What if . . . .

     For the past seven years my aging and severely demented parents (now 90 and 95) have consumed a lot of my time and worries. Seems like every other month my sister is mailing-out umpteen copies of their POA documents to whoever won't give us information about our parents' lives. Seems like every month, there's an issue with their health providers, health insurance claims and assisted care facility contractors that are out of network, plus the re-balancing of their brokerage holdings according to changing tax laws on what is and is not deductible or taxable. Meanwhile, my parents are dancing (photo taken last month by Denise, the activities director).

While they were dancing, I was traveling down beautiful roads in La Lair . . . .

. . . I get a text "Time to schedule Ben and Alma's next check-up at Glaucoma Plus Eye Care". When my sister and I take them to a medical specialist, we'll remember this time to bring diaper bags with us. I'll not describe our last clean-up.

     These last five years traveling in La Lair, I've been rethinking this whole aging thing. When I got back inside La Lair after a stroll through Swallow Falls State Park, a beautiful park (Muddy Creek Falls photo below) . . . a text greets me "Update on your part-status" (La Lair needs a new DEF system, that dang troublesome diesel-thing again, much as I love diesel). This $3,100 part under warranty has been on back-order for over two months; the nuisance of ProMaster parts is irksome.  I wouldn't recommend buying a ProMaster if your wages and livelihood depend on it.

     Since being "homeless" after I sold my cottage in Texas last July, I've been back and forth between living at my generous sister and brother-in-law's house near the DC area and in La Lair. Outside the urban commuter nightmare of the DC area, Maryland and Virginia are beautiful wooded and mountainous states, particularly during the autumn months.

     While traveling down a beautiful country road in a light rain and fog . . . .

 . . . a text tells me "Claim invoice submission confirmation" and another one tells me "Time to schedule Ben and Alma's dental appointment". Most dementia folks stop brushing their teeth. There's a product for that - but those oral dental swabs need someone to gently remind them to swab their teeth. Dementia brings out an inner-child rebellion and they often refuse to shower and swab their teeth. Another rotten tooth pulled recently ($125), only 38 more to go. 

     I've been re-thinking my life when I'm in my 80s and 90s (almost there! can't procrastinate!). Where and how will I grow older? I have no children, but if I did, I wouldn't want them to take-me-in . . . an email pops up "Your subscribe and save subscription has processed" (my dad can't chew and swallow food anymore, so 90 bottles of a nutrition liquid are delivered to my sister's house every month saving us $$$, cheaper than the assisted care facility's prices). I use a dolly to deliver the boxes of bottles to my parents' assisted care facility. Spoil alert, everything is cheaper if you buy it yourself rather than permitting the assisted care facility to provide it at a premium cost.

     I casually asked the marketing folks at an assisted care facility in Waynesboro, Virginia, "Aren't you worried about the next generation's ability to pay these high costs?" Her answer? Yes, we're keeping an eye on it. I worry about the American way-of-life my grand-nephew (now in Amanda's belly, due in two weeks!) will experience when he has to take care of his parents. Will he be rich enough to pay these high costs?

     I don't know anyone who looks forward to living in an assisted care facility.  Nor do I want to live in an "independent community" of grandmothers (usually outliving grandfathers) who facebook/talk solely about their grandchildren and little else . . . an email pops-up from my sister who's traveling with hubby Barry in Alaska. Her subject line says "Dates I cannot take dad or mother to eye doctor appointments". She'll be traveling elsewhere next year . . . Mongolia and Kyrgyzstan. I could have joined her but there's just too much on my financial plate for the next year or so. We're jostling our parental duties and responsibilities with our personal lives; it's a bit stressful.

     So I've made a list of what's important to me as I age gracefully (and hopefully not dementedly) in my own home.

1. Walking distance to a public bus that will take me to doc appointments and grocery stores

2. Public bus transport to Amtrak train station so I can leave my vehicle in my garage long-term

3. Walking or biking distance to indoor swimming pool (and hopefully a jacuzzi too)

4. Walking or biking distance to public library for free movies and books

5. Maintenance-free home under 1,000 square feet of living space and well-insulated

6. Metal roofing and siding panels zinc-painted, never needing to be repainted or replaced.

7. Temperate climate for pleasant outdoor dining more than 250 days per year

8. Local community large enough to support in-home-aging assistance when I need it

9. Friends nearby who age with me and enjoy being independent (no hip-joined couples)

10. No nosey neighbors who will complain about my loud speakers (deafeningly awesome) when I feel like rocking and rolling with Mark Knopfler's "Walk of Life" or singing along with Patsy Cline's "Crazy" or doing an interpretive ballet/yoga dance with a very loud bagpipe

11. No neighbors who tie-up their dogs in backyards and let them bark all day and all night

12. No useless windows or interior doors in my senior home

13. One floor, lots of grab bars, and wheelchair accessible bathroom fixtures/shower

14. No useless furniture, no useless ornaments, no knick-knacks on display (no dusting)

15. Community of contradancers who gather regularly to dance but mostly to have fun (newly added to my list, as last week I had the unique experience of dancing with about 150 folks where some men flagrantly wore girly-girl skirts, and one old bearded skirted guy with hairy legs also wore cowboy boots and a Hawaiian shirt)

Am I dreaming the impossible to want all 15 to come true? Friends tell me I am.  But what if???

