First thing I can say about “the aging process” is…..it stinks!

But then there’s all those positive quotes I read often on Facebook and in books about how it’s a privilege denied to many and although that’s true, still it’s a damn, miserable process.

Once upon a while ago, I worked in a lovely Residential Care Facility for the Elderly and I had the honor of meeting, caring for and becoming friends with about 80 wonderful people who lived there.
Their average age was 83.
I called them MY WISDOM ONES because, well…..they were.

These were educated, intelligent, world traveled men and women who were artists, authors and much more.
Oh and most of them were rather wealthy too if that makes any difference, which I don’t think it does but thought I’d mention it anyways.
The majority of them were from Pebble Beach and owned those great big, mega-expensive homes.
And that doesn’t make any difference either, just thought I’d throw that in there too.

The men were so fun to sit and talk with.
They told me stories of their lives and you could see their eyes come back to life as they remembered things from their long ago; their jobs, their travels, their hobbies and their conquests.

Within minutes of talking with these awesome men, I saw in my minds eye who they were once upon a time; the successful businessmen, the top notch athletes, the military men, the fishermen, the lady-killers, the musically inclined, writers, painters, photographers and even a gay man who hid who he was, all of his life.

Mr Handy was one of my favorites.
He dove in The Big Sur and found beautiful pieces of jade, he even gave me one which I still treasure today and think of him every time I see it.
(And yes, accepting gifts was against the facility rules but not Mr Handy’s rules!)
He also told me stories of diving in the Kelp Forest and the underwater Canyons off the Monterey Coast which went down a couple miles deep.
He was a Lighthouse Docent for many years and told wonderful stories of the ghosts that continued to exist there and appear from time to time.

It was obvious that once upon younger years Mr A had been a bossy hard-ass and had an extra hard time dealing with the reality of old age and its afflictions.
The photos scattered about his apartment were that of a tall, muscular, very good looking young man.
It was sad to now see him bent over, and dependent on a walker to ambulate.
The day he drove his big Cadillac over the curb and almost into the side of the building, I was assigned the task of convincing him to hand over his driver’s license and car keys.
It took lots of patience and reasoning but eventually he gave in.
When he handed over those last two pieces of his independence, it was hard for both of us.
I felt like a creep, but I knew it had to be done.

The Colonel was a ladies man and such a gentleman.
He had a magic charisma that attracted more than one ladyfriend.
I had no trouble visualizing him in his younger testosterone loaded years.

Mr M was probably the sweetest, kindest most gentle of all; always smiling, always something good to say about everyone and everything and ever accepting of his dwindling health and ability to walk.
It wasn’t long after he was confined to a wheelchair and didn’t show up for breakfast that we found him.
He looked like he was peacefully sleeping but he was gone from this planet and the soft, gentle smile was still on his face.

Arthur Porges was probably the strangest resident of all and I was crazy about him.
And really, strange just begins to scratch the surface of Arthur.
He was a many times over published author.
He wrote weird Science Fictions stories.
I mean weird.
Stuff like people at the dinner table who turned into lizards and their long tongues would fly out and get people and eat them…right there at the table!
He was very popular in England, had an actual Fan Club.
Look him up on your computer.
He typed standing up at a real old typewriter, refused to get a computer.
Every now and then he’d have me drive him into Monterey to the Salvation Army clothing store.
He’d zip in and grab 3 or 4 pair of pants and he’d be done.
He never tried them on, just bought them big and would come into my office later to show me the perfect fit, seams held together with a stapler! Honest!
Once a week I’d hurry home after work, change my clothes, stop at the store for a bag of black licorice and then go back to Arthurs room, pull up a chair, and we’d eat licorice and talk about life.
Because he was strange, Arthur was also a VERY interesting man.
He wrote often to the local newspaper and riled-up the people because he was an Atheist and they didn’t like what he had to say.
People would respond to his writings and it would go on and on.
He loved to antagonize.

He was a loner.
Told me he fell in love once and when he lost her he decided never to get close with people again so as to never hurt like that again.
And because of that, it took me a long time to win his friendship.
But I think I eventually wore him down and we remained close friends until he died.
I later found that in some of his stories, he used “Doctor Fone” as one of his characters.
Always a doctor, never a lizard…..thank you, Arthur.
I learned so much about people and life from Arthur.

