HinesSight

Our retirement community conundrum continues

Channelling Kermit the Frog a bit, "It's not that easy being green growing old."

My wife and I are in our late sixties. We've been trying to figure out where we should live for quite a while, certainly since I wrote "I'm 65. Where's my 'Aging Hippie' retirement community?" back in 2013. (For all my posts on this subject, including this one, scroll through this blog's Retirement Community category,)

We've toured five retirement or continuing care communities in the Northwest, four in Oregon, one in Washington: Hillside in McMinnville; Panorama in Lacey, Washington; Touchmark in Bend; Mary's Woods in Lake Oswego; and most recently, Capital Manor here in Salem. 

There's a signed "Wait List Agreement" from Capital Manor sitting by my laptop at the moment. I was all set to take it over to the salesperson yesterday, but then emailed her, saying we needed a few more days to think about forking over $5,000 to get on a waiting list for a three-bedroom house.

It isn't the money that created qualms, since all but $500 of the $5,000 is refundable if we changed our minds about Capital Manor. 

Rather, it's the quandary of what retirement-living path we want to head toward -- knowing that whatever decision we make, life may have a different future in mind for us. (Not that life actually has a mind, we're irreligious.) 

When we met with the Capital Manor salesperson last Wednesday, I arrived at her office first, since my wife and I drove separately.

As we were waiting for Laurel to show up, I shared my usual commentary when we visit a retirement community. Proving that my memory is still pretty damn good, what I said was almost exactly what I wrote last year in "Why it makes sense for seniors to postpone living in a retirement community."

The bold-faced parts are quotes that I disagreed with from a story that amounted to a sales pitch for retirement communities. 

(1) "There are advantages to making the transition at a younger age." This assumes that seniors know the future. Which, of course, nobody does. I don't know how long I'm going to live, or what the cause of my death will be. What if I moved into a retirement community that I wasn't really wild about because I envisioned myself growing old and infirm there -- then died in a head-on crash with an out-of-control semi on the freeway a year or so later?

My last thought would be, "Shit, I shouldn't have moved, because I could have spent my last year happier in our rural home, rather than in the retirement community, and now I'm about to di..."

Us baby boomers came of age in the live for the moment 1960's.  Now we're in our 60's. Planning ahead is fine. However, so is enjoying life right here, right now. Finding the balance between planning for a possible future, and living in the reality of the present moment, this is a central dilemma for seniors.

Our leaning is toward now, a more vibrant reality than could be.

...(3) Moving when you're younger and more able-bodied also allows for the opportunity... To be with older and less able-bodied people in a retirement community. This is a fact.

My stock line when we talk with a salesperson who has just shown us around a retirement community is, "Thanks for the tour. You've got a nice place here, but I'm freaked out by how many old folks we saw."

That's meant to be humorous. But I'm also serious. 

It's depressing for me to see old people getting around with walkers, and sitting at card tables playing something-or-other on a nice warm sunny day. I realize that this often is what happens with increasing age. But since my wife and I are pretty darn healthy at the moment, and don't feel as old as our driver's licenses say we are, we look upon retirement communities with a decidedly wary eye.

Capital Manor is a continuing care community. Meaning, they offer nursing home, memory care, hospice and other services, in addition to being a retirement community. '

The catch is that continuing care communities have something in their contract that is akin to a pre-existing condition exclusion in an insurance policy. You have to be able to live independently when you buy in to Capital Manor. This makes sense, because otherwise people would wait until they needed nursing home care, or whatever, before they signed up to join a continuing care community, thereby vastly increasing the cost of caring for the pool of residents.

But the real problem for us is what I said in (1) above. 

We aren't wild about the independent living homes at Capital Manor, or any other retirement community we've visited. Where we live now is much more attractive and comfortable. Plus, we have nature trails and a lake right outside the doors of our rural home on ten acres.

So moving into a retirement or continuing care community entails a gamble on our part that we'd live long enough, and head downhill physically or mentally enough, to need the health care services that such a community provides. And these services would have to be better than what we could obtain by "aging in place" in our own home.

It's a tough decision. We're leaning to sort of splitting the difference by more avidly looking into the possibility of buying a house inside the Salem city limits and selling our rural house. 

Our goal, and it may be kind of difficult to achieve, is to find a house in town that has the same vibe as our much-beloved rural house. That is, the house and its surroundings should have flavors of naturalness, trees, relaxed, walkable, dog-friendly, large windows, and as quiet as possible, given the realities of city life.

A realtor is coming to our house next Monday to look it over, give us a sense of what we could get for it, and advise us on how to move forward with our plans.

Of course, we're going to have to tell him that our plans are flexible.

We have no interest in moving just for the sake of moving. A new house has to scream Yes, Yes, Yes to us, not I'd be OK, probably. So far no retirement or continuing care community has spoken to us in that fashion, which is why we're leaning toward finding an easier-to-maintain house in Salem.

A big burn pile reminds me why we're not in a retirement community

My wife are I are at an awkward age (which keeps getting awkwarder). I talked about this three years ago in "Too old for ten acres and a big house -- too young for retirement living."

I guess you could call us tweeners. Senior citizen variety.

At 65, my wife and I are beginning to find that the joy of maintaining our large 1970's era house on ten rural acres is beginning to wear thin. So we've started to think about where we'd like to move when and if we really want to.

