Dreams of a Community

No idea is new it seems.  I thought I had conceived of a solution to the economics of growing old during our recent travels.  Now I see many options are already invented for living with fewer material possessions in less space.

The reality is that economics is a definite problem for the aging in many cases.  They must rely on what's left of savings after the "Great Recession" and a meager Social Security check.  What to do about a place to live?  Property values and mortgages that are only supported by a two-income, still working couple are now out of the picture as one quits that vicious cycle.  Rents are the same or worse considerations for these elderly.  Senior "living" in income assisted apartments offers the tiniest of living space down long, lonely and possibly socially restrictive hallways.  What to do?

A "tiny home" isn't a new invention.  There are RV/mobile home parks throughout Florida, Arizona and beyond that call their version of tiny homes a "Park Model" and in some cases these parks include activity centers for their "active adults" to play/socialize within.

The population of elderly literally living in RVs and calling it a "life style" are also abundantly evident along our travel stops.  All of this is wonderful to some degree.  And yet it is worrisome if this is all that our elderly can afford in the current society we elder Americans find ourselves occupying.  Even our young people at the other end of the age spectrum are finding housing to be an issue.  I've lived in versions of this concept in both Arizona, in Florida and now on the road.

Tiny Home Magazine recently had an article on front porches and the new found joy of those rediscovering the beauty of getting outdoors and talking with your neighbors.  We know the joy of these conversations traveling in an RV where often you converse with your neighbors.  Recently we met and shared coffee with two interesting gentlemen traveling over 6,000 miles round trip in only a roadster who slept on the ground in sleeping bags and they were our age!

A real Tiny Home community we saw recently is growing up in Lemon Cove Village RV Park in California.  The park is even incorporating a community garden along with a communal kitchen for their residents.  So there are advantages to Park Models and RVing that others are also seeing and combining into real life styles.

So here is my dream:  I would love to see a retired, elder community of Tiny Homes/Park Models built in circles around a common lawn with parking behind and the same gardening, activity centers, communal eating room and kitchen put in around the property's perimeter.  This concept has been used in Israel successfully with a younger generation to foster their young and provide stable homesteads.  Why not try it here with the elderly who are willing to embrace this type of lifestyle.

Maybe we could mingle in some young people too and build an intra-generational relationship as we had in generations past that my parents experienced.  Let the pendulum of life swing back a bit from the separatism we've fostered in my lifetime.  There was a recent show on television where college students were given living arrangements in a Scandinavian elder community with the stipulation that they had to interact with and help their elders for a portion of their day.  Both age groups benefitted and a bridge was created between the generations that was healthy for everyone involved.

If I win the lottery, I'll build one of these communities.  I'd love to.  Then I could say I'd left something behind for humanity-"making my mark" so to speak.

Before I Die

In the University District of San Diego there is a blackboard covering the entire length of a building with multiple lines drawn across its black expanse waiting for chalk written answers to the phrase:  “Before I die…” 

Any person who happens to be going past on foot can stop and contemplate what response would complete their personal bucket list and then write their answer there.  Many already have done so.  To me it seems like an interesting exercise.  The board has some revealing and interesting thoughts.  It is worth the read.

Whether or not you choose to write your thoughts upon this board for all to see or within a personal journal for your eyes only, have you ever thought of what is at the top of your own personal list that you could write down here given the same opportunity to answer this question?

Occasionally the proprietors of the adjacent business, who came up with this venue for eliciting soul-felt thoughts, erase the blackboard and the process starts all over again.  Young, old or somewhere in between, people are interested in this exercise and pause as they pass.  So am I.  One day I am going to stop by there and add my thoughts (after I figure out what the most relevant answer is in my journal.) 

Frozen Eggs

I don't know if you can tell from the photo to the left, but these eggs are frozen.  At first this morning I thought I had broken eggs from traveling with them in our RV refrigerator. The cracked shells were the first hint something was wrong. Then I discovered the eggs had not leaked into their storage container.  Alas, do I throw out half a dozen eggs?

No, I decided.  I will play with them and see how they cook up.  A few seconds under warm tap water and the shells came right off.  I put them into my egg poacher and set it for a little longer cooking time and let the poacher do its magic.

Amazingly, the eggs cooked up perfectly!  And they tasted great too.  So that is the lesson of frozen eggs.  You can use them!  I have not tested making anything else with eggs in this specific condition, but who knows?  Maybe there are other preparations that will work with frozen eggs.  Who knew?  The other question is:  "Is this a way to preserve eggs?"


The final product is pictured below.  Yummy breakfast on the road.

Labels

I started the day with a tirade against labels as I was doing laundry.  Purposely, I cut off every label I could find coming out of the dryer today attached to whatever item I found them on, even the towels and wash cloths!  Have you ever asked yourself, "Why do we need labels?" or "Do I really need to advertise for whomever made this garment?"

