Life in a Senior Residence Community is challenging and cherished.

If Not Now, When?


Last month the leader of the Spring Lake Village Drumming Circle mentioned that she is taking a group of nine women to Costa Rica to drum in the Living Forest, a retreat center near Lake Arenal, within sight of Arenal Volcano. She spoke of drumming with monkeys, butterflies, and grade school children. A float trip on the Tenario River for bird-watching, bathing in Llanos Cortes waterfalls, and walks in the jungle were too tempting. Could I resist?

I’ve wanted for 30 or more years to go to Costa Rica. I’ve wanted to see how NOT having a standing army affects the quality of life. What happens when monies can be diverted to schools, hospitals, and social services? How do people feel when the word guns is not part of daily conversation?

I want to see why Costa Rica is among the three top places in the world rated as the happiest. So I signed up.

Cautious friends have warned me that it’s tropical, only ten degrees north of the equator, which means high temperatures (80s and 90s), high humidity (50%), and maybe bugs. I melt into a puddle in hot sticky weather and studiously avoid mosquitoes that leave me with welts the size of the bowls of cream soup spoons and long, itchy, sleepless nights. But I’m going!

Granddaughter Katie who spends as much time outdoors as she can, said, “Gran, go to REI and get their best mosquito repellent.” I did and asked the clerk why he recommended a particular tube. He said, “My wife gets big welts from bug bites and she uses this. It works.” I bought it. Then he handed me another tube of ointment for itchy bites. “Just in case,,” he said. I’m set.

A cardiologist suggested I postpone this trip, or not go at all. She pointed out that I am 90 now and she is worried about an irregular heartbeat, but a couple of years ago another cardiologist emphasized, “You have a regular irregular heartbeat. Don’t worry about it.” I’m not.

Sunday, March 11, about three o’clock in the morning, after we have set our clocks an hour ahead, I will be picked up here at Spring Lake Village on the front curb and several of us will drive out to the Santa Rosa airport and fly to Los Angeles en route to Liberia, Costa Rica.

Imagine me! The girl who wanted to play timpani drums in the high school orchestra and never did, finally going to play West African drums in the jungle of Costa Rica!

If not now, when?



Service with Several Smiles

People ask me why I like Spring Lake Village, the senior community where I’ve lived for six months now. I have several answers. I like the stability of the administration. I am grateful for the extensive medical services available. I like the food and I am tickled by the consideration and respect that members of the staff exhibit. For the 400 of us residents there are 275 employees and all seem dedicated to giving good service.

I’ll show you an example. It happened today at lunch time.

Six of us women were seated at a round table in the Bistro. Our waitress took our orders. I asked for a bowl of fresh fruit and a 10-inch margarita  pizza.

Nina’s veggie-burger arrived. Joyce’s soup came. Bev’s huge chicken sandwich looked daunting. Selma’s Caesar Salad had whole anchovies! My strawberries, cantaloupe, and melon appeared. No pizza.

After a while, I asked the waitress, “Should I expect the pizza soon?” She disappeared, and returned to apologize for the delay, explained that the first pizza had been burned and a second one was being prepared. She smiled and vanished. The chef came to our table and explained that the fire “got pretty hot,” apologized and with the bright smile of a good idea, he asked, “Would you like some french fries or Bistro Chips?” I love the chips so accepted. They came, warm, fragrant, spicy and we all enjoyed them.

Then the waitress re-appeared and placed a slice of cheese cake in front of me. “Here, This is for you. I am so sorry that you are having to wait.” She cleared away some of the others’ dishes.

Finally the pizza came. Fresh and tempting. I ate one piece, asked for a box, “and a box for the pie, too, please.” Bev said, “Here, Donna, take home the rest of these chips. I know what you’ll be having for dinner tonight.”

We stood up to leave. The chef waived , smiled and nodded. The waitress stepped back out of our way and said, “Good bye, Ms Love. Thank you.”

I almost hugged her. “Thank YOU. See you tomorrow.”

It’s a Surprise a Minute

I had noticed Bev in exercise class. She is always trim and tidy in her jeans and cashmere sweaters, her face carefully tended, and her posture erect. One day we introduced ourselves and asked the usual questions. “Where have you lived the major part of your life?” she asked.

