. . . to make changes in your life. Usually these are gradual changes, comfortable adjustments to accommodate the years and your experiences. But not for me.
In February, 2020, having worked for 17 years full-time at Macy's Bridal Salon in New York City, and having reached the age of 86, I was not unduly unhappy when the salon closed. Time to retire, I thought. Time to see more of the Broadway shows I loved, visit the many museums with their marvelous collections, try out new restaurants with the group of friends I had in the region. Visit my 4 children all over the country. All without dealing with work schedules and vacation days.
But just a few weeks later, the pandemic hit New York and the entire city was on lock-down. In those early days, we knew so little about COVID that we were afraid to go out---certainly not someone in my age group. As I stayed in more, my body, so used to hours on my feet at work, walking around, carrying heavy dresses, got weaker and weaker. I tried doing exercises that one of my sons, a fitness professional had sent me, but it was difficult to maintain the interest and enthusiasm alone.
I shopped from Amazon for incidentals and Instacart for my groceries. I even avoided going downstairs in my busy apartment elevator for my mail until after midnight, and I did my laundry at that hour also. (Goofy story about that. Needed a few more quarters for the machines. Too far to walk to the bank. Called another son and asked him to send me a few dollars worth of quarters. He agreed. Ha! A few days later, I got a very heavy box from him. Inside, wrapped in a couple of old T-shirts was a plastic bag filled with quarters. On the outside of the bag it said, "5 pounds of quarters." I could do laundry for years before I used them up!)
Total isolation for months. An out-of-state friend, who lived in a small town, commiserated with me and suggested I make a picnic and meet a friend in a local park. I gently explained to her that I lived in New York. 1.) I had no park near me, or even a back yard. 2.) I didn't own a car. 3.) I was not about to ride on the subways or buses! and 4.) in New York, close friends, by and large, don't live close, within walking distance.
I had one neighbor in my building who mailed my letters for me (my "quarters" son had sent me a huge batch of stamps, as well!), and occasionally ran errands for me, but otherwise I was in total isolation.
As the months went by, I assured my kids by phone that I was fine. I thought I was, having carved out a brand new, independent life for myself 20 years before, after I divorced my husband. You have to understand where I was coming from. As a published author, I had spent years being supported by my husband while I was working on a new book, and until I sold it and was paid for it. Now suddenly I had to recreate an entirely new life, depending only on what I earned. And I had managed to get the Macy job while continuing to write, first the books and later this blog.
I not only had my own circle of old friends, but I had made oodles of new friends from the brides and bridesmaids I had helped. "You're fun," they'd say. "Do you hang out?"
"Sure," I'd say. So we did dinners, theater, movies, etc. together. I was so strong and independent that many of the young women I met said, "I want to be YOU when I grow up!"
But as the months dragged on, and my isolation continued, I found that I didn't want to eat very much. I had no appetite, and the food didn't taste very interesting, even though I often cooked my favorite recipes. And I drank more wine. And I was beginning to lose my hair.
Then an unfortunate accident happened.
I had gone down in the elevator at midnight, as usual, to get my mail. Approaching the staircase in the basement, I decided to take at least one flight of stairs up because I really needed more exercise. Halfway up, my slipper slipped on the step and I fell backward, hitting my back and head on every step on the way down.
At the bottom, I was slightly winded but not really hurt. I called my friendly neighbor, praying she was still up. "I fell," I said. "I'm in the basement. No problem, but I need help."
She came rushing down to me. "Are you okay?"
Yes," I growled. "I'm fine. But I'm too damn old to get up from the floor without help. Can you give me a hand?" I was more pissed than anything.
A few days later I had a routine visit from a nurse practitioner supplied by my Medicare Advantage company. I was fine. Blood pressure fine, all else normal. She examined the bruises on my back and said I would be sore for awhile (I was!). At the last minute I mentioned about my lack of eating and appetite, and my hair loss. "But it's nothing," I said.
"Honey," she said, "I work in nursing homes. I've seen that lots of times. Trust me. You're depressed."
Wow! I found that hard to accept, but after thinking it over for a few days (and swallowing my pride and my sense of confidence) I called one of my four children.
"Just want to vent," I said. "Don't share with the others."
Ha! Snarky, busybody crew! (That's said with love not criticism.) Within the week they had had a 4-way Zoom call, and had decided that I had to move from New York to San Diego to be near my daughter.
They were concerned that I would be sorry to leave New York for San Diego, but I wasn't. The city had ceased to be what I had loved for much of my life. But I was reluctant to move because of the chaos of moving and dealing with many years of accumulated stuff in my apartment. (When you work full-time, it's enough just to clean, cook, shop and deal with everyday issues, let alone spending time sorting and dumping old stuff! I know lots of people can agree with me on that subject!)
"Don't worry," they said. "We have already hired a company to help you."
Oh, people! Everyone should have a company like that! For two months, three hours a week, a young man came to my apartment. He would work on a cabinet. or bookshelf or a set of drawers. He had giant bags at the ready. Stuff to dump, to go to Goodwill or Salvation Army, to sell, to donate to upscale sites that would give me a tax write-off.
He boxed all my office stuff (and carefully marked the boxes) and put small strips of blue tape on everything that would be packed by the movers. He even came in the day after I left for San Diego to supervise the moving company and make sure all the boxes were properly marked. (Though I 'm sure the movers were surprised by the large box he had marked Crazy Hats and fans. I have a collection of hats and fans I culled for many years from all over the world. Bengal Lancer helmet, gondolier's hat that I bought off the head of a gondolier in Venice, Amish hat, etc. And a beautiful lace and blue flower fan that I found in Florence, along with assorted antique feather fans.) Can't wait to unpack hats and hang them on my walls!