But only a year later in 2015 I wrote "I couldn't mow steep slopes in a retirement community." I wasn't talking about a typical lawnmower, but rather a large, heavy DR Field Mower with numerous mechanical problems (like, a barely functioning brake).

Maybe it was because the ground was quite dry, but I was able to get enough momentum on the flat to impel the mower up the slope. Barely. As before, I'd let the mower roll backwards down the slope, angling it as it went so some additional tall grass was cut on the backswing, so to speak. 

What's strange, of course, while completely understandable, is how something that I really dislike doing is so enjoyable. I was tempted to say "satisfying" rather than enjoyable. However, there truly is a joy for me in doing something difficult and challenging.

Especially when it is physical, sweaty and needing a lot of muscle power. 

So last month I was two years older than in 2015 -- for some reason this keeps happening to me; when the heck am I going to get younger, damn it? -- and found myself burning two large piles of woody debris that had spent the late fall and winter under a couple of tarps.

I was so eager to get the fire going, I forgot to take any "before" photo. But here's my wife adding fuel to the fire after we'd burned the largest pile.

Cautious senior citizens that we are, we didn't burn the big debris piles directly. The grassy field where we burn isn't very big, and it's surrounded by oaks, firs, and other vegetation. Even though it had rained recently, I feel much more comfortable starting with a small fire and throwing the debris onto it bit by bit.

My slight smile in this selfie doesn't fully reflect how satisfying it was to turn the two large piles into ash, smoke, and warmth.

Yes, the three hours or so it took to do the burning deed got me tired; occasional smoke in my eyes wasn't all that fun; a few flying embers singed my skin a bit, but not seriously. 

I was happy to trade all that for the feeling of vibrant physical reality burning gives me. I'd miss that a lot if, or when, we move to a regular house in Salem proper. (Currently we have a Salem address, but are five miles or so outside of the city limits.)

Being able to pee in our front yard.
Having the ability to throw limbs, yard clippings, and other vegetation into the brush rather than hauling it away.
Enjoying the fire'y satisfaction of burning large woody piles.
Mowing tall grass in fields we like to keep clear with a new and improved DR Mower I got recently.
Walking on the edge of our roof, cleaning out the gutters with a backpack blower.

These are some of the things that keep me from seriously considering moving from our non-easy-care home. My wife has her own reasons (I'm pretty sure her list doesn't include peeing in the front yard, but I could be wrong).

Here's a photo of what we wrought last April 1. The brown areas covered with leaves went from being 4-5 foot high debris piles to the pile of ash in the foreground. As strange as it may sound, this is happiness that couldn't be had if we moved from where we are.

I completely understand why people our age -- late 60's -- decide to either downsize to a smaller house or move to some sort of retirement community (active living, continuum of care, whatever). Believe me, some days I wonder whether we're insane to keep on doing what needs to be done to maintain our home and property.

Perhaps we are. If so, it's a fine madness, as I blogged about. 

Many people about our age downsize, moving to a condo or whatever that requires little inside or outside maintenance work. With our 3,200 square foot home and ten natural acres, there always is something that needs doing, fixing, maintaining. 

I hate this. I love this.

Hauling cut branches to a burn pile in a field irritates me. After I'm done, the work feels satisfying. Part of the reason we're as physically and mentally healthy as we are is that our house and property drive us crazy. Go figure.

Recently we went on a week-long Maui vacation. The grass was crazily high in our yard when we got back. I spent quite a bit of time cutting it with the same DR Mower that I use in the fields.

When I was done, I grabbed my iPhone and took a photo to remind me why all the work we put into our house and property makes so much sense. 

For us. Right now. At this time in our retired life. 

Almost certainly, when we leave our rural home we'll be on a one-way trip into city living. Either a regular home on a small lot, or a retirement community.

I'm not ready for that. Neither is Laurel, my wife. I don't want to go "gently into that good night," so to speak.

At the moment, and for the foreseeable future, I want death, disease, disability, dementia or whatever other "D" comes after me to have to pry my field mower, my burning implements, my backpack blower, and such out of my country living hands.

Because I don't feel like giving them up voluntarily.

Why it makes sense for seniors to postpone living in a retirement community

My wife and I are in our late 60's. For 26 years we've lived in a 3,200 square foot house on ten non-easycare acres in rural south Salem, Oregon. We've visited four retirement communities in the northwest, and browsed numerous others online.

It's tough for seniors to decide when to leave a beloved home because it's become too damn difficult to maintain. Various factors enter into that decision: health status, where children and other family members are living, how attached one is to a current location -- all kinds of stuff.

We've mulled over the reasons to stay where we are, and the reasons to move to a retirement community. Our conclusion: it makes sense to keep on living in our home for as long as possible. I like to say, they're going to have to tear my DR Field Mower out of my cold dead hands. 

(See my 2015 post, "I couldn't mow steep slopes in a retirement community." And a story in the New York Post that featured us.)

Not surprisingly, those who market retirement communities argue otherwise. Every community we've looked at has a pitch that echoes what a "infomercial" story in the Homes & Rentals section of a recent Sunday Oregonian says.

The piece was titled, "Moving in 'young' enables seniors to remain active," and extolled the virtues of one of the retirement communities we've visited, Hillside in McMinnville, Oregon. Here's an excerpt from Erinn Hutkin's story.