“San Mateo. I lived in San Mateo area for about 40 years. I last lived in San Mateo Park.”

“Oh,” she said, “I lived in San Mateo Park. Where did you live?”

“Occidental Avenue. I have forgotten the house number. What about you?”

She squinted into the past and answered, “I can’t remember. Oh, well.”

The class started. We didn’t talk about other lives any more.

Until last week. Bev and her husband sat behind me at the Wednesday evening concert and she tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and she said, “526 Occidental Avenue.”

Surprised, I said, “That’s right! How did you know my address?”

“No,” she smiled. “That was MY address.”

I chuckled through the entire concert. At its conclusion, Bev and I compared notes. The dog run along side of the house, the pool in the back yard, the bonus room downstairs. She said, “I had barely put the house on the market and some woman came by, walked around, and said she would buy it.”

I nodded. She said, “You got a very good deal.”

Those who know me, know I love Small World Stories. Up until last week, my favorite one was about the time I was standing a long time in the china department of Harrods in London. I was waiting to be helped so when a pleasant looking young woman approached me, I said, “I’m glad to see you. I’d like to buy Peter Rabbit mugs…….” and hadn’t finish my sentence before she said, “I don’t work here. Aren’t you Matt Love’s mom! …… We were in San Mateo High together.“

I think we all have these stories. They seem especially prevalent here in Spring Lake Village. I was telling about Bev’s and my having lived in the same house on Occidental, and my walking buddy stopped and said, “My grandmother lived in the 600 block of Occidental Avenue in San Mateo Park.”


I Think, Therefore I Blog

If I were to outline the events of 2017 on the blog, it would be longer than anyone’s attention span. However, Marian, my friend of about 65 years, has written, “I am looking forward to a long note on your Christmas card.”

So, Marian, what do you want to hear about? Travel? Changes? Health? Family? Let’s not even think about the tragic president in DC.

For starters, let’s think about getting older, which we all are doing. About 30 years ago I told myself that when I reached 80 I’d begin to think about getting old. The 80s have come and gone and NOW I’m beginning to think about getting old. On Tuesday mornings, I am taking bridge lessons because years ago I promised, “When I get old, I’m going to learn to play bridge and take a cruise, and on the fourth day out, I’ll join a table by the window to deal the cards between the whale sightings.”

In my whole life, I’d never changed addresses in July so in July of this year, I moved. Son Sam came to Friends House to remove the high shelves he’d installed three years ago and bring them over here, still in Santa Rosa, to Spring Lake Village, a senior residence that offers what I need in this last inning. So far I enjoy independent living, a comfortable one-bedroom cottage about half the size of the Capitola Cottage, where I lived at the beach for almost 20 years. I’ve met new interesting people and some from my other lives. Sheila Einhorn, whose son Greg was in Marty Love’s 4th grade at North School; Jane Jackson, whose daughter Jenny was in John Love’s class at Crocker Middle School.   Others.

We friends at SLV enjoy dinner together in the dining room, take walks around the 33-acre campus, sign up for one or more of the 37 exercise classes offered. I’ve joined the drumming circle, attend most of the meditation meetings, love the Wednesday evening musical events, and am responsible for sending birthday cards to those in Assisted Living and Skilled Nursing.

Once in a while I leave Spring Lake Village for the broader world. In January,, Joan , friend in Alamos, Sonora, Mexico, invited me to stay with her a month. An entire month! My expat life revisited. Dry warm days in which we drank Topo Chico and played canasta in the shade.

In June son Matt and I drove up to Florence, Oregon, to attend the recognition of brother David Rankin and Dianne as the best of Oregon Small Woodlot Owners. Fifty people, most of whom are also small woodlot owners, toured Dave and Dianne’s acreage, had lunch at tables Dave and their grandson Henry made from lumber harvested and milled right there!

A couple of months later, in mid-August, Dave and Dianne drove down to the Bay Area to stay with me and attend the wedding of granddaughter Sarah and Ilya Bendich at the St Francis Yacht Club. The best news about them is that they will continue to live in San Francisco, at least until he finishes his residency at UCSF Medical Center and she remains at Salesforce. See that tallest building? There’s Sarah!