There were also married couples living the rest of their days in the luxury they were fortunate enough to afford.

It was sheer coincidence the day I found that my husbands favorite house in all of Pacific Grove belonged to one of these couples.
A few days after I told Mr & Mrs L how much their little house, which sat on a triangular shaped lot directly across from Monterey Bay, reminded my husband of the little house he grew up in, they called me to their apartment.
They handed me their house keys and suggested we go spend a night in their home and wake up early and watch the sun rise from behind the mountains that stood tall above the Pacific.
One Friday night with a loaf of sour dough bread, an assortment of cheeses and wine we did just that.
On the very tip of the lot, separate from the house sat Mr L.’s small artist’s studio.
It held beautiful seascape paintings, inspired I’m sure, from his breathtaking view.
That evening and early morning was an awe experience we’ll never forget.

A few years ago, we drove through Pacific Grove on our way to somewhere.
It was our ritual to always drive along the water real slow and pull over to the side in front of Mr & Mrs L’s little house and remember that night.
But, it was gone.
In it’s place was a beautiful, huge new home.
However, we’ll always remember the little house that stood there once upon a time.

And the women, oh how I loved the women.

What I learned from them is, no matter the age…..a woman is always a girl.
They dressed daily as if they were going somewhere special and paid close attention to their hair and make-up, polished nails and beautiful jewelry.
They were my girlfriends.
They’d come sit in my office and the things they talked about were still girl things, including a little bit of gossip here and there.
The one consistent thing each of them said to me was that the aging process was a horrible thing to happen.
I knew they were telling me the truth and I knew one day I’d experience exactly what they were talking about and…..I do.

My favorite was Mrs Benton.
Mrs Benton was tall, thin and Clairol blonde hair that sat on her shoulders curled at the ends.
(And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with Clairol blonde hair!)
Her personality was hysterical, she was sharp, sarcastic and very funny.
She wasn’t worried that swearing would be perceived as unlady-like, she didn’t care.
She had either outlived all her relatives and friends or cussed them all away.
She spent most every day walking through the facility observing, listening and gathering ideas for more material.
She always looked like she was on her way out the door to a grand affair.
Her clothes were beautiful and her jewelry knocked me out.
I loved Mrs Benton, she was my pal.
She told me often how much she hated growing old, and I always told her back how gracefully she was doing it and hoped I could do the same.
I still think of Mrs Benton from time to time and when I do, an automatic smile accompanies those thoughts.

Mrs O was a retired school teacher who loved to bake.
Every now and then she’d ask to use our employee kitchen and she’d bake up a batch of wonderful tasting cookies.
She was dealing with a nasty debilitating disease but for that little time in the kitchen, she forgot and just became the school teacher who loved to bake.

S K and I became close friends after we sat, held hands and shared sad tears as her husband slowly slipped from this earth.
Our friendship continued long after I no longer was affiliated with the facility.
We were E-mail friends and she kept me updated on all the people and happenings.
One day, I realized I hadn’t heard from her in awhile.
I inquired and found she was gone, off to finally be with the husband she adored and missed so terribly.

I called Mrs S, Aunt Rose.
She was under 5 foot tall, and a little ball of energy; always happy, always ready to go…just like my Aunt Rose.

She took walks into town or down to the water almost every day.
A few times she stopped at our house and left notes in the flower pot right by the front door.
I wasn’t usually home, I was working and she knew that but she wanted me to know she’d been there just the same.
Sometimes she’d catch me on my day off.
She’d come in for a quick cup of tea and then off she’d go.
One time she had no paper or pen with her so she just moved the flower pot by the door.
Often times I’d find that pot moved, it was her way of saying HI.