While some may have the idea that moving to a retirement community such as Hillside is something done in the last years of life, there are advantages to making the transition at a younger age and being able to enjoy the freedom that such communities offer.

For one, it's much less taxing for an older adult to move into a community when they choose to, rather than doing so quickly in a time of crisis. What's more, downsizing to a community like Hillside frees up time to be able to enjoy life. Moving when you're younger and more able-bodied also allows for the opportunity to be involved and take advantage of community activities and programs.

OK, here's what I disagree with.

(1) "There are advantages to making the transition at a younger age." This assumes that seniors know the future. Which, of course, nobody does. I don't know how long I'm going to live, or what the cause of my death will be. What if I moved into a retirement community that I wasn't really wild about because I envisioned myself growing old and infirm there -- then died in a head-on crash with an out-of-control semi on the freeway a year or so later?

My last thought would be, "Shit, I shouldn't have moved, because I could have spent my last year happier in our rural home, rather than in the retirement community, and now I'm about to di..."

Us baby boomers came of age in the live for the moment 1960's.  Now we're in our 60's. Planning ahead is fine. However, so is enjoying life right here, right now. Finding the balance between planning for a possible future, and living in the reality of the present moment, this is a central dilemma for seniors.

Our leaning is toward now, a more vibrant reality than could be.

(2) "Being able to enjoy the freedom that such communities offer." Question is, freedom from what? Apparently, Hutkin means, in large part, freedom from home and property maintenance.

But my wife and I enjoy the freedom of living in our own house and making our own decisions about how to maintain it. As noted in the post linked to above, I even enjoy the sweaty, dusty, muscle-fatiguing work our property requires.

Recently I was up on the roof of our house, walking along the edge of the gutters, blowing out debris with a Stihl backpack blower. I would really miss doing this in a retirement community where most of the chores are done by others. It makes me feel free to do difficult, even semi-dangerous, jobs around our house.

Sure, I realize that there may come a time when we aren't physically able to do what we're doing now. But as long as we are, why shouldn't we keep on doing what we enjoy? 

(3) Moving when you're younger and more able-bodied also allows for the opportunity... To be with older and less able-bodied people in a retirement community. This is a fact.

My stock line when we talk with a salesperson who has just shown us around a retirement community is, "Thanks for the tour. You've got a nice place here, but I'm freaked out by how many old folks we saw."

That's meant to be humorous. But I'm also serious. 

It's depressing for me to see old people getting around with walkers, and sitting at card tables playing something-or-other on a nice warm sunny day. I realize that this often is what happens with increasing age. But since my wife and I are pretty darn healthy at the moment, and don't feel as old as our driver's licenses say we are, we look upon retirement communities with a decidedly wary eye.

I talked about this in "I'm 65. Where's my 'Aging Hippie' retirement community?", where I related our feelings about watching a DVD of a Washington retirement community.

It appears to be a great retirement community for those who are attracted to having assisted living and skilled nursing facilities available, allowing them to smoothly transition from being independent to needing regular health care and other help.

The people interviewed in the Panorama DVD are not like us. Again, not a criticism. Just reality. This was evident from their clothes, home decor, manner of speaking, interests, and what they liked about Panorama.

Laurel and I don't think ourselves as old, even though we're 64 and 65. We damn sure don't enjoy acting like we're old. We dress as youthfully as Social Security recipients can get away with. We enjoy the MTV Video Music Awards. In short, we're aging ex-hippies who still embrace the Flower Child dream.

I'm sure marketing genuises in the 55+ community industry must recognize this. However, a bunch of Googling hasn't revealed any "active adult" developments aimed at the Aging Hippie demographic. 

I think there's an opportunity here. Give me a call, planned community developers. My wife and I would be happy to serve as consultants on what people like us are looking for when they decide to leave their current home and lifestyle.

Dog-friendly/dog park. Not only allow skateboarding; encourage it. Multi-use paths in natural settings. Coffee house. Brew pub. Movie theatre that does not show On Golden Pond. Tai Chi, Yoga, and meditation classes. Intellectual stimulation.

And a community bus that looks a lot more like Ken Kesey's than a retirement home's. 

So this is where we're at now, retirement community-wise. Things could change. Heck, they definitely will change. Life is always changing. I just wanted to share our counter-arguments to the frequently-heard advice, "Don't wait too long to move into a retirement community."

Rather, our feeling is, wait as long as possible.

And a community bus that looks a lot more like Ken Kesey's than a retirement home's. 

Retired folks need friends. Nature provides some for us.

I've written quite a bit about the quandary my wife and I have -- or will have one day -- about leaving our house on ten non-easy-care acres in rural south Salem, Oregon. 

(See here, here, here, here, and here.)

Age wise, we're in our late sixties. Which also happens to be the decade we were in college, the '60s. So, yeah, we're flower child, ex-hippie baby boomers. 

We're somewhat worried about eventually being socially isolated out here in the semi-boonies, about six miles from the Salem city limits. 

What if one or both of us can't drive? What if one or both of us can't handle the stairs in our multi-level house, or isn't able to walk on the dirt paths and sidewalkless streets in our neighborhood?

Well, I remember a Rumi poem that says something like, "My friend, one cannot build a dwelling out of if." Meaning (if it is possible to attribute a definite meaning to Rumi), reality is something different from what might be.

Right now we love our property. Certainly we'd like to be closer to more human friends. But moving into town, or into a retirement community, doesn't draw us at the moment. 

