and Fred Samuels
Senior living — have it your way!
By Joann Snow Duncanson
Remember Dorothy Zbornak, Sophia Petrillo, Rose Nylund and Blanche Devereaux? They were the Golden Girls, those four loveable dames who came onto our TV screens once a week back in the ‘80s, to make us laugh so hard we sometimes had to get up off the couch for a “rest stop” and miss some of their fast-paced repartee. Sure, they didn’t appeal to everyone, but to those who were already sprouting some grey hairs, they were just what the doctor ordered: they proved there was life after menopause. And they proved something else – that a group of independent women could get together and share living space without losing their own identities or killing each other, or both.
These characters, living together and sharing their resources, all stumbled upon a pretty good idea. In the case of Dorothy’s mother, Sophia, she could make her Social Security check stretch a little further, and her daughter Dorothy needed others around her to help adjust to her new divorced life. Rose, who couldn’t balance a checkbook for the life of her, needed help in almost everything, and wild-living Blanche had a ready-made audience for her theatrics as she went from date to date in her quest to find the perfect man. They were a late 20th century version of the early 20th century boarding house – sharing the load, both financial and socially.
The growing trend today is for seniors to move into retirement communities, where they still retain some autonomy, but have access to care, meals, etc. A wonderful solution for those who can afford it, but they still represent the relatively few. Many others stay in their long-time homes, sometimes with the help of reverse mortgages. Others scale down to condominiums, while still others move into low-income, subsidized housing for seniors. It comes down to “different strokes for different folks” – and sometimes different bank balances.
Several years ago some friends and I decided that it would be great when we got to our old age if we formed a sort of commune. We’d buy a large rambling house and all move into it – but, in order to join this group, you had to bring with you some kind of talent to share. We took inventory and found we had at least one cook, a housekeeper, a Chancellor of the Exchequer to watch the money, a clergyman to take care of our souls, a social worker to help us with our Medicare paperwork, and a crackerjack electrical engineer who could fix absolutely anything. Do not ask what I was going to bring to this group, unless they thought I’d write a novel about our exploits, and Time-Warner would buy the rights to it.
As the clock ticked away the years, we’d discuss the commune we’d have someday, and laugh about it,. Then one day we looked at each other and realized that “someday” was here. Our hair was either grey or bailing out. We women had long-since abandoned even the remotest thoughts of strolling on the beach in a bathing suit revealing anything between the neck and the knee, and the men’s pesky prostates now had them making frequent night visits to the bathroom. All signs that we had arrived at (you should pardon the expression) our “golden” years.
Now, our commune idea is just that, an idea. We are still close friends but have taken different paths. Some are in condominiums, several still at home, moving the lawn and hoping the roof lasts as long as they do, and I now live in a mother-in-law apartment adjacent to my daughter’s family, which in my biased opinion, is the best solution of all. Unless, of course, Dorothy, Sophia, Rose and Blanche decided to move in with me. I think we’d really hit it off!
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