Part of becoming an Ancient is diminishing physical abilities. I still walk unaided, but not up hills and more slowly than in the 1980s peace walks. Residents who have read my book, Walking for Our Lives, grin and ask, “Want to go for a walk up in Annabel Park?” Nice thought if we can stay on flat trails.

After the left hearing aid was lost down a garbage disposal, I listened with cocked head for a while and eventually asked the audiologist for a replacement, but by that time the technology had changed and I had to buy both. I think they cost more than half of what our first house in San Mateo cost! But I hear everything now! And last week granddaughter Katie asked, “Gran, do you always wear glasses?” Well, no, but I forget to take them off. I might sign up for the Memory Enhancement class.

Marian, ask about the family.

They are fine.

On October 9, Sam and Sandra were wakened about two in the morning and told to evacuate immediately. They pulled on shoes, and not much else, and raced out to their horses. Much later, Sam told me he was thinking, “If the horses are spooked and skittish, we won’t have time to lead them to their trailer.” Fortunately, all three horses were lined up at the gate saying, “Quick! Get us outa here!” They drove down to the huge parking lot at the Fair Grounds. Our great gratitude is that the fire, within half a mile of Sam and Sandra’s home, veered away.

Meanwhile, 430 independent residents of Spring Lake Village were evacuated…… also to the Fair Grounds, where Sam and Sandra miraculously found me! SLV was spared fire damage and I, after three weeks shared with Matt & Joan in Aptos and John & Holly in Los Altos, returned to clean air, hugs, and sighs of relief.

I sit here and think about this eventful year and must include the great encouragement I feel when I read about the involvement of the citizens of the world, especially in the USA. Millions of voices clambering for justice and equality and environmental responsibility. Something to think about.

I heard on NPR: “I think, therefore I blog.”*

Happy New Year, Marian.



You Have Choices


“Follow your bliss. Doors will open and guides will appear.” Remember Joseph Campbell saying that? Everyone I knew was much younger then and many applied it to choosing careers or life partners or identifying their passions.

Recently a 20-something granddaughter and I had a long conversation about the choices she has and how she will make them. She spoke of her job that she loves, the co-workers who have become real friends, her pride in the quality of the product. It provides well for her. Seemingly perfect, except she knows the job now and the challenge is no longer there. Should she try something else?

I thought of my father’s answer when I asked him what he thought I should major in. First he said, “Take pre-med. Can’t hurt. Might help.” The following year, when I got a D in a five-hour chemistry class, he said, “Do what you love. The money will follow.” I majored in psychology and have been glad ever since. Worked in the psych department at University of Oregon, taught at Sarah Dix Hamlin School in San Francisco, loved bringing up four sons while I held a copy of Gesell and Ilg (child development resource) in the other hand, led troubled tutorial students to success, wrote some books, shared my enthusiasm for writing in Saturday workshops.  Psych helped.

Here in Spring Lake Village, I had lunch last week with a new friend and we told bits of our life stories. She explained that yes, she, too, had taught school, but tired of controlling restless adolescents. Quilting calmed and refreshed her. Loving to quilt, she shared her passion in Adult Education classes. So rewarding to be teaching students who wanted to learn! But frequently she found she needed something that she’d left at home. And her students had the same frustrating experience. So she found a storefront, opened a quilting store, taught classes there and whenever she or a student needed something, they could find it on the store shelves. She loved her quilting career.

She no longer has the store, but continues to exhibit her quilts in art shows. I asked her if she had made any money when she had owned the store and taught. She shrugged a little and smiled, “Not a lot, but enough.”

That’s it! Enough! She had followed her bliss and look what happened.

Saturday afternoon three of us senior residents drove over to see a toy train set up in a house. The “engineer” has a complex arrangement in the garage. Historically correct mines and warehouses, a church, a hardware store, an Out West neighborhood. Not only in the garage, but in the dining room as well. In the kitchen, looking for a water glass, I opened a cupboard and found it full of small buildings not quite ready to be set out along the tracks. I asked the engineer’s wife, “You two live at Spring Lake Village, don’t you? Who lives here?”

She explained that no one lives there. Sometimes family members come stay over, but the house if for the trains. “My husband used the second bedroom at Spring Lake Village to set up this section,” indicating a 12 foot long, waist-high display of buildings, mountains and tracks, “but then ran out of space.” She went on, “This is our solution. Real estate is not a bad investment and trains are Bill’s passion. This gets him up in the mornings. He’s 91 now and still has a boy’s love for toy trains.”