One reason is the friends nature provides for us. Laurel and I are far from being animists. Still, the trees, flowers, water, and other manifestations of Mother Nature we meet up with every day on our walks mean a lot to us.

Recently some Oregon sun came out after a spring rain. I took some iPhone photos on a morning walk with our dog, ZuZu.

Down by the creek, a trail we've worn through the woods beckons both the canine and her companion.

There's some massive cottonwoods along the creek. During the 26 years we've lived here, they've become more massive'y. But so slowly, they seem to be unchanging. 

I grew up near Sequoia National Park, where there are really large trees. But if I get close enough to the cottonwoods, I can feel a sort of Giant Sequoia vibe.

Nearby, there's a tree I call "Tusker." It's got a long bare limb that sticks out near head height. So far, Tusker has been kind to me. I'm pretty sure the tree is friendly. The tusk must just be for show, maybe to impress the ladies.
 
The trail that leads to the community lake is on an easement through our property, so it's more heavily traveled. Mostly by us. We rarely encounter other people. Nature, though, always says "Hello" wordlessly.

Along the lake trail, I always enjoy meeting up with this charming mossy stump. It makes me feel better about growing older and mossier myself. 

On the way to the dog Stick Play Area, where ZuZu likes to play "Throw the stick, then I'll pick it up and run away from you, instead of bringing it to you," we walk through a field of something with purple flowers. (I'm vague about vegetation names.) A brown dog butt shows ZuZu leading the way.

Looking up on a sunny spring day, I like how the new bright deciduous leaves play nice with the older more reserved evergreens. 

Returning back to our house from the dog walk, our human-made pond area has its own natural charm. Laurel, my wife, has done a great job with plantings here. A bubbler and waterfall add motion and sound to the scenery.


This is my little Taoist/Zen area by our driveway. The Oregon Grape are flowering yellowishly right now. The twin fir trees were just babies, by comparison, when we moved in back in 1990. 

I hope we'll remain in our home long enough to see the firs grow much larger. Regardless, they're part of the friends we've made with nature who won't be forgotten. 

Especially since I now have this blog post to muse over if, Tao forbid, I'm ever sitting in a rocking chair at a retirement home. 

I couldn't mow steep slopes in a retirement community

After writing the title of this blog post, I thought "Most people wouldn't want to." Mow steep slopes with a heavy DR Field Mower. Like I did today. At the semi-old age of 66.

But just as I said back in 2006, that mower is my sweaty hell and heaven. OK, not the same mower. I've gotten a new model. Same difference, though, as regards my love/hate relationship with it.

As we get older, there’s a tendency to take things easier. I’m trying to resist it. 

There’s a point when my mowing hell turns to heaven. It’s when my shirt is soaked through with sweat, the water bottle strapped to my hip is empty, my socks are filled with burrs, my arms are bleeding from limb scratches, and I’ve told the trees how I feel about them by running through every creative string of obscenities in my repertoire.

Bliss. 

I’m hot. I’m dead on my feet. I’m dusty. And I feel undeniably real. There’s a reality to my blogging, to my meditating, to my talking with friends, to my Tai Chi, to my watching “The Daily Show.” And then there’s the fucking reality of spending six fucking hours under the July sun mowing fields filled with fucking trees that take a fucking lot of energy to miss.

It’s just so fucking wonderful. 

I feel like the luckiest guy in the world. I know that there will come a day—when I’m 70, 80, 90, some day—when I can’t do this any more. But Laurel will have to pry that DR mower out of my hands. Hopefully they won’t be cold and dead.

But there would be worse ways to go. I wouldn’t mind taking my last breath holding onto the handles of my longtime DR companion, out in a hot field with sweat rolling down my face, cursing those trees. 

Which, as I’m sure you know by now, I dearly love.

Nine years have passed since I wrote those words. The past couple of years we've hired someone to do the major field mowing. It isn't that I couldn't still do it; I just don't want to put in the time and energy now.

I do, though, still use the DR Mower (self-propelled, walk-behind) with its lawnmower attachment to cut the grass around our house, trails through our ten acres in rural south Salem, and some small areas of high grass.

The mower needs some work. But I kind of like how it is aging with character (my goal also).

A neighbor borrowed it some years ago to cut tall grass along his driveway. I didn't give him detailed enough instructions how to use it. He got the mower home by holding down both the brake and "go" levers. The brake has been iffy ever since. Too lazy to fix it, I often walk fast downhill to keep up with the mower, and dodge out of the way when it is rolling backwards downhill. 

Senior citizen fun! 

The differential lock broke. I have the replacement parts, but again, haven't got around to fixing it. So I can't lock the drive wheels for more traction. Then there's the grass discharge thingie, which came off after some plastic pieces snapped off. It's held on with wire, more or less. My fix-it job must not be to factory specs, because bits of twigs, leaves, and such sometimes hit me in the face.

Solution: strong dark glasses!

Today it seemed time to tackle a couple of grassy slopes that have been an awkward 'tweener for me: big enough to make using my Stihl trimmer sort of a pain; steep enough to make using the DR Mower a challenge. 

In the past, I've gotten out the trimmer when the grass became several feet tall. However, I'd been thinking that there must be a way to use the DR Mower on these 30 degree or so slopes (I have a handy level app on my iPhone which, pleasingly, is called Handy Level).

