Sometimes we just don't know ourselves

When I lived in the house surrounded by an acre and a half, I loved the solitude. I loved the isolation. I was on my own little island. I had never exactly been a group type person.

When I was going to move into this apartment building, I sort of fantasized my apartment with its own private entrance from the outside with a little private fenced-in patio. Well, that was my fantasy. There are no private entrances, no patios.

I knew I wasn't someone who wanted to socialize.

This building has a community room, and a pot luck once a month, and everyone is friendly, and I didn't want to have to talk to anyone when I came in or went out.

And you had to be fifty-five or over to live here, and there were many people who lived here who were way older. I didn't want to be with old people. I was too young. I must have thought old age was contagious or something.

It turns out I didn't know myself at all.

I have become dear friends with many of the people who live here.  They are not "old people." They are people who are my friends who happen to be older.  I have met the most wonderful people here, people I would be less if I hadn't met them. I have my privacy. I am free to be me. And I have a buffer of a beautiful family. Like when I came back from visiting Lauren in Chicago, it was nice to have people around who let me know they were really happy to see me back. Their faces lit up.

Back at the house, except for my daughter, there was no one who knew or cared whether I was there or not.

Let me tell you about some of the people here and their beauty and their courage.

There is an elderly gentleman here who has the cutest dog. I thought it was his son who comes early in the morning to walk the little dog, and then at noon and then at supper -- and perhaps in the evening, for all I know. It turns out that the man who walks the dog isn't the son of the dog's owner. He is the son of a man who was a good friend of the dog's owner. The dog-walker's father passed away, and now the son comes over to help his father's friend day after day, seven days a week. Just to give you an idea of what goes on here.

One day at the laundry room, I had forgotten my quarters. When I got back, the gentleman above who owns the dog, had already put money in the washers for me.

There is a mother in her eighties here who had been a minister's wife. She has served others all her life. When it comes to the once-a-month pot luck, she gets in line to get food for three or four other people besides herself, people who use canes, for instance.  The mother also asks me what she can get for me -- coffee, tea, soda, water?  I would like to figure out a way to serve this wonderful woman who serves and serves.

Her daughter also has an apartment here. Her daughter has M.S. The mother cares for her daughter, and it is a lot of work. The mother doesn't give it a thought. What are we on Earth for, but to serve. That's her attitude. It is not only that she serves. It is that she is glad to serve, feels lucky to serve.

The daughter, like the mother, doesn't focus on herself. She never thinks, "Why me?" She is marvelous. She has invited me to come see her because she wants to know more about me and what it was like for me growing up. And that's how it is. Where do you find people like this?

There is no question in my mind but that this mother and daughter are angels on Earth. And I haven't begun to tell you enough about them.

There is a woman across the hall from me who knows how to fix things. She's drilled holes for me in my kitchen for pots and pans, and she rewired my overhead living-room light so that my Chinese lantern works from the wall switch. I'm not the only one she helps. I also happen to know she makes a habit of clearing snow from car windshields in the parking lot during the winter. She just silently goes around scraping windshields.

Next door to me is an 87-year old lady who is delightful. She is one of the most cheerful uplifting people I know. I never get enough of her.

I sure know myself better now.

And everyone allows me my privacy. They somehow just know.

I discovered I like being a part of a group, at least this group. I like it that when I go to the laundry room and get to know people I haven't met before. I like it when I go past the community room and the card players call out, "Hey, Gloria," and wave me in. They don't mind that I don't play cards. They like me anyway.

It seems to me that the people who live here have been humbled. Maybe age does this.  And they are wise and know what is important. I don't know where their egos are. They must be gone.

I know what it is to live in a community now, and I don't think I ever want it another way.