In the meantime, youngest son and wife were coming in from Pennsylvania to help me prepare to leave. COVID-19 test for me (vital for the place I was going to), plus a doctor's appointment to be sure my still-sore back was healing. (It was.) Trip to the vet for my cat, Mr. Magoo, who would need a shot and papers to travel. (At the airport, he had to be out of his travel box and on a leash so he could WALK through the security gate! You gotta watch out for these terrorist cats!)
And funny cat story, aside from his name. Name? He is part Albino, snow-white and, like many Albinos, is sensitive to light. So he often squints. The shelter that found him and put his picture in the supermarket (where I fell in love with it) called him Mr. Magoo. The name was so apt that I kept it.
Anyway, Mr. Magoo, in the nearly ten years I've had him, has never meowed. He opens his mouth and looks like he is doing it, but no sound comes out. I checked his neck once and found what appeared to be scar tissue. Perhaps he got in a fight with another cat and his larynx was damaged. But when my son picked him up by the scruff to put him in the cat carrier for the vet, Mr. Magoo let out a meow that was so loud I nearly fell over! (It reminded me of the old joke of the child who had never talked for years, and they believed he was mute. That is, until they wanted to give him some new type of food. "No," he said. When asked why he had never spoken before, he replied, "Up till now there was nothing to complain about!") Magoo only meowed loudly when he was put in the carrier, but with me he still is silent!
Okay. we were almost ready to go. (Son and wife were flying out with me and the cat.) I called in my helpful neighbor and pointed to the freezer. "It's filed with steaks I will never eat. Take them. And here are extra boxes of wax paper, Saran wrap, foil, etc." Everything that was useful, but not worth packing, I begged her to take. (Born in the Depression and lived through WWII. Really hate to waste anything!)
Trip out uneventful. Got to San Diego. Met daughter here, who took me to my new home.
Good stuff---It's a Senior Living facility, with totally independent apartments, but the whole place is geared to seniors. Meals supplied if you don't want to cook, cleaning service, plumbing, electrician, any kind of work that I might need around the place.
What's new---besides the place---the weather. A garbage disposal in my kitchen (illegal in NY State---never had one before!), a Microwave---never wanted or had room for one in my NY kitchens!
What do I miss? The weather. (I know, Californians, I'm an iconoclast!) Grew up in New England---always loved the change of seasons.
Great snow stories. Came home from hospital with second son. Huge snowstorm. Street had not yet been plowed. Had to get out of car and walk home in the snow, baby in my arms!
Second snow story: Baby daughter is a few months old. needs milk. Heavy snowstorm. Street not plowed for days. (That was the storm that destroyed Mayor Lindsay's presidential hopes.) Milkman couldn't deliver. Husband and sons go out, looking for a store that might still have milk for the baby. They find a milk truck stuck in a snow bank. Offered to help push him out of the snow if he gave them milk. They did and he did!
Will I miss the theater? No. Daughter works for La Jolla Playhouse. Will have all I could wish for when the theaters open up again.
Silly incidents in new home: Phone woke me up at 4 in the morning a couple of weeks ago. Front desk. Very worried. "What is your emergency?"
"None," I answer, still groggy and bemused.
"But your alarm bell rang!"
That's when I realize that, near my bathtub, there is a red cord with a red pull for emergencies. And my cat loved to play with it! (Emergency cord is now raised higher than his reach!)
Names: Everyone who works here knew my name almost at once. Can't figure out how they do it, especailly since all of us are in masks. Quite intimidating, especially since I am very BAD with names! During my husband's political years, we went to many affairs. I am very visual, so I visually remember many things. But I am terrible with names.
And I would see a woman I had met before. We would shake hands, and I would say, "Hi there. I love you in that red dress. Even prettier than the blue one you wore last year." (Because I could still SEE her in the blue dress.) But all the while I was thinking, "And who the hell ARE you?"
But I'm adjusting and beginning to enjoy myself here. It's terrific, after so many months of isolation, to be surrounded by people, even if we are all still masked and distancing.
So what is the life lesson here? Roll with changes. View them as new adventures, not terrible disruptions in your life. Accepting changes can make you stronger. Make every day count.
In some ways, change is more difficult for us because life has become so easy that we have grown soft. In the months I was going through so much upheaval in my life, I occasionally reminded myself of my grandmother, when I was feeling sorry for myself.
She came from Minsk, around the turn of the last century. Her husband had left and gone to Canada to escape being drafted into the Tsar's army. He had sent her a limited amount of money to join him.
She traveled alone through Europe with two babies under her arms. Often walking, often begging for help. She finally reached Liverpool in England, from where her ship would sail in the morning.
She had no money and it was cold. (She loved to tell this story!) So she went to the Liverpool Zoo and hid in the lion's house until the place closed. It was warm, and the babies could sleep. But she could barely close her eyes all night, hearing the large cats pace around their cages, growling and scratching the floor.
Next to that story, my relocation seems trivial!
One small P.S.
Has nothing to do with this topic, but when that young man was going through my old papers with me, he found a poem I had written for a contest for New York Magazine, which was published.Thought I would add it here.
Van Gogh sent an ear from the side of his head
To a lady well noted for vice.
"I'd love to reciprocate, folks," she said,
"But with what can I match Vincent's Price?"