Unfortunately, I have no before and after photos. Just after. And even these are kind of a "you had to be there" deal.

Looking at the pictures, the slopes don't appear to be all that steep. But believe me, they are. The mower would tip over if I went sideways. It barely goes up them even with a 13 hp Briggs & Stratton engine and me providing some added pushing power.

On the right 1/4 of the photo is a slope by our front door that I've been mowing regularly. My big breakthrough with the rest of the slope, most of which has been cut previously with the gas trimmer, was realizing that, with care, I could mow a horizontal strip in front of the rocks, like I do with the area on the right side.

Then, even without removing the rocks, there was enough room to get a decent running start in short grass up the slope. I then could back the mower down in first gear without using the barely-usable brake much, adjust the angle of attack, and make another run straight up the slope.

It was satisfying to mow the last bit of tall grass and think, "Damn, man, you figured out how to do it!" I didn't exactly feel like DiCaprio in Titanic, but pretty close. 

Brimming with tall-grass-cutting confidence, I then headed for an equally steep slope next to our driveway. It too had been cut with my gas trimmer, except for the times I had the brush cutter attachment on the mower, and the differential lock working.

Once again, success!

Maybe it was because the ground was quite dry, but I was able to get enough momentum on the flat to impel the mower up the slope. Barely. As before, I'd let the mower roll backwards down the slope, angling it as it went so some additional tall grass was cut on the backswing, so to speak. 

What's strange, of course, while completely understandable, is how something that I really dislike doing is so enjoyable. I was tempted to say "satisfying" rather than enjoyable. However, there truly is a joy for me in doing something difficult and challenging.

Especially when it is physical, sweaty and needing a lot of muscle power. 

Last night I watched a "60 Minutes" episode featuring the owner of the CrossFit franchises, Greg Glassman. At one point he gestures to a fit woman lifting weights and says:

I'll deliver to you your genetic potential... Look at her. She was meant to look like that. That's what nature would have carved from her a million years ago. Or she'd have been eaten.

This resonates with me. Doing sweaty, hard, semi-dangerous stuff late into life is what our ancestors did, and what many people in the world still do -- to survive. 

So maybe this explains the primal "Yes!" I feel when successfully cutting tall grass on a steep slope with my DR Field Mower. It feels real, way different than working out in an air conditioned gym. 

I'd miss that feeling if we ever move to a retirement community, or a house in the city. There may well come a time when I won't mind giving up my mowing chores.

For now, though, I'm pleased to be doing just what nature would have demanded of me a million years ago -- if primitive primates had a DR Field Mower back then. 

New York Post features us in story about hippie retirement communities

Yes, that's us, Brian and Laurel Hines, displayed in all our 60'ish glory (both age and decade) in a New York Post story this month: "When I'm 64. Tie-dyed-in-the-wool hippies are redefining retirement homes and end-of-life choices."

Download When I'm 64 story PDF

After being asked for a photo of us, I'm pleased that the Post went with the one I sent them that a friend took of us at the 2014 Oregon Country Fair. 

We were leaving this marvelous annual counter-cultural celebration in Veneta when I spotted a perch that seemed perfectly suited for my non-humble unsoul. Laurel is clearly enjoying being "blessed" by her exalted husband, though I admit her expression can be interpreted in other ways.

The piece was written by Joseph Gallivan, a freelancer who has done a lot of writing for the Portland Tribune. Gallivan phoned me after discovering my blog post, "I'm 65. Where's my 'Aging Hippie' retirement community?" 

My interest in his story perked up when he told me that it was being written for the New York Post. This newspaper has a circulation of around half a million, so I figured it was time for my fifteen minutes of fame.

I'm still waiting. 

I'd cleared my busy retirement schedule so Laurel and I could fly first class to New York to appear on various morning shows after they sent us interview expense money. But so far not a single person has responded to the story, which appeared in the Post a few weeks ago.

It took this long for Gallivan to get a PDF file of the story from his New York Post contact person.

Sadly, the piece doesn't seem to have made it online, perhaps because it appeared in the Post's magazine section. Thus my best chance to squeeze at least a few milliseconds of fame out of the story is for me to publicize it myself, which I'm doing here.

All of the story is worth reading, but for some (obvious) reason I start to lose interest in it after mentions of me fade away. Most of the quotes in the story are from my 2013 blog post. Since, I've given up skateboarding/ longboarding for an outdoor elliptical bike. 

Here's the "good part." Click on the link for the whole thing.
Download When I'm 64 story PDF

Baby boomers — the post- World War II generation born between 1946 and 1964 — are hitting retirement age, and in the same way that they changed the world, many are looking to do the same with the last stage of their lives.

Some will still be content to watch TV and putter — but what about the hippie subset? The Woodstock originals and alternative lifestyle lovers? How will they fit into retirement homes, and how will their lives end?

Brian Hines is one such boomer. A self-confessed hippie living on 10 acres near Oregon’s capital, Salem, he recently hit 65 and started wondering where he and his wife, Laurel, would end up when their property became too much to handle. 

He decided to watch a DVD for a retirement home near Olympia, Wash. To him that state has at least two things going for it: recreational marijuana and assisted suicide. [Note: so does Oregon now!] However, the nursing home video was a turn-off. As he blogged:

“We aren’t interested in living a golf course and bingo retirement. Watching the DVD made us realize that we won’t be in a continuing care retirement community — or not until they pull my skateboard out of my land-paddling, senior citizen arms.”

