Tag: Continuing Care Retirement Communities

When Fate Turns the Page: Time to start a new chapter

On By Mary KochIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

The thunder of U.S. Navy “Blue Angels” skimming the tops of Seattle skyscrapers reminded me it was a one-year anniversary. On the morning of Aug. 2, 2023, I was in Portland, saying that impossible, final goodbye to Lee, my soul brother for more than fifty years. 

“We’re both going on a journey, but in different directions,” I said to him, leaning close to kiss his cheek. He whispered something I couldn’t understand, but words no longer mattered. We both knew that. I got in my car, dry-eyed with a sobbing heart, and drove north to Seattle. A chapter in my life had just ended. Maybe the whole book. Maybe I was driving into the epilogue. 

All those years ago, Lee and wife Mary Lou had stood as witnesses when John and I married. It was like a marriage of marriages, a foursome. As couples, we never lived close to each other, often thousands of miles apart. Yet we’d travel those miles to share slices of life. Our foursome dwindled as John died in 2007, Mary Lou in 2020. Lee and I soldiered on. Frequent phone calls. Occasional visits. We’d talk idly about road trips we might take together, but we’d both seen plenty of road. And now, here I was, back on the road, the lone survivor. 

I had an appointment to see an apartment in Horizon House, a retirement community on Seattle’s First Hill. I’d visited a few months earlier and fell in love with the location, energy and philosophy. People move here not to retire and die but to live, contribute, and matter. Still, I was skeptical. I’d been invited to look at a studio apartment. I couldn’t imagine a studio large enough for me, much less my “stuff.”

I asked my niece Sandy to join me. A savvy realtor, she poses the questions that never occur to me. The sales rep unlocked the door to 13-A, and I walked straight to the window, all of twelve paces. Windows have always been the most important feature of anywhere I’ve lived. What would I be viewing? An urban valley of rooftops in the foreground ringed by a horizon of office and apartment towers. Columbia Center, Seattle’s tallest building at 72 floors, loomed above the rest, piercing an endless blue sky.

That’s when we heard the thunder. Not a rain cloud to be seen but jets skimming through the air with gasp-inducing precision. Seattle’s annual Seafair celebration, complete with aerial show. I teased the sales rep about arranging a spectacle as part of her marketing ploy.

With or without jets — especially without, I decided the view would keep me adequately absorbed. After decades of living on a riverbank, I’d be watching a different kind of wildlife on the busy streets thirteen floors down. The studio was big enough for me, and the storage unit in the basement large enough for my stuff. For the next three months I lived in an emotional vortex as I prepared to  move. I celebrated and mourned the ties with people and place that had bound me to the Okanogan country of eastern Washington for forty-four years. I’ll never become untied.

While I’ve lived in Horizon House only nine months (an appropriate gestation period), I’m convinced I made the right decision. And here again are the Blue Angels. Thrilling as the aerial shows are, a growing number of voices object to the noise and environmental consequences. Protesters argue that each jet burns about 1,500 gallons of fuel per hour. Each air show puts some 650 metric tons of CO2 into the atmosphere of an earth desperate to reduce carbon emissions. The Blue Angels may not be around forever, nor will I. But I’m here for at least another chapter.

When It’s Time to Take Flight

On By Mary KochIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Inquiring minds have been asking: with dozens of retirement communities to choose from, how did I select Horizon House on Seattle’s First Hill? Simple. When I moved here two months ago, I was following Raven, who’s a significant totem in Northwest native stories. A stunning yet obstreperous bird, Raven has magical power — both good and bad. In my case, all good.

I refer to Raven as represented in a magnificent mask created by British Columbia native carver Garry Rice. I first saw the mask when it hung in the oceanside home of my longtime friend Jill. Despite the hypnotizing view of the vast Pacific, it was the raven mask that dominated her living room. Extending five feet from thatched topknot to forceful beak, its eyes declare “you are being watched.” The beak agape suggests an oracle about to speak.

The late writer and clairvoyant Ted Andrews, in his book “Animal-Speak,” said Raven was credited with bringing forth life and order by stealing the sunlight “from one who would keep the world in darkness.” 

Winter is an ideal season for people whose totem is Raven, Andrews wrote. After Winter Solstice, the light lingers a little longer each day — symbolic of Raven’s influence: “It teaches how to go into the dark and bring forth the light. With each trip in, we develop the ability to bring more light out.” Raven’s black feathers are especially significant, Andrews suggested: “In blackness, everything mingles until drawn forth, out into the light. Because of this, raven can help you shape-shift your life or your being.”