     What if there weren't covenants requiring a new home to be over 2,000 square feet? What if there were homebuilders willing to build a home less than 1,000 square feet?  What if architects' clients weren't suburban developers and were instead solo senior home-owners who want to live "small" and downtown? What if a home was designed to my needs rather than me adapting to a home's useless family features? What if solo senior citizens were the developer, the client, the designer, the home planner, the landlord, the tenant, and the law-maker? Maybe I could live to age 99 in my own home without needing an assisted care facility, eh? And so my thinking goes . . . while traveling down beautiful country roads admiring red barns.

     While traveling throughout Virginia this past fall, scouting for a lot in town to build on, I've slept on people's lots for sale, just to listen to night-time neighborhood sounds . . . one place had too many barking dogs. Not interested, thank you.

     I've slept inside La Lair on Walmart parking lots (photo above shows one Walmart autumn view shared with an RV lower left photo) and on several hospital parking lots with scenic views too. During the day, I've been swimming in the community's indoor swimming pool and walking around downtown. You'd be surprised how indoor swimming pools usually reflect the culture and friendliness or not-so-friendliness of its community.  Have also met with city building code folks; what's the minimum size of a new home (each town is different) and how much will all the various permits cost? Add another $8,000 to my costs to hook-up city water and sewer.

Found an abandoned home with asbestos; had an interesting lengthy discussion with an asbestos inspector. Learned a lot. Found a demolition contractor; had an interesting lengthy discussion with him too. The seller required him to sign a waiver of liability just to walk inside the abandoned house.

Met a new friend who showed me his concrete-block crawl space and why it's better than a concrete slab foundation. Talked with old friends about wall insulation products and why it's a good idea to hire a building consultant to double-check the homebuilder's work.

My mind is working overtime . . . not terribly blog-worthy!  Hopefully this is all good preventative treatment for dementia.

Life is like a roll of toilet paper . . .

     Andy Rooney was my favorite humorist. Click here for explanation of a humorist versus a comedian. I remember chuckling years ago when he said "Life is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer it gets to the end, the faster it goes." But now that I'm almost as old as Andy when he made that analogy, it's not as funny. No disease (yet), just reminders from aging joints and tendons that I'm mortal.

     Traveling in La Lair for the past four years throughout the United States and Canada made me realize how small my life has been in rural Texas. It's a state that boasts about 54 things that are bigger in Texas. But I wasn't living large in Texas.
     Twenty-eight years ago, at age 40, I moved to quiet, peaceful rural "Piney Woods of East Texas" from the capital city of Pennsylvania, happily giving up my administrative public education career and urban lifestyle due to burn-out. East Texas was a good salve career-wise and recreation-wise. My fondest memories are finishing the day at my good-paying non-stressful federal government job (7 AM to 3:30 PM office job, no congested commuter traffic, mostly rural roads). In the heat of the day after work, I'd drive a few miles north on a dirt road to swim open-water in a clear quarry, no alligators!

     And after a refreshing swim I'd stop by a neighbor's ranch to ride my chestnut Thoroughbred horse JC who was as shiny as a brand new copper penny. We'd trot and get sweaty for a couple of hours in a private forest with over 20 miles of groomed trails to choose from (hunters took real good care of this forest all year-long). No highway hum, no police or EMS sirens blasting through the neighborhood (when will Americans demand siren changes?).  All I'd hear was leaves rustling in the wind and boisterous crows and songbirds . . occasionally a herd of deer leaping through brush in the distance. I'd crow-speak, deer-speak (bleat) and sing songs to JC because my voice assured her all was well in our neck of the woods. And it truly was . . .

     When JC died, I leased and rode Topaz an Arabian for a couple years from my good friend Sally. But Topy is 28 years old with arthritic joints too, and she's enjoying a well-earned retirement with plenty of treats and kisses. Sally's taking good care of her.

      I've been a lucky woman with a handful of great Texan friends. Plus thousands of acres of private and federally-owned forests, beautiful sunsets and wonderful dinners and companionship too at my neighbor Chef Jim's lake-side home, admiring migratory White Pelicans on Lake Livingston.  

But when I retired and traveled half the year in La Lair, my cottage was neglected more and more.

     Winters were spent scraping and painting. And stuff inside my cottage was collecting dust . . . a forlorn-looking vintage cookie jar from my mom hadn't held a cookie in half a century . . .

. . . sad-looking rolling pins from both grandmothers hadn't rolled in 50 years.

     In a short amount of time, vintage stuff that brought joy now brought angst and a bit of guilt. How many sheets of toilet paper would it take to keep my ancestors' stuff dust-free and displayed for whom, and for how long? And why?  This handmade wooden sign in my living room reminded me every day of my motto for the past 40 plus years.