The people in the promotional video looked nothing like him and his wife; he felt they looked aged.

“We have money, but we’re very liberal and we damn sure don’t enjoy acting like we’re old. We dress as youthfully as Social Security recipients can get away with. We enjoy the MTV Video Music awards. In short, we’re aging ex-hippies who still embrace the Flower Child dream. We know some people from Oregon are trying to put together a community in Eugene; the problem is we’re not communal living people — we like our privacy.” 

So what do they want?

“Dog-friendly. Not only allow skateboarding; encourage it. Multi-use paths in natural settings. Coffee house. brew pub. Movie theatre that does not show “On Golden Pond.” Tai Chi, yoga, and meditation classes. Intellectual stimulation.”

Their needs were echoed in the blog’s comments section.

“I want ‘70s music, tie-dye, liberal politics, recycling, and a community!” wrote 60-year-old Julie Mason Lacey. 

As a post-script to this story, for the moment my wife and I have given up the notion of moving from our non-easy-care house in the country. It may kill us in the end, but until we feel otherwise, we've come to the conclusion that city life (or even suburban life) isn't for us.

We are, though, still interested in aging hippie-friendly retirement communities. The Vermont one mentioned in the piece sounds appealing. However, we love Oregon and can't imagine living anywhere else.

Well, life has a way of bringing about changes in the right way, at the right time. We either will move one day, or we won't.

Musings on the problem of deciding where to live after retiring

My wife, Laurel, and I are 65. We reside on 10 non-easy-care acres in rural south Salem, Oregon.

We're trying to decide where and how we want to live if, or when, we decide to move from the home we've happily lived in for 24 years. It's a tough decision, as related here, here, and here.

Recently we visited our first retirement community.

We've browsed online and requested brochures before. But we'd never toured a retirement community. Touchmark Bend is of the "continuing care" variety. It offers options from detached cottages to home care for those with varying health care needs.

Mattie Swanson sat down with us and ably explained what Touchmark Bend is all about. No hard sell. No selling at all, really, since it isn't much needed (the facility is almost 100% full, with a waiting list).

Laurel and I weren't hugely attracted to Touchmark Bend, though we could easily understand why others would be. It's nicely designed, in a beautiful area along the Deschutes River, nestled in a terrific city, Bend.

After our tour we drove a short way south to Sunriver, a resort community with about 20% full-time residents, the average age of whom is close to ours (66 for men, 64 for women). We drove and walked around some, trying to pick up the vibe of the area.

It didn't seem quite like us either. Which got me to thinking...

How the heck do retired people decide where they want to live?

Swanson told us that retirees older than us, in their late 70's say, aren't as used to moving as us 65 year old "kids" are. So it is tougher for them to decide to leave the home they may have lived in for 40 years or more.

Well, I bow to her expertise as a retirement community counselor. But my wife and I aren't finding it easy to decide whether we want to move somewhere else, and if so, where that "somewhere" would be. Here's some quasi-philosophical musings on why that is.

One's life is obviously different than stuff within that life. At our age, where we live casts a big shadow, a huge one, over our entire life. We don't have a work life. We don't have a big social life. We don't have a child-raising life. We're at home most of the time, in a nature-filled, quiet environment.

Choosing something new to bring into our home life -- a car, computer, clothes, pet, or whatever -- is much easier to decide on than changing our entire life. We can easily visualize how new stuff would fit into our existing life; it is much tougher to visualize living in a different place, in a different way, in a different environment.

Most retirees like their current home. The AARP reports that "Nine out of 10 people older than 65 aim to live in their homes independently for as long as possible." When my wife and I were younger, we moved because afterwards we'd be in a better situation: a nicer larger home, a place where we'd found a job, some other reason for packing up and leaving.

Now, we like where we are.

We're just finding that the work to keep up our home and property appeals to us less and less. Plus, we have a lot of ties to where we are. Many memories. Many dozens, if not hundreds, of trees that we've planted over the years and have now grown tall. Fields cleared of blackberries and poison oak that give us pleasure.

Happy here now, but for how long? This is perhaps the toughest of the tough questions.

We talked about this with Mattie Swanson when we visited Touchmark Bend. Here we are, 65, fit, healthy (aside from a few minor complaints). Why should we consider leaving our home, where we're happy, and moving somewhere less desirable that offered health care options we don't need now?

The future is unknown. Happiness lies in the present moment.

Neither, we, nor anyone, knows what the future will bring. It seems crazy to give up a lifesyle that pleases us now, in order to be prepared if one or both of us becomes ill, disabled, or infirm in the future. But is it really crazy? Swanson said that most of those who buy into Touchmark Bend view this as the last place they ever will live, since the continuing care options allow for this.

OK. I can see why this appeals to some people. Yet what if Laurel and I happily lived where we are into our 80's, then suddenly die together in a car crash? Wouldn't it be better to do this, than to move to a "safe and secure" retirement community where we wouldn't be as happy? But again, who knows what the future will bring?

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. A related issue concerns us. Many people about our age downsize, moving to a condo or whatever that requires little inside or outside maintenance work. With our 3,200 square foot home and ten natural acres, there always is something that needs doing, fixing, maintaining. 

I hate this. I love this.

Hauling cut branches to a burn pile in a field irritates me. After I'm done, the work feels satisfying. Part of the reason we're as physically and mentally healthy as we are is that our house and property drive us crazy. Go figure.

