RovinCrone

Sunday, December 27, 2020

WHERE TO?

My life has changed enormously during the past year. Back in February I was leading a life of what Thoreau called quiet desperation, spending too much time on just trying to live a healthy life. At the age of 82, it was simply too hard to shop for food, prepare it, wash the dishes and cooking utensils afterward. These tasks, which once made up a small portion of my day, took over my life. I stopped writing, did too little reading. My social life revolved around rare trips to the library and frequent visits to doctors’ offices. For a long time I had been considering moving to an independent living community where meals and transportation would be provided. It also might provide some social life. I had lived for year in the area and made only a few friends. My partner is good company but is somewhat of a hermit. I was lonely, missed interaction with interesting people. Would moving to a retirement community solve my problems?

Then the decision was taken out of my hands. I had a minor accident in which I was unhurt, but my car was totaled. To this day I am unsure what happened. I remember pulling into a parking space at the library, braking as usual. Suddenly my foot was on the accelerator, and I didn’t react quickly enough to brake. I crashed into a concrete wall. Did my foot just slip because I was momentarily inattentive? Or did I have a TIA? I suspect it was either a TIA or some other temporary mental difficulty that might occur again at any time, and would rather not take a chance on it. Instead of replacing my car, I stopped driving. Perhaps I’ll go back to it at some point when I regain my self confidence. In the meantime, the bus at the retirement community will take me to many places. I like public transportation for environmental reasons anyway.

Soon after reaching that point, I was gobsmacked along with others by the pandemic. Now the retirement community looked like a safe refuge from covid-19. I began preparing to sell my house, though for a couple months real estate offices were closed. Finally they reopened, and my house went on the market. Again, I expected to have a long wait before anyone bought it, but within two days I had a more than acceptable offer. The next month was a whirlwind of activity. Moving sales, frantic packing, mountains of paperwork to be completed. Suddenly I found that most of the contents of my three-bedroom house had been transported to a one-bedroom apartment. It’s a little crowded, but somehow it worked. I’ve lived here for about four months now.

So far I am extremely happy with my new life. The building I live in is a little bit like a college dorm, with people around at all times. Someone else is doing the cooking and cleaning, and I actually have time for blogging and other writing. Lovely gardens are tended by others. My balcony looks out from the second floor into trees, so I may resume the birdwatching I began long ago. My new life has begun. I will continue blogging about it, and am curious about how this will turn out. Will I get bored with my insulation from “normal “ life? Or will I have the time and space I’ve craved? Where to from here?

Wednesday, December 9, 2020

SUCH INTERESTING PEOPLE

One morning the old guy who lives down the hall walked up and asked loudly whether I had been out drinking in the parking lot the previous night. What? Finally I figured it out. I had gone out to gaze at a conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn, and of course had looked up through my binoculars. From a distance and in a dim light, the binoculars looked to him like a bottle. I tried to explain, but he looked skeptical. This place is a gossip mill, and I’m probably pegged as a drunk now.

And then there is Moose. (Though I avoid using real names here, I can’t think of a good substitute, and of course Moose is just her nickname.) I’d heard some people mention her, and had a mental image of a hulking, awkward creature. Instead, she turned out to be the petite, graceful woman I’d seen dancing when a local band was performing. Moose is a hundred years old, and proud of it. She could pass for 80. Not only is she youthful and graceful, but she’s sharp and funny.

I used to think old people were boring. One of my grandmothers lived to be 96, and I could have asked her so much about her life that began in the nineteenth century, but I didn’t. By the time my mother died at the age of 101 I had wised up a little, and we had many good conversations about her life. Now that I am old, I can appreciate the elderly people around me. We have lived through events that seem like ancient history to the young. Not only do we remember them, we can see and describe them in the changing contexts of surrounding events, attitudes, and fashions. We are better able than younger people to understand and forgive those who may seem racist or otherwise intolerant.

Friday, October 16, 2020

EATING DURING THE PANDEMIC

A beginning student of anthropology is likely to be struck by the amount of time “primitive” people must spend on finding food. They hunt or gather, perhaps cook over a fire made of sticks. In comparison, those in modern societies may seem to spend little time on getting food.

Until I became an octogenarian, I blithely shopped for groceries, cooked meals, and cleaned up afterward without thinking much about the time it took. Eating-related tasks seemed to occur almost in spare moments. Then, as I aged and my health declined, I found all that work burdensome.

Since moving to an independent-living apartment, I’ve found that I suddenly have much more time on my hands. Though I still spend time eating (most of the meals are delicious), someone else has taken care of all the work involved. I am extremely fortunate.

My meals are delivered to my door in Styrofoam containers. Plastics are an ecological nightmare but a necessity during the pandemic.

Meanwhile, many people who are quarantined or otherwise forced to stay home because of the pandemic are having a harder time than I ever did. They may have to shop in off hours to avoid crowds, practice social distancing, wear masks or other protective gear, search for items that no one has touched. Stores often run out of popular items.

Even worse than lack of time for getting food is lack of money. As the pandemic has damaged the economy, many workers have lost their jobs or are making less money. They may even have to choose between paying the rent or buying enough groceries. At this time—shockingly in this wealthy country-- fourteen million children in the U.S. have too little nutritious food. Only a few years ago, obesity seemed to be a major pediatric difficulty. It still is, but now it is more likely to result from reliance on cheap but fattening foods. Getting enough protein and vegetables is hard for those on low incomes.

We can no longer take food for granted. Like those in third-world countries, we are suffering from too little nourishing food for all citizens. Sadly, our political leaders are largely to blame. I can only hope that in the next few months, we will elect leaders who can reverse this trend.