I don't know about you, but I hate labels.  Yes, I said hate!  Why, you might ask?  Well, for one thing they irritate my skin on the back of my neck.  Surely I am not the only one am I?  They scratch, and itch, and annoy consistently and constantly.

Even worse are the ironed-on, permanent, decal labels that irritate without relief after six times through the laundry when they turn into nasty, cracked versions of themselves forcing me to consider merely throwing out the offender, shirt and all!  They can't be cut off or scraped off nor ironed back into the soft, pliable messages their creators thought these decals would remain.  Or did they even care?

Even better are the shirts with two or three labels (including one along the side seam) as if we did not know how to do laundry after all these years of practice.  Most of us don't care what blend something is once we purchase it anyway.  The laundry items all go into the washer in the same batch regardless of the fabric, limited only by color if we are still into sorting our darks from our whites.  Moreover, we do still ultimately teach our offspring how to maneuver through "Laundryland" don't we?  Even if Home Economics has disappeared from school curriculums, teach we do because we want our children to take over the task of maintaining their own clothes eventually.

Have you ever really cared what brand name a shirt is or from where you acquired it once you've worn it?  You'd never find the same shirt again by the time the current one wears out and probably you wouldn't care, unless you are into uniforms.  Most of us want variety and choose the latest styles and colors off the rack when we venture out for a replacement anyway.

So I don't know when the plot was devised to create massive discontent by way of labels nor whom the plotters were.  I suspect it might have been the manufacturers from somewhere in the universe as a sort of revenge for sweatshops but I do know.  I am on a warpath to eradicate labels from my life with my trusty scissors until by popular opinion they replaced with clothes that contain only purchase tags which can be happily removed right from the get-go.  As for those ironed-on, decal labels?  I won't even buy clothing with those in place anymore.  Believe me when I say I check and that is a rule set in stone!

And that is my tirade on labels.

Little Free Library

Recently I saw a "Little Free Library" in a local public park.  What is it you might ask?  It is an adorable, small house on a pole filled with books.  It operates on a "take one/leave one" premise.  I wasn't sure what it was all about but decided to look into it further when an article came out in our local paper about five of these that are now located in our county within public parks.  Ours contain a shelf with books for adult readers and another shelf for children's books.  The most recent little free library was worked on by about 15 children who raised money for the materials to build the library and then stocked it with books.  What a cool thing for these kids to be able to say, "We made this happen."

So where did the idea come from?  There is a site that tells the story about Todd Bol of Hudson, Wisconsin who came up a way to create something that would pay tribute to this mother.  She was a school teacher who loved reading.   He built a small replica of a one room school house, mounted it on a pole in front of his house and filled it with books.  He affixed a sign that said "Free Books" and the neighbors and his friends loved it.  To read more, click here.

There are plans for making the house available online too.  To be part of the organization that started the idea, each little free library must have a steward to maintain it.  There is also a blog about the trials and rewards various libraries have endured and enjoyed respectively.

Reading about this got my mind going along the lines of these being placed near bus stops in low income areas for low income kids to benefit from and near low income elderly housing for the same reason.  Maybe a combination of these two groups of people (young and old) could become stewards together of a particular Little Free Library.  Would the young and the old learn to value each other more then?  I'd like to think so.

Here is an example of one of the libraries from the local newspaper story.

Mouth and Foot Painting

Over the holidays my friend Phyllis sent me a beautiful Christmas card.  The original painting reproduced on the card was created by an artist named Jeff Ladow.  He is a mouth painter meaning that his work is created by holding a brush in his mouth to paint (because he has suffered a disability that prevents him from using his hands.)

The picture is named "Watermill in Wintertime" and I was captured by its contrasts of color mixed with the starkness of the black and white background found in this work.  I can easily imagine the reality of the New England winter scene he takes us into with his work.  I am so impressed with its detail.  I cannot imagine creating the same detail with a brush held in my own mouth.  I felt compelled to share his painting.

I also wanted to learn more.  Some research yielded the "The Mouth and Foot Painting Artists Association (MFPA)" which is located in Atlanta, Georgia.  The association has been in existence since 1956, when it was formed to give a sense of financial security to those who were overcoming a disability by using this alternative method of painting.  There are more details on the association's website which I enjoyed discovering.  

Art intrigues me.  It always has from the time when I was just old enough to hold a brush and do number painting.  Unfortunately, this hobby gets rotated way too far down my to-do-list of beloved activities.  Now I rarely get to play using colored pencils, water colors or pen and ink.  Loves like these remind me of the pure joy of playing.  They are the reward of living long enough to pursue hobbies.  I vow to pick up a paint brush tomorrow, even if it is for only one stroke of color on a white sheet of paper promising infinite possibilities.  