I worry that a stress-free retirement community would cause me to go bonkers. But then, sometimes our current situation has the same effect on me. Maybe I just need to accept that wherever I live, and however I live, I'm going to go bonkers some of the time, and be content some of the time. That's life.

Which brings me to some final thoughts. 

I've read that about 50% of happiness is genetically determined. Circumstances determine maybe as little as 10%. The other 40%? Intentional activities, volitional choices. So here I am, worrying about where we should live -- which is part of that 10% of happiness.

Over on my other blog I wrote about a book, "10% Happier."

The author felt that through mindfulness and meditation, that's about how much happier he feels he became. So seemingly if I devoted myself to changing the way I look upon my circumstances, I could live anywhere and cancel out crappy circumstances that otherwise could crash my happiness by 10%.

Thus, maybe it doesn't matter so much where we retired folks live. Life is going to be kind of good, and kind of bad, no matter where we are. The delusion is believing that if I just moved here, or there, everything would be great -- all of the time.

Bottom line for us: my wife and I are going to keep looking into other places we might want to live. If one feels right for us one day, we'll move. If not, we won't. Pretty damn simple. 

But of course life won't be that simple. It never is. Which is why life is so satisfying: its always full of surprises. 

Too old for ten acres and a big house -- too young for retirement living

I guess you could call us tweeners. Senior citizen variety.

At 65, my wife and I are beginning to find that the joy of maintaining our large 1970's era house on ten rural acres is beginning to wear thin. So we've started to think about where we'd like to move when and if we really want to.

As noted in my "I'm 65. Where's my 'Aging Hippie' retirement community?" post, we wouldn't fit in with any of the senior-oriented planned communities we've looked at. Not in person; via the Internet, brochures, and such.

Our impression is there's a considerable difference between the retirement desires of baby boomer flower power love children like us, and folks even just ten years older -- who would have come of age in the late 1950's rather than the late 1960's, a whole different time.

So we cringe when we get a DVD/brochure from a "continuing care" community, or something similar, and see mentions of bingo nights, prayer groups, shopping trips in the community bus, hot dog party on the fourth of July, and such.

Hey, we want science talks, organic vegetarian food, progressive political discussions, dancing to classic rock (or at least modern swing music).

Since we haven't found any planned community in Oregon that fits our desired retirement lifestyle, and we don't want to leave the obviously-best-state in the country, we've been rethinking how to handle our tweener status.

When we feel like we're too old for our non-easy-care ten acres and 3,200 square foot house, almost certainly we will still feel too young for a typical retirement community. So we need a halfway house, so to speak.

Which could, of course, be our final destination. Meaning, an easier to maintain home in an urban setting -- where it would be much easier to keep on doing what we need to do if, Tao forbid, one of us were to lose the ability to drive.

Out here six miles from the Salem city limits, there's no public transportation. When folks in our neighborhood can't drive, they almost always end up moving. 

For a long time we figured that we'd stay on our beautiful, quiet, nature-filled ten acres until it was obvious that the time to move had come. But now it's making more sense to me to start thinking about that "tweener" move into a smaller house in town while we're still enjoying ourselves where we are.

I came across this philosophy in several retirement community web sites. At first I viewed it as part of a sales pitch, "It's best to think about moving now, rather than later." Well, even if it is a sales pitch, there's good reason to follow that advice.

Say one of us got some sort of serious illness or condition which made it tough to stay in our current house. Then we'd have two stressful situations to deal with at once: dealing with the health problem and dealing with selling our home and finding a more suitable new one.

Thus we're becoming more enamored of gradually starting to plan for a move that we're too young for now, but will come our way one day, since we're not getting any younger. 

We'll keep looking for Oregon retirement communities that fit our needs and desires. Most likely, though, we'll focus on finding an urban'ish neighborhood somewhere in the Willamette Valley where we'd like to live.

Hey, it could well even be in Salem, nothwithstanding my 37-year-long griping about the blah'ness of the area where I've lived since 1977. (Thirteen years in the city limits; twenty-four years with a rural Salem address.)

There are some appealing neighborhoods in Salem where my wife and I could be happy. I spent some time this morning browsing Zillow, having a good time pretend-house-shopping in various parts of south Salem.

Maybe one day it will be for real.

I'm 65. Where's my "Aging Hippie" retirement community?

My wife and I are starting to ponder our options when coping with our non-easy-care house on ten rural acres near Salem, Oregon gets to be too much of a chore for us.

Some days, I feel like that day already has arrived.

We've got a large early 1970's house; something regularly goes wrong. We've got a large yard in addition to the ten acres; something regularly needs attending to -- leaves, mowing, pruning, whatever.

But we're healthy (albeit with a few nagging problems).

And maintaining our house and property helps keep us that way. We just are looking ahead to the time when it seems right to reluctantly say "goodbye" to the pleasures and pains of our current lifestyle.

Last night we watched a DVD sent to us by folks at Panorama, a continuing care retirement community in Lacey, Washington. 

We like the Northwest, so were interested in Panorama. Lacey is adjacent to Olympia, Washington -- which strikes me as a much cooler state capital than Salem is.

Plus, Washington has two additional pluses: it has legalized marijuana and assisted suicide (if you have a terminal condition). Being baby boomers who came of age in the 1960's, and are now in our mid-60's, we aren't interested in living a golf course and bingo retirement.

