Gathering
Once a month, a dozen or so of the women in our neighborhood meet for a glass of wine, a cup of tea, a potluck of cookies, crackers, stuffed figs, chocolate-dipped Oreos, whatever our aging hearts desire. We talk about nothing and everything, get advice for what ails us, and try (mostly successfully) to avoid politics. Our gatherings are a reprieve, a hiatus, a break from the onslaught of disturbing news.
Last weekend, a different dozen of us from the neighborhood, met at the local arts center to weed and rake the pollinator garden we planted there a couple of years ago. Sam, the organizer, had arranged for students from Oregon State University to help. Thirty or forty of them showed up on a Sunday morning, ear buds in place, ready to do whatever we suggested. My friend Barb, a true gardener, showed them what to pull out and what to keep. I think they liked getting their hands dirty. I left long before they did.
When I talked to one of my sisters this morning, told her about the movie night Brent and I are thinking about organizing for our neighborhood next fall, she said she and her husband are putting together a hot dog party: hot dogs, tofu dogs, Dave’s killer buns. It doesn’t take much. These days, she said, we’ve gotta know our neighbors. They may need us some day, and we may need them.
She’s right.
Yes, they need us, and we need them. There's no "may."
"Aging in place" is where we are at in Westcliffe. Living at 8,000 feet, an hour from sort-of-city life, we've lost a good number of friends who have moved closer to healthcare, family, or a lower elevation. As sad as that sounds, our new Readers' Theater group is led by the high school drama teacher, Melanie Duke. She is amazing! But the icing on the cake is that three high schoolers have joined the group - each young student, a chocolate-dipped Oreo.
Love this getting together stuff. xo