experiences; book clubs, religious services, community events, films and concerts and lectures, and life long learning programs.  Ironically, the independence you cling to in living in your own home may be eroded by your difficulty in solving the complex logistics of planning, arranging rides and arranging companionship.   

 

One of my closest friends recently moved into a continuing care residential community with her husband.  She noted wryly one day that “this was the kind of place we put our mother’s into, and now it’s us!” And yet, since she and her husband moved into a continuing care residence, they are actually busier, more social than when they lived alone.  Increasingly congregate housing programs are offering a multitude of activities, social experiences, learning opportunities without having to leave the campus or building.  So, bottom line, it may be helpful to think through the choices you have, the options that exist, and your current and likely future health status.  Go ahead, try it.  List what you must do, want to do, would love to do.  Now, rank them in order and ask yourself how you can create for yourself the kind of life for the next year, or few years, that will provide the most safety and the most stimulation, variety, options and yes, even joy.

 

 I’d love to hear your experiences as you begin making these decisions. 

Counting Days/daze

Days always had a rhythm to them; weeks beginning anew on Monday with demands of school, or work, or family, mostly all three to mark the passing time.  Calendar blocks filled, time measured by meetings or assignments due; lunch or dinner engagements recorded; special occasions noted with small icons (a smiley face or heart); and the usual entries for body tune-ups at doctors or dentists or auto shops.   With each phase of my life the patterns took shape; from work assignments due, to tests and exams; volunteer or work-based meetings and conferences and papers and lectures and agendas planned and executed.  

 

Alarm clocks set, although my inner clock rarely failed to arouse me for an early start, usually 7am.  Ben would always sleep in, preferring the quiet of the post midnight house to do his major writing or thinking.  The joy of weekends always began with no need for clocks in the morning, chores managed at my own day’s pace.  Sundays reserved for the weekly crossword puzzle, family time, laziness nurtured with rare deadlines to meet.

 

I wake up today and lie still as I try to orient myself to the present.  Is it a weekend or weekday?  Was yesterday a day of leisure, or used to run errands?  I was at a concert, I remember, but was it Saturday or Thursday? If this is Monday, the trash must be rolled to the corner, if Wednesday, the recycles put out.  But wait, Thursday was a holiday, which is why it felt like a weekend day, and the recycling is collected a day later. But did I do that, or has a new, holiday-less week begun?

 

I know in nursing homes and hospitals it becomes important to help patients and residents keep track of time’s reality, so the day, date and time is often scrawled onto a white board in each room.  Should I begin to do that?  Hang a calendar near my nightstand?  Should I really need to count the days? 

 

Some days, with their set routines, are easy to slip into; Thursdays for exercise and Tai Chi, Saturdays for Sabbath services, Sundays for the regular morning talk shows.  In Florida during the winter months, my waking mind is much more in sync with my daily routines; each weekday offers an array of programs, discussion groups, trips and entertainment, from Current Events on Monday afternoon, to Tai chi on Tuesday and Friday mornings; Foreign affairs discussion each Friday morning, visual arts on Thursday and on to Women speak on Fridays.  But here at home, for the other 8 months, I float through time unchartered, with only an occasional scheduled activity.  More often than not it will involve lunch, eating out and catching up with friends, probably adding unneeded calories to my waist line.

 

Today, I tell myself that I will begin a new pattern, up each day, and after exercises and breakfast and the daily puzzles, face the computer, work on your planned book about women, write in the newly started blog, or just mundanely check emails and pay bills.  But the room I work in cannot be suffered after noon during these hot summer days, and I soon end up, yet another day, reading or watching endless British cop shows or comedy.

 

Get, up!  Go for a walk! Yes, but its 90 plus degrees!  So go to the club!  Workout!  Yes, but maybe tomorrow in the morning.  For now, the room is stifling, and the couch and that great new novel wait. 

 

fitness and fitting in

 

thoughts on our bodies.  Written in 2009, and yes, I'm still working on the fitness part!

 

Fitness and fitting in

 

 

The alarm rang, disrupting a dream filled with shadowy figures wandering hallways, drifting through time.  It took a few moments for me to make that wrenching transition from sleep to waking.  While my dreams recently have been complex and filled with strangers moving about in odd, unfamiliar settings, they dissolve into shadows, and my early mornings are always still and silent.  There is no one stretched out next to me, his room-darkening mask covering deep brown eyes, his breathing just audible.  There was a reason for setting the alarm today, but I momentarily forget it and in my confusion, wonder why it’s still so dark outside.  This is June, after all; where is the early morning sun?  But it is indeed time to wake up, into this gloomy today, with rain already threatening to drench the already over-watered flower beds. Today, I belatedly remember, I have to be at my physical therapy appointment for aquatic exercises, to strengthen my leg muscles and help me regain my balance after a grueling year with my left ankle encased in a walking boot cast.  

