Oz for Seniors II

Surviving Independent Senior Living

First, are you even remotely interested in Independent Senior Living? Maybe? Someday? There are pluses (you’ll never have to cook again) and minuses (if you want to eat anything you actually like, you’ll have to cook again.) And there’s the elephant in the living-room – you’ll be surrounded by a bunch of old people. This can go either way. I’ve read about wonderful ISLs where residents constantly write to editors, politicians and authors, get press coverage for street demos they stage and attend controversial trials when not enjoying lectures, live music and staged readings at home. And then there are ISLs populated nearly exclusively by those who have given up, due either to cognitive decline or lifelong apathy, and are content in childlike, institutional routine.

Ads for ISLs focus on how tired you are of grocery shopping and tedious household chores like acid-washing the garage floor. Wouldn’t you like to walk away from all that and relax in a gorgeously decorated hotel serving endless chicken-themed meals in the company of people you’ve spent a lifetime avoiding? Hint: ISLs are institutions, each a particular culture reflecting the values of those who pay to live there. Some are country clubbish, some down-homey, some covertly devoted to one religion or another, some liberal or conservative, all are owned by corporations.  Your best bet is at least a year of exhaustive research into ten or twenty ISL facilities in the area where you want to live. If possible, include a trial stay for a week or two in order to get a sense of what life is like there.

I did none of that, merely spent a few days running around to four or five places and wound up picking the cheapest, mainly because it was close to a major aquatic center with multiple water aerobics classes in a heated pool five days a week!  I did have lunch here, with the marketing director and a resident, Gloria, an attractive, 92-yr-old, retired high school English teacher. I just assumed, erroneously, that Gloria reflected the norm. Later I learned that Gloria and I are the only residents with academic degrees. This fact would draw us together out of nothing more than a shared desperation to discuss irony in Ethan Frome. An interesting aspect of my ISL experience is my impossible alliance with Gloria, about which I’ll write a subsequent whole post. A year ago, or at any point over the last sixty years, I would have gagged at the suggestion that I’d hang out with a hard-shell Evangelical Trump voter who actually taught creationism for crying out loud!  Gloria and I talk religion, politics, all the forbidden topics, agree on absolutely nothing and still haven’t killed each other.

My choice of an ISL as landing pad for a major move at 81 was woefully uninformed but nonetheless possibly the smartest choice I’ve ever made. Completely alone and still traumatized by a brutal divorce even though I was adept at faking not being traumatized, I figured being served meals with other people around might make sense. And it did. Even though lunch turned out to be the multi-course “dinner” with mere sandwiches for dinner at five. And who eats at five, anyway? Answer: people who live in facilities with kitchen staff a corporation doesn’t want to pay night rates. But the presence of other people? Crucial. I have nothing in common with nearly all the residents here and little interaction with them beyond the rote pleasantries they recite from their walkers. Nonetheless, I’m not alone. If I get sick, collapse comatose on the floor of my apartment and fail to show up for a meal or two, somebody will notice, get a key, call EMTs. Or if I’m conscious, there’s a button to an intercom on the wall. I’m luckily healthy and fit for my age, but after 80 the axe can fall at any time. Octogenarians live with that reality and this octogenarian loves the sense of security in an ISL All to say, if you’re one of the 890,000 single women living alone after 65 (census data), check out ISLs. But do the research first!

Which brings me to the theme of this post – Tips for Surviving in an ISL. There’s really only one tip – make a life outside!  Unless you find and can afford one of the cool ones, you will probably have to; there is no other way; and it isn’t easy. Life in an ISL is luxurious and can be psychologically fatal for introverts who’re perfectly happy in their own company. Your every need is met; you don’t even have to eat with others in the dining room. You can have your meals brought to your apartment on a tray and leave the dirty dishes outside to be picked up. Some residents where I live are completely unknown, contented hermits behind closed doors, seen only by the housekeeping staff. “Independent” means precisely that. You’re free to live exactly as you choose and your choices are not questioned. I’m more than half-introvert and constantly fight an inclination to bask, reading and writing, alone by the fire in my apartment. I could do that, and probably will when I “get old,” but not yet.

Another roadblock to making a life outside is that, while you may find a few souls to hang out with inside, once you walk out the door, you’re on your own. Most ISL residents are there because they’re disabled either cognitively or physically. And while those who’re physically challenged may be interesting companions, they’re constrained by medical equipment/dangers and can’t just hop in your car and go out for a drink. Or if they’re game for anything, like my gutsy pal Babs, you have to think twice about assuming responsibility for their well-being away from the safety of the ISL. Going out, you go alone.

But go where? A senior center sounds like a good place to start, right? Sadly, no. Senior centers tend to assume all old people, mostly women who’re left alive to patronize them, just luuv to play bingo.  Or sometimes mahjong. Or dominoes. Or want to paint something with watercolors. Or just color, as in coloring books. Those of us who have no interest in kindergarten activities do not fit in and must look elsewhere. Churches are goldmines of connection and occupation if you’re religious. Even if you’re not, church people are welcoming and will invite you to a frenzy of prayer circles in which you can ask for grocery, dentist and mechanic referrals.  If you’re into religion, you’re set for life with a ready-made community outside your ISL. Not my thing, but a friend in Portland who runs a meet-up invites me to countless group cultural events. And a friend of Babs is happy to go to dinner, drinks and and plays with me. I joined the AAUW, and it provides great lunch meetings and meaningful, feminist community activity. I drag myself to the pool (in the morning!) for aerobics and walk Babs’ little poodle for exercise. I’ll be writing and editing for a new 5013c in Albuquerque, a legal group devoted to apprehending and prosecuting the traffickers, rapists and murderers of indigenous women and girls. And I’m writing a humorous guide for women titled Old and Alone, the Horror! that’s wildly fun.. I’m busy and engaged with things, but making a life is work for which many my age just don’t have the energy. I attribute my luck to years of smoking and drinking box wine while plotting the overthrow of the patriarchy. You see how that went, but the fight never ends. I haven’t smoked in years, but I still like to say I won’t quit fighting “Until they pry that Virginia Slims Menthol Ultra-Light from my cold, dead hand!” Mottoes are good. Be sure to have one.

The bottom line about ISLs is the basic bottom line about everything – you get what you pay for. I wound up in a gloriously inexpensive ISL with a fabulous apartment, beautiful grounds, served meals and a hundred companions steadfastly devoted to superficial “niceness” behind which lies . . . nothing. No education, no opinions, no interesting depth. Babs warned me early on to be careful not to use “big words” most residents wouldn’t understand. I don’t talk to most residents, so it doesn’t matter, but you see the problem. This place was a perfect, padded niche in which to land, but not for long. In a few months I’ll leave, but not before describing the few other, fascinating characters in my orbit here. People I would never have met or even imagined in my previous life. Is there a lesson here? Nah, but the stories are worth telling.