Apropos for carver Rice, who was originally a fisherman and logger. Injuries forced a career-change at midlife, and he became a respected and renowned creator of indigenous art. Last year it was time for me, too, to shape-shift my life and being.

A few years ago Jill had left the ocean and moved to a retirement community. Her new apartment was too small for the mask, but that establishment declined her offer to hang it for public viewing. She decided to donate it to Horizon House, which boasts a stunning, curated collection of art throughout all public areas. Much of it has been donated by residents who faced the same pickle as Jill. She mentioned the donation to me at the time. I’d never heard of Horizon House, but the seed was planted. Some day, I thought, I might want to live there. 

When that some day dawned last year, I knew I might be inclined to make a hasty or emotional decision. I invited my niece — a wise and successful businesswoman — to tour Horizon House with me. While I repeatedly veered off-course to study yet another sculpture or painting, Sandy stayed on-point, asking significant questions I’d never thought of. Ultimately we reached the corridor where Raven once again is a dominating force. Exquisite lighting allows the mask’s reflection to appear on interior windows across the hall. A few steps away from Raven, our tour guide opened the door to the serene aqua of a salt-water swimming pool. 

Art! Raven! Salt-water pool! Where do I sign?

Twice since I moved into my thirteenth story apartment, a crow has landed on the air conditioner ledge outside my window. Crows and ravens are cousins in the Corvidae family. On both those visits, the crow peered through the window just long enough to observe, “Okay. You seem to be settling in,” before flying off. 

***

NOTE: For those who may want more, uhm, straightforward information about choosing a retirement community, I recommend (for Washington residents) this information page on the Washington Continuing Care Residents Association site or outside Washington, the National Continuing Care Residents Association.

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Savor

On By Mary KochIn Uncategorized1 Comment

Let’s call it pro-active aging: making the big decisions for ourselves before the inevitability of time and age compel others to make them for us. It’s why I’m selling my car, my home, most of my possessions, and moving 250 miles to Horizon House, a retirement community in the heart of Seattle.

It’s a “Continuing Care Retirement Community” or CCRC. There are about 1,900 CCRCs nationwide, says AARP, offering “a long-term care option for older people who want to stay in the same place through different phases of the aging process.”

At seventy-nine, I consider myself barely into Phase One of “the aging process.” This is a pretty typical age for moving into a CCRC, I’m told. Residents are still young and agile enough to enjoy the long list of amenities: gym and swimming pool, hobby and entertainment rooms, library, special events, lectures, etc. I’ll be able to walk to theaters, restaurants, museums. Routine health services are provided in-house. Nearby are several of Seattle’s primary health care facilities. No more overnight, 200-mile round trips from my rural home for ordinary procedures like cataract surgery. 

I’ll reduce my carbon footprint as I turn to public transportation and squeeze into 340 square feet of a studio apartment. Is this easy? Absolutely not. Is it an adventure? Absolutely.

Not everyone around my age or in my situation would choose the same. I hope all of us, as we age, are given the freedom and dignity to make our own choices. Sharing this decision with friends and neighbors has been the toughest part. Most agree it’s a good choice, but they (and I) lament my soon-to-be absence from the Okanogan Valley, my home for more than half my life.

Tawny, a people-loving pooch, and I must part ways as we each set off on our next adventure

I’ll leave behind people I admire and cherish. I’ll leave behind the Okanogan River, which every day inspires me with its steady flow and diverse wildlife. I also must leave behind Tawny, my eight-year-old rescue dog of many breeds. He’s a charmer who deserves better than confinement in a high-rise city apartment — even if he were allowed there, which he’s not.

Still, it is possible to thrive in a season of transition. With only a few months left here, my default mode is to savor. First thing in the morning, I step outside to savor river-scented air and murmuring ducks. At bedtime I step out again to say goodnight to a waxing moon and its reflected path across the glassy water. 

I savor each and every encounter with friends. A quick “hi” in the post office lobby. A meandering conversation over a game of cards. Deep discussion during a three-hour lunch at the Mexican restaurant while the waiter patiently, continually refreshes our coffee.

I savor all the ordinary, everydayness of small-town living, like making an early Sunday morning run to the grocery store, where the only other soul is the owner, who rings up my forgotten carton of milk. 

I savor the thought of another new season in my life while maintaining the illusion that I’m in charge of me. I’m sure there’ll be sunny days and a few gloomy hours to come. I intend to share those joys and sorrows, and so, dear reader, please savor this adventure with me.