 

When I arrive at the pool, I greet the staff, and the now familiar faces of others slowly walking or gliding around the heated pool.  After coming to sessions for about a month now, many of the faces are familiar to me, and we remark to each other on improvements in gait, or strength as we lazily move through the warm water, laps forward and back, sideways and with legs crossed.  A generation ago, such a  group of men and women,  in their 60’s and 70’s, would never have worked so hard to stay fit or regain strength after surgery or injury.  I recall my grandmother, sitting on a stool in the kitchen or on the front porch, her fingers gnarled with arthritis, her back permanently bent.  Her only exercise consisted of the daily routines of food preparation. Yet here are two older black men, comparing knee replacement surgery experiences, laughing about the prospect of needing periodic ‘lube jobs’ like their cars.  Two Asian women slowly swim laps, never stopping while they talk quietly of grandchildren, or compare notes on instructors teaching women to move through the stiffness of their arthritis.  Helen is the preferred instructor, I gather, since she is close to their age, and joins the class in the pool. Another woman, well into her 80’s, walks her twenty minutes smoothly and gracefully, before she climbs out of the pool, retrieves her cane, and bent almost double, slowly makes her way to the elevator.  She and her husband live in a nearby senior housing complex. He has rapidly advancing Parkinson’s disease, and she uses this time alone as a needed respite from his daily care.

 

After my session, I return upstairs, greeting the usual gang of men and women sitting around a low table, resting from walking treadmills, or lifting weights.  The talk is usually of politics but more recently about health care.  Each has very clear ideas about the best way to solve our growing health care crisis; but all agree that it must be fixed, and it must be fair, and it must be soon.  As I look around the gym, I see so many older adults, working their bodies to the limit, defying entropy, defying disintegration of body and mind.   Across the road sits a senior center, open and available to local community members.  Compared to the usual mid-morning members at the club, the senior center is filled with the truly elderly, many in wheel-chairs or walkers, some drifting from quiet conversations to catnaps, all past dreams of rebuilding their worn bodies.  Are we, at the gym, fighting against reality, or are we changing reality? If “fifty is the new thirty” than is “seventy the new fifty?”  Will our generation, the pre-baby boomers, be the first ones to try to outrun, out-fox age and infirmity? Do we need a human version  of “jiffy-lube” for our bodies, bringing them in for periodic tune-ups; a knee replacement here, a rotator cuff repair there; then back on the road, or the bicycle, or treadmill?  How old is old?

My blog, ideally

Ideally, I hope this blog will provide an opportunity to share my own journey into aging, thoughts, poetry, suggestions for fully experiencing this next stage of life.  I spent most of my career working to improve systems of care for medically fragile children and children with mental illness to provide them and their parents with a coordinated, family centered, set of services and supports.  As I've aged, I've come to realize how critical this concept is for seniors, and have begun reading, teaching, writing about ways for us to keep control of our lives, get the most from these years, and, oh yes, enjoy them!!  finding humor, and insights and love and sustenance among our family, friends and providers of services. 
So I start this blog with a poem I wrote, to set the stage. 

Sensing change

I’m sensing my senses are slowly subsiding

Acuity starting to fade.

Where once I could see in bright sun or dark night

Now I find myself squinting in shade.

 

That sound of a pin drop, the cry of a babe

Could be heard from a distant room.

While now I lean forward and strain to hear

Sounds as shrill as a sonic boom.

 

I’ve learned to ask “please, could you say that again?”

Or, “Is this the brightest it gets?”

I rely on the smiles, or the laughs of the crowd

To follow along with the rest.

 

How easy it is to forget to remember the value of hearing and sight

We move through our days and our spaces with ease,

Putting out all unneeded lights.

 

I’ve learned to accept needed help on occasion,

To change a light bulb or two.

I walk with more care, or hold on to a rail,

Call a plumber if pipes start to spew.

 

I teach fellow seniors to risk, to take chances,

To ask for the help that we need,

Its better to barter, a home baked cake for a ride,

Than sit home and start going to seed.

 

But the loneliest moments, the times filled with dread,

Come when sitting among all our peers,

And you so want to add to the stories and comments,

But you haven’t a clue what was said.

 

Reality hits me; I know what to do, to stay active and unafraid.

 Get that cataract fixed, aids for both ears in place, and you go, girl, and lead the parade!