We had a real true hoarder way before the TV show and way before I knew it was a psychological problem.
I was sent to her apartment to inform her that she had to do something to unclutter.
I wasn’t prepared for what I walked in to.
I’d never seen anything like it.
The hallway was boxes from floor to ceiling with a teeny, tiny, narrow space to walk through.
Each room was nothing but boxes, clothes, magazines, papers, garbage and just junk, more than I could ever describe but well…..you’ve seen it on TV.
It was just like that.
I tried ever so gently to approach the subject of purging.
She cried.
I attempted to reach her sense of safety.
She cried.
I explained what a fire hazard it was.
She cried.
I thought about it for a moment and decided someone else could make her cry, I was done.
No one ever did.

Mrs H & Mrs T were two little old nurse friends.
They were BFF’s way before that term was invented.
I never saw one without the other and when one fell ill, the other never left her bedside.
They seemed contented each day to walk the grounds, admire the flowers and just enjoy each others company.

Poor, sweet Mrs F.
She was hungry, she was always hungry.
Eating was her thing, it was almost the only pleasure she had left.
Facility policy prohibited residents from taking dining-room food to their apartments.
They could have food in their apartments but, just not from the dining-room.
No one could ever explain that one to me good enough for me to understand or agree to follow.
Made no sense.

Mrs F was fairly large and could barely ambulate so sitting in her apartment and eating was her happy.
We knew she was a dining-room food smuggler.
We often found the evidence wrapped in napkins and wedged between her chest and pendulous boobs while assisting her into her nightgown.
We were all real happy that she didn’t like mashed potatoes and gravy!

I think the most touching thing I saw was once a week a little 90+ year old lady would be brought to our facility from a skilled nursing home.
She came to visit her 70+ year old daughter who was bedridden most of the time.
She would sit beside her, hold her hand, stroke her hair and speak so softly and loving to her.
Once as I walked by, I heard her singing to her.
It’s true…..a mom never stops being a mom.

Some of the residents were lucky enough to have family nearby who visited often.
I enjoyed getting to know these people and learning more about their Wisdom Ones who I spent every day with.

There was a happiness that glowed about them when they had visitors but I also saw lots of lonely, sad eyes from those who had no stimuli from anyone just stopping in to see how they were.

Watching these wonderful people who were once young, active, and vibrant, I decided if I were queen, my rule would be anti-depressants in each morning cup of coffee, just to make old-age a bit easier.
My mom took an anti-depressant every morning, called it her Happy Pill and told me life would be much harder without it.

As mentioned earlier, accepting gifts was against the rules.
I can go sometimes with some rules but not that one.
No way was I gonna refuse a gift that someone had thought kindly enough of me to give.
And I think you know that it wasn’t about the gift.
It was about I was NOT gonna hurt someone’s feelings by turning down what they were offering to me.
I had a big, long file cabinet and I kept what I was given in there; wine, bath powders, costume jewelry, scarfs, candy, cookies.
OK…..I’ll admit….. sometimes I took a bottle of wine home with me and well, maybe the candy and cookies too.
But for the most part, all gifts just stayed there in my office on the premises.

Over the years, I became friends with many of the residents families.
Sometimes they’d come into my office maybe to ask a few questions or make a comment or request and then we’d end up just talking friend talk.

One of my residents had a son who stopped by often to visit.
Over the course of time, I found he’d been in the Army and in Germany the same time Elvis was AND he even had a casual friendship with Elvis, had gone to his home on serval occasions.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I was one of those screaming, crying, rip-your-handkerchief apart teen-age girls that was in love with Elvis.
The teenager that lives inside of me, still loves him.
And the word ELVIS remains magic.

After I found that fact out, we talked Elvis every time he stopped by.
One day he brought me a black and white picture of himself and Elvis.
He gave it to me…a real picture…taken with his camera.
That was an easy rule-breaker for me.
That picture was NOT going into the file cabinet.

Most all of these delightfully wise people have moved on, but from time to time, one of them will pop into my thoughts and for a few awesome moments, I go backwards in time and remember.

I was honored and privileged to not only know, but also have a friendship with so many of them and learn from their wisdom.

They’re gone, but I cherish what they left with me.
From them I learned the importance of laughter, the depth of beauty, the ability to accept with courage and dignity, letting go without fear, and so much more.

I nursed their physical needs and in return they planted the seeds of wisdom which today nourishes my spirit.

And now, for my morning cup of coffee laced with a Happy Pill!

Peace!