Especially not in a right-wing state like Florida or Arizona. So the left coast likely is where we'll spend the rest of our days.

Watching the DVD made us realize that this won't be in a continuing care retirement community. At least, not until they pull my longboard/skateboard out of my land paddling senior citizen arms. 

This is not a dig against Panorama.

It appears to be a great retirement community for those who are attracted to having assisted living and skilled nursing facilities available, allowing them to smoothly transition from being independent to needing regular health care and other help.

The people interviewed in the Panorama DVD are not like us. Again, not a criticism. Just reality. This was evident from their clothes, home decor, manner of speaking, interests, and what they liked about Panorama.

Laurel and I don't think ourselves as old, even though we're 64 and 65. We damn sure don't enjoy acting like we're old. We dress as youthfully as Social Security recipients can get away with. We enjoy the MTV Video Music Awards. In short, we're aging ex-hippies who still embrace the Flower Child dream.

I'm sure marketing genuises in the 55+ community industry must recognize this. However, a bunch of Googling hasn't revealed any "active adult" developments aimed at the Aging Hippie demographic. 

I think there's an opportunity here. Give me a call, planned community developers. My wife and I would be happy to serve as consultants on what people like us are looking for when they decide to leave their current home and lifestyle.

Dog-friendly/dog park. Not only allow skateboarding; encourage it. Multi-use paths in natural settings. Coffee house. Brew pub. Movie theatre that does not show On Golden Pond. Tai Chi, Yoga, and meditation classes. Intellectual stimulation.

And a community bus that looks a lot more like Ken Kesey's than a retirement home's. 

Best planned community in Portland, Oregon area?

Like I said in my previous post about a planned community in Monmouth, Oregon, almost certainly someday my wife and I will want to leave behind the large house on ten rural acres that simultaneously drives us crazy and makes us happy.

There's a lot of people akin to us.

Baby boomers (we're in our 60's) who are in good health, have lived in a non-easy-care home for a long time, aren't interested in a traditional retirement community, and are beginning to think about where they'd like to live when "let's move" becomes not just a idle thought, but an urgent need or desire.

Reading about the Edwards Addition Master Plan, the community in Monmouth, got us thinking about what other planned communities are near Salem, where we live now.

Some Google searching today revealed... surprisingly few. Kind of disappointing.

We'd figured that the green, hip, cool, cutting-edge Portland area would have more planned communities where green, hip, cool, cutting-edge older folks like my wife and me could feel comfortable.

"Planned" is the key word.

Northwest Oregon has lots of wonderful neighborhoods. However, we're inclined toward communities with some sort of master plan, preferably with strong sustainable, environmentally conscious, outdoor activity, and dog-friendly components.

Currently we live in a 70's era planned community, Spring Lake Estates. There are easements behind most of the small acreages that allow quite a few miles of hiking/riding trails. We also have a nine acre lake on common property, and a neighborhood association. 

A planned community brings people together. It fosters more of a sense of, well, community. Without that, getting to know your neighbors and feeling like you belong is more difficult.

Though nowhere near ready to move yet, we've begun to explore options in our general area. Northward toward Portland, with all its amenities (yes, also headaches) draws us more than anywhere else in Oregon. We'd consider staying in Salem if a planned development didn't have the "blah" factor that curses this town.

Here's the communities I've found so far, along with my initial largely-uninformed snap judgment about each. If anyone has more suggestions, please leave a comment. 

Edwards Addition, Monmouth. Nice vibe. Pleasant town. Just fifteen minutes away, though. Put this sort of development in a different location, and we'd be more intrigued.

Pringle Creek Community, Salem. We've toured this development several times. A lot to like here. Small, though. On the right track; just not the development we're attracted to at the moment.

Villebois, Wilsonville. I've browsed the web site, but never been there. Like the sustainable, green angles. Seems to lack nature trails and has a "snooty" air; but maybe it's just the regrettable French'ie name. 

Fairview Village, Fairview. Quite interesting. Look and feel, based on web site, appeals to us. Proximity to I-84 and Columbia Gorge is worrisome. Windy? Plan to pay a visit one of these days.

Mountain Park, Lake Oswego. Beautiful area. Too country-club'y of a vibe, almost certainly. Strikes me as an old-style high-end planned community. We'd rather have a dog park than a staffed clubhouse.

Murray Hll, Beaverton. By and large, if a planned community web site features a photo of a stone wall with the development's name in big bronze letters, it's not for us. Enough said.

Orenco Station, Hillsboro. lt's won awards. Good place to live if you want to hop on a MAX light rail train and cruise into Portland. Seems overly urban for our taste.

As noted before, I thought there would be more choices. Maybe I've missed some planned communities. Perhaps Google failed me. Somehow I doubt it. Which means, there's a untapped housing market for a creative developer.

Could be wrong (an ever-present possibility). I just know enough baby boomers like us who don't want to grow traditionally old, yet realize that they are... growing old. 

Living in a large difficult-to-maintain single family home is becoming less attractive to them. Yet they're active, energetic and nowhere near ready to enter a dreaded "senior" housing situation. 

So where are the planned communities aimed, in part, at people like us?

We're not going to retire to a golf course community in Arizona. We want hiking, biking, and yes, skateboard/longboard trails much more than bingo and bridge in a social center. 

Build it, and we will buy it.