Donna and I have a friend who thinks ahead, an admirable trait. She’s a bit younger than we are, also retired, living alone in a house she owns. She has two successful sons, one of whom lives nearby. As much as anyone can be, she’s pretty well set for her senior years.
Here’s where the thinking ahead comes in: she wants to sell her house and move into a senior living condo before the daily routine of caring for herself — housekeeping, laundry, shopping, cooking — becomes too much to handle.
Donna’s a planner too, and over the past couple of months the two of them have been visiting local senior condo and apartment facilities to get the lay of the land. The kind of places they’ve been checking out offer graduated services, depending on tenants’ ages and needs. You start out in your own condo or apartment, then as you become progressively debilitated you can take advantage of more and more services, from meals to housekeeping to nurse visits. Some of these places even offer full-time hospice care at the end.
It’s all too depressing for me and I’ve tried hard to not think about it, but Donna and our friend are brave and undeterred. Until last week, that is, when Donna started having second thoughts. They were being shown around one of the nicer and more expensive facilities in town, a converted resort hotel with a long waiting list, and were having lunch in one of several dining rooms when an elderly lady collapsed on the carpet and died, in plain view of Donna and our friend. And while facility nursing staff responded immediately and covered the deceased with a blanket, the body was left laying on the floor for the remainder of their visit.
When Donna got home, she said that was enough for her. My reaction? Whew!
We’re now looking at Plan B, which is staying in our own home and hiring help when we need it. Whether home is the one we’ve been living in for the past 25 years or something newer and smaller (and easier to keep up) remains to be seen.
Last year our son and daughter-in-law moved into a 55+ gated community in a Las Vegas suburb. Their new home’s a single family unit, somewhat smaller than their old house, single story vice two, with an astroturfed postage stamp yard that requires minimal care and upkeep. Sure is tempting, as is the thought of moving back to Las Vegas, where we’d nearer our son.
The title of this post is, of course, from Stephen Foster’s song, “Old Folks at Home.” Which is where we are, thank goodness.
When we switched from Verizon to T-Mobile back in November, the promotional inducement was a $300 Costco shopping card. One for each of us. They told us at the time the cards would take 14 weeks to come and not to expect them until around Valentine’s Day. Well, per the website at the link on the receipt they gave us, our cards were issued on February 14th. But where are they? Costco doesn’t have them. T-Mobile doesn’t know anything about them, the promotion having been handled by a third party. The third party, mypromochoice.com, offers only an automated comment box on the Contact Us page, no phone number or postal address, preventing contact with a human. I’m working on faith now, faith that the promise was a good one and that the cards will come in the mail.
Mentally, I’ve already spent mine. Another watch, of course, this time a specialized pilot’s watch with a second hour hand for Zulu. Takeoff and landing times are always logged in Greenwich Mean Time (which the military calls Zulu Time), and watches like the one I plan to buy are called GMT watches. I sure could have used one during my flying days. Better late than never, am I right?
Ha. Both Costco cards showed up in today’s mail. My Torgoen T9 GMT order is confirmed and I turned my card, with its remaining balance, over to Donna. Like I said, better late than never!