My Furry Best Friend

Our kitty just spent a week at a "Pet Resort" while we attended a business conference.  When we first adopted him from PetSmart, his name was Matt Meowler until we renamed him Snoopy.  He's lived up to the former name (and his partial Siamese heritage) with ongoing, very verbal conversations he's conducted with us since the first day we brought him home.

We renamed him Snoopy however because he likes investigating everything and every day there is a circuit to travel in the house to ascertain that all is well within his world.  He also got the name because we love the Charles Schultz "Snoopy" cartoon character.  (Yes, I know his was a dog!)

For two hours after we all arrived home today, Snoopy "told us" about his week in the resort. Actually, we heard about it all the way home in the car as well.  Then came the hugs, cuddling and "hold-me" routines, as he never let us out of his sight over the course of the entire evening.  Finally, he fell asleep between our knees in one or the other of our two recliners until all three of us headed to our bedroom for the night.

Studies have shown that pets provide both a psychological and physical boost to their owners.  There is an organization that helps seniors get a dog or cat that is called Pets for the Elderly Foundation and they will accept donations for their efforts.  The facts surrounding the benefits of pet ownership are astounding.

I have to ask myself following Snoopy's display of affection and relief at being returned to his familiar surroundings, "How could anyone say animals don't have feelings?"  I know I probably attribute more to Snoopy than the average scientist would give him credit for when it comes to feelings, but I swear I heard and felt his attachment to us and our world last night.

I also swear he can smile.    

Because I'm Happy

Today at breakfast in a Waffle House, I saw a man who reached out to me from a framed picture (he is in the left picture hung on the wall in the photo below with the broad smile.)  Probably taken years ago, the picture seems to reveal the earlier years of this establishment.  Do the same or similar pictures grace every location of this restaurant chain as part of a mandated corporate decor?  Was this a staged photo or a moment of delight captured forever?  I prefer his smile to be the latter.

I find myself wondering about him.  Where did he work?  Why is he so happy?  I wish I could sit with him and talk over a cup of coffee in one of the restaurant's booths asking these questions.  I want to share in the moment that created his glorious smile.

Smiling is such an easy thing.  Often when I am walking in a store, through a mall or along a street I smile at people for no particular reason other than to enjoy their surprise which is often followed by a hesitant smile of their own.  This is my minute contribution to the universe as I pass through life.  It is my attempt to create a moment of happiness in another human being's life.  I do this without expectation of a reward.  But in the process, I have found happiness and the song "Because I'm Happy" by Pharrell Williams begins playing in my mind.

It just so happens this song is also the ring tone on my cell phone.  

Red Hat That Doesn't Go

A poem written in 1961 called "Warning" by Jenny Joseph is one that most people would recognize upon hearing it start out with the words, "When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple with a red hat that doesn't go..."

I've quoted this line many times since discovering it.  It is my go-to-mantra when I give myself permission to be whomever I wish to be-even if for only the briefest of moments.

In 1997, Sue Ellen Cooper gave a friend a birthday gift of Jenny's poem and a vintage red hat.  Sue Ellen went on to found the Red Hat Society.  Today there are over 40,000 chapters in the United States alone consisting of women over the age of 55 who are dedicated to still having fun.

I recently met a woman I admire greatly.  Whenever I see her, she is always wearing a fabulous scarf. With a gorgeous, silk, work-of-art scarf draped about her shoulders, she exudes a beautiful aura of femininity that draws me to consider what beauty I can create within my own world.

And now I frequently also find myself wearing a scarf.

Perspective

Life is often like looking down a long hallway.  Unless you get everything lined up, you can lose your perspective.  There have been times (many times) in my life when I have been so busy trying to focus way down the hall in an attempt to predict where I was going, that I missed what was right in front of me. 

I wanted to know and control what was at the end of the hall so desperately, I did not experience (nor enjoy sometimes) what was just two steps ahead of me in the present.  Remaining in the present is one of the hardest tasks I have attempted  to master in life (mostly without success.) Looking back over my life, I wonder how different my experience might have been if I had not concentrated solely on reaching the end of the hall.  Were there good rooms I've missed along the way?  I will never know. But certainly I can start noticing the two feet in front of me before life's hallways no longer stretch out before me.

Watercolor Inspiration

I wanted to paint this view the moment I saw its palette of colors.  My eyes gathered in the building and lake's colors and the urge to create the same scene in watercolor washed over me.  Interrupting a walk after lunch along a sidewalk skirting this lake in the foreground, I could not help but notice how the softness of the light under cloudy skies drew out the color of the buildings.

I inhaled a breath of the cool air surrounding me and felt connected to the scene as imagination drew me into a world not unlike a drive past Napoli thirty five years ago.  In my mind, I have returned to the magic of Italy in an instant.