I like these reminders that we almost always have choices. At any time during our lives, some way, some how, we can follow our bliss.




Up From the Ashes


The first time I heard that phrase, up from the ashes, I was nine years old. In 1936, the town of Bandon, 18 miles down river from our Coquille, in southwestern Oregon, burned. The Irish Furze (Gorse) was pitchy and brittle and the winds high. My parents’ friends came to our house with what they could retrieve from their homes, and stayed for a while. After the fire, I heard them talking about rebuilding up from the ashes.

Now, after the fires that ripped through neighborhoods of Santa Rosa, I hear that phrase again. It will take years to recover. The immediate need is to find housing for the hundreds of homeless people. People who have lost everything!

We 430 residents who were evacuated within one and a half hours on the morning of Monday, October 9, are back. Everything here at Spring Lake Village looks just as nice, just as orderly and cheerful as it did a month ago, before the fires. The emphasis is on the well-being of those of us who live here. Yesterday in the monthly Transitions meeting, we told our stories. What happened, what we did, what we thought and felt.

What we are feeling now. What was difficult for us and what would we have done if SLV had burned? The minute that question was asked, one woman teared up. She told us she had moved here in September, found a nice boarding stable for her horse, and was adjusting well to her new life. She had not yet heard of the emergency drills, the to-go bag, the benches designated as gathering places in case of emergency. The evacuation and her concern for her horse were traumatic and she hadn’t once thought of what would happen if she lost everything.

One man said that if SLV had burned, he would consider moving to Bali, or better yet, to Thailand. He and his wife like the weather there. He said the food is good and they have friends in Thailand. I was cheered by his remarks; I had thought if I had to, I’d go to Alamos, Sonora, Mexico, at least until I had things figured out.

What of my lost belongings would I mourn? Actually, sentimental as I am over my family treasures, I probably would be fine without them. I might collect the insurance and just live on cruise ships for the next 10 to 14 years. Come back whenever a new great grandchild was born. And for Christmas. One Christmas I tried being away and spent more than an hour sitting in the tropical sun on a friend’s patio steps, talking on the phone to family.

What was hard during this recovery time? Sleepless nights, bad dreams, weepiness, lack of ability to focus, increased appetite for ice cream.

I told of a friend whom I had asked what was difficult for her. She had sighed and told me, “The other day, I had a hard time maneuvering the (golf) cart. There were so many downed leaves and little branches left from the winds that scattered the fires, I could barely go. She leaned toward me, put her hand on my arm for emphasis, and scowled. “I almost couldn’t get to the thirteenth tee.” I had thought of the enormous losses suffered by so many and could only look at her without comment.

What changes have we noticed in ourselves? Many spoke of their increased awareness and gratitude for safe family and friends. One noticed how much brighter and lovelier the autumn leaves seem this year. Some feel guilty for their good fortune and have become compulsively involved in helping others. Agencies are warehousing and distributing clothing and household supplies that have flooded in from local residents and merchants.

Toward the end of our Transitions meeting, one resident offered, “There are changes and there are transitions. When we allow the changes to change us, we are transitioned. I think that is what has happened with us.”

Someone else offered, “Remember when our three-year-old children would lean into our leg and grab hold? They did that when they were confused or hurt or in some way needed our strength. I think that we have leaned closer to God.”


Gus Hagelberg - Novel, Blog, Activism

Usually I am slower and less spontaneous with my posts, but I just felt like I had to get this out there.

Together with Gallup, National Geographic rated San Luis Obispo the 5th happiest city in the United States. Last year it actually had first place. Now I know why I like it here so much.

Find out more:

SanLuisObispoCalifCityView600 By Ken Broomfield [GFDL ( or CC-BY-SA-3.0 (, via Wikimedia Commons Speaking of the happiest place, I just had a great talk with Paula Francis who is walking from Big Sur to Los Angeles as part of the She has walked over 4,400 miles. From their website:

“Crossing a big country with walking shoes and a recorder, Paula Francis is researching and reporting on happiness by interviewing thousands of people during the 8,000 mile Happiness Walk.”

She interviewed me about my work with the Economy for the Common Good

View original post 20 more words

Tag Cloud