     So I sold 43 vintage items on Ebay.  I became "an excellent seller" with high ratings because everything started at a low asking price and was packed well. My goal was to get rid of stuff to someone appreciative, not to make money. Sold a couple things via Craigslist and Facebook's Marketplace, made a few trips to Goodwill and to second-hand consignment shops (worn old pots, matching wedding bands from my first marriage, my Grandparents' mahogany Empire chest, a primitive jelly cupboard, my great Uncle Matthew's Saratoga Steam Chest, my Grandparents' two antique mantel clocks, etc.). Dropped off old computers and tech gear at the nearest Staples. I'm now less-owned by my ancestors' stuff which is liberating.

     Sold too was my 860-square-foot "Piney Woods" cottage which I bought with cash 28 years ago. Over 40 viewers "saved" my real estate listing on Zillow because it's a cute cottage. Not surprisingly, it was popular with women like myself wanting peace and quiet in a natural forest setting with no lawn to mow. Nor is it necessary to bag fall leaves.

     My next cottage if or when that day comes, will be designed for a 99-year independent old lady. It will have exclusively acrylic flooring (easy to clean, no vacuum cleaners, no grout to clean), metal roof (no replacements in my lifetime), one-story (no stairs), built-in shelves (no bureaus or end tables), walk-in sit-down shower and grab-rails (no falls and cracked hips), and a nearby (short walk or bike ride) indoor heated lap swimming pool and jacuzzi.

I'll miss the busy deer path in my backyard; nearby there's a ravine with pools of water.

     Won't miss Texas' abundant insects.  This Giant Walking Stick was climbing up my window outside (photo below).  I was inside for an underbelly photo shot, holding a 6-inch ruler. Its' skinny double antennae (longer than its' six legs) are on the left side protruding from its' tiny minuscule head. The tail tip (far right) looks like a clamp. Very interesting insect that moves slowly to fool its predators.

     Packed a U-Haul trailer, hitched it up to La Lair and drove northeast . . . almost 1,200 miles averaging 19.7 mpg in La Lair. Fortunately no mishaps!

     . . . put my whittled-down stuff in a 10'x15' storage unit in a small mountain town in Virginia.

     Now it's just La Lair and me on a different kind of journey.

   



   

Absorbing the Cracovian Atmosphere

     Krakow or Cracow, it's the same city spelled either way. It's the second largest city in Poland; the largest is Warsaw, the capital of Poland. Last November 2018, my sister Vicki and I spent a few days in the city's Old Town which is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. While there, Poland was celebrating its 100th anniversary of the end of WW I when Poland regained its independence.

     Everybody and anybody was eating, walking and celebrating Poland's independence on November 11, 2018. Outside heaters were blazing because it was a bit chilly.

Even the horse-drawn carriages were all gussied-up that day.

See me with my camera in photo below, lower left? What am I doing?

I'm impressed with the anti-skid horse shoes! Cobblestones are dangerously slippery for trotting horses. I've seen quite a few horses elsewhere skid and slide when trotting on cobblestones. So I was impressed by the Poles' level of care and love for their carriage horses. All the carriage horses were wearing these special shoes. On the rear of the shoe is an over-sized bar that prevents slipping on the cobblestone.

Planty Park is a wonderful median strip in Old Town Krakow; more than 2 miles long. Vicki and I strolled along this park with falling autumn leaves as often as possible while visiting historic sites.

Soft pretzels were cheap too! Vendors everywhere on the streets.

We strolled by the University of Jagiellonska founded in 1364.

     I'm adding my expertise with two math students (in sculpture) who were intellectually energized about meeting on campus with Professor Hugo Steinhaus.

We strolled for several miles toward the Vistula River.

Overlooking the Vistula River is the Wawel Castle and its Cathedral.

This is Saint Mary's Basilica (below) built in the 14th century.

Many wonderfully historic architectural styles.

And plenty of cathedrals, too.

We strolled through the Jewish Quarter (click here for explanation).

Eating at the infamous Starka Restaurant required three days advance reservation!

Everything was presented picture-perfect, including the hot mulled wine on a chilly day.

The Jewish Quarter has a huge selection of restaurants. Below is Hevre, a restaurant converted (but not refurbished fortunately retaining its "if walls could talk" stories) from a 19th century Jewish prayer house.

Sitting at a table in Hevre, my sister Vicki captured me with the Impressionist influence of Olga Boznanska, a Polish painter, on her camera. It's called "Woman Imbibes the Cracovian Atmosphere".

Below photo shows the entrance of Mundo Hostel; it was a great place to stay and close to everything including the train and bus stations.

We took two day-long side-trips via a bus. One bus to Auschwitz (click here for my previous post) and another bus to the Wieliczka Salt Mine.

The Wieliczka Salt Mine hired miners and horses for almost six centuries, discontinuing in 1996.

It's now a historical museum.

The walkways and stairs and displays are fascinating.

One room is carved crystallized salt, including the chandeliers.

Very eerie place . . . . the mine is over 1,000 feet deep (includes a lake) with a labyrinth of passageways and chambers totaling 178 miles.

Tourists exit on an underground tram.

It was a sad day when Vicki and I flew back to Berlin, concluding our three-month European adventures. 

Our last leg, from Budapest and Cracow, was like leaving a party when you're having the most fun! Those two cities are high on my "must visit again" list.