Meeting the Elders
The senior center
During the period before the winter solstice, at the end of the sun’s annual journey south, I have mourned the loss of light, physically suffered from light deprivation and sometimes become deeply depressed. Over the years I carefully developed coping techniques, learned to stop doing the Christmas madness altogether and began to feel the relief of letting go of the old year. My birthday is on December 20th, but I no longer do birthday parties either. That day, I celebrate the birth of my new personal new year. It is an empty and spacious day in which to imagine what might come when the light comes back. Sometimes I do something for myself that day, some secret thing I wouldn’t do at any other time.
I know the sun starts to come back on December 21st, but I don’t actually feel it in my body until a few days later. You don’t have to be sensitive to feel it by Christmas day. The birth of the sun on the birthday of the Son can be felt by anyone who is paying attention. I know by then that the struggle is over and there is going to be light and warmth in the New Year ahead, a new opportunity for creativity and growth.
February in California is a preview of spring. By then, the sun has warmed the earth enough to bring forth visible new growth. The light is at such an angle that the wonderful early green of spring and the yellow of the sour grass flowers vibrate right into my eyes and caused a change in my very being.
Blossoms pop out of branches that looked dead; their light sweet perfume drifting through the air. Part of the wonder of it all is in knowing that it won’t last. Like a newborn baby, it has to be noticed right away before it matures and loses its glow. I pray the rains will hold off long enough for the pollinators to do their job knowing that winter hasn’t finished with us yet.
The February after I retired, I bought a new digital camera and went around the yard taking pictures, trying to capture it all. I put a picture of the sour grass on my computer desktop; but it just wasn’t the same as the real thing. The best way to catch the California spring is to just be there. “Attention, attention, here and now.” And then it’s gone.
It was time for me to find my new place in the world. I needed to be with people. I needed to belong somewhere doing something with others. I had always been fully engaged in the outer world. Even when I was a stay at home mom, I joined with other parents and became active in the schools. Where were my people now?
One Friday my daughter, Kara, and granddaughter, Katelyn, took me on a field trip to the local senior centers. When we found the center in Castro Valley, I knew it was the right one. It was on the side of a hill and had a commanding view of the valley. It looked stable but also had a light feeling about it like the “openwork” lifestyle I was creating. I knew it was the place for me.
Kenneth Aiken Senior and Community Center, Castro Valley, CA
Kenneth Aiken was managed by the Hayward Area Recreation Dept. (HARD) I enrolled in the Autobiographical Writing class that met every Thursday morning at the center. The class was provided by the Quest program at Chabot College and the instructor Nancy O’Connell was a certified English teacher.
I created a new business card for the person I would be now. It was simple with a little crow and a quote.
“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and right doing, there is a field, I’ll meet you there.” ~Rumi
The first day of class I arrived early. In the parking lot, I noticed a white haired woman unloading the trunk of her car. “I’ll bet she is the teacher in my class.”, I thought. Inside, at the front desk, a few friendly women welcomed me to the center and directed me to the classroom.
There was a room full of old people mulling around large tables arranged in a horseshoe. Across the room in front of the windows, a short jolly old woman was smiling at me, waving me over, pointing at the chair to her right where she wanted me to sit. Her name was Mimi Hoag and that chair became mine for the next four years. Mimi’s husband Jim sat to her left and Jean Rolf sat on my right side. Once seated, I noticed that the room looked segregated with the single men not accompanied by their wives sitting on the right side of the room. It turned out Nancy, the instructor, was, in fact, the woman I had seen in the parking lot!
It was the same routine every week. Greetings all around, nameplates including one for me were passed around. A class list was available which really helped me to learn everyone’s name and soon I became the person who kept it updated. Nancy stood in the space at the front of the class where she would make announcements and say a few words. She might give out homework, but no one was required to do it. We all turned in a copy of the stories we would read that day. The reading would begin first on one end of the horseshoe and then the other end the following week so everyone had a turn.
Each person would read their own story in their own voice. Each story was a priceless window into their lives. I might add here that I seemed to be one of the youngest in the class. The others were literally my elders. It was a refreshing contrast to my group at work where I had been the oldest and felt like it. Here I felt young again. Nancy called us her 10 o’clock scholars.
The men often read stories from their experiences in WWII. In a way, it was like finally hearing from the men who were away at war during my early childhood. I had been raised by the women left behind. Many of my classmates were old enough to be of my parent’s generation. This was a new opportunity to be with my parent’s age group even after my own parents’ death.
While we read our stories, Nancy read the copies and wrote suggestions and comments on them to help us write better. She was very positive. These were returned to us at the end of class.
After class, the center’s volunteers managed a café in the cafeteria where we could have a sandwich or coffee and get better acquainted. There was a certain group that showed up there week after week and I was one of them. There, we could enjoy the best conversations.
I had found the place where I belonged.
During my time at Kenneth Aiken I have often felt gratitude for those who came before me who had fought for opportunities for older folks and funds for centers and classes & programs. Now it was our turn to take our place in improving life for next elders to come.
I fell into a writing routine. The first day of writing I could only remembered a few details about my life at that time, but each day afterward, more and more details flooded into my mind and I could add them to my stories. Then, before the next class, I tried to bring that story to an end of sorts so I could read it to the class. Bringing up those memories made me realize that my brother Lowry was the only person left alive who would remember that part of my life. He was two years older than me and had always been a part of my life. I called him and we reminisced. He sent me a photo album with pictures taken then. I could feel my relationship with him changing. It was a new appreciation.
I was surprised at how pleasurable it was for me to read my stories to the class. They all listened attentively and laughed at all the funny parts. They were surprised at how much detail I remembered. I thought they could probably remember more if they took the time to follow my process. It was a reflective process that opened up lost parts of myself, feelings from childhood that were never processed could now be seen from an adult point of view and led to a greater understanding of who I am and why. Old wounds were being healed and a better perspective emerged.
I began to believe I would write a book. I had thought of doing just that many times in my life, maybe I just had to wait until I had the right perspective, that of an elder.
