Voices of Spencer Creek Valley
by Pat Gray
I really didn't know what to do. Should I stay in North Oakland where I was happy
or make a drastic change and move to Western Oregon countryside where my family had
a ranch? Everything I knew and loved was there in the city and I had always said
smugly that I was a born and bred city girl and during a summer vacation, much as
I appreciated the wonders of nature, I longed for the city; my little nest in North
Oakland, just across the Bay from San Francisco. One side of me, said "Stay
" and the other said "Go!" It was difficult to know what to do.
There I was, in my seventies, with a happy heart and fair health, if you don't count
several chronic illnesses, living in a cozy, one bedroom apartment on Forty -first
Street in Oakland, California. I was content with my life there. It was a great location,
in a senior building, just a few blocks to Piedmont Avenue with its great shops,
restaurants, and a theater. Better still, my church, the public library, post office
and Long's Drugs were within a stone's throw. Urban heaven! Adding frosting to the
cake, I had many friends in the building who often came to my apartment to visit.
In fact, it was the visit of a man friend that lived on the sixth floor that made
me rethink my situation. We were sitting on a couch that was in a bay window looking
out on the Oakland-Berkeley hills, and sharing a hot pot of tea. I noticed that he
looked very sad. Being a motherly type, I knew he was brooding about something. "What
is upsetting you?" I asked.
He sat quietly a while and shrugged his slim shoulders. He looked pale and ill. He
sighed and said, "It is difficult for a woman like you to understand. You don't
seem to mind being alone. You read a lot and keep busy... It's different for you.
You have a family. They come to see you. They call often on the phone. You don't
know what it is to be old and completely alone."
That was true. I was blessed with three daughters and several beloved grandchildren.
But none of them lived close by. Just that day, my middle daughter, Mary Jo, sent
me a birthday gift, a jar of expensive wrinkle cream. God knows I need it although
I've earned every wrinkle.
I tried to put myself in my visitor's place. It was true, he was alone here in America.
He had left friends, family, and profession, behind in Iran. I also realized that
the nieces and nephews he had here in the States neglected him . What could I say
to comfort him? Nothing I could tell him would ring true. He was alone and in a way
except for a few dear friends, so was I. As he said I did have a caring family. But
they were either traveling to see me or lived hundreds of miles away. I tried to
comfort him but I started me worrying about my situation. In fact, I too was alone.
Lately, I had been feeling badly, my get up and go was gone. All I seemed to want
to so was sleep all day. Bothering to shop and cook had become a task and I found
myself living on canned soup and frozen meals. I wanted to loose weight but not that
way. Perhaps, I reasoned, I should start doing something about myself. My daughter
and grandson in Oregon had been urging me to visit. Not a bad idea. I picked up the
phone. Two days later she was in my living room, smiling at me. I told her that I
needed to come for a visit. She seemed delighted and we threw a few clothes into
my suitcase and we were on our way to Oregon six hundred miles away. I had been there
many times before, but never with such a sense of anticipation. Contrary to the usual
rainy weather, every day was bright and sunny. We were able to enjoy the myriad of
flowers bursting out all over. The temperature was in the low seventies.
We walked along the Willamette River on a Sunday, my dark, lovely daughter, joining
the Million Moms' March against the gun lobby. The winding blue waters had rapids.
Dark green foliage framed the river and the sun turned it gold. Talk about happy,
I felt liberated . My daughter was full of laughter and reminisced about long forgotten
happenings. She and her kind hearted Quaker husband and my exciting adventurous grandson
kept me challenged.
What is also important, is the fact that due to my daughter's great cooking, I began
to enjoy eating again. Even to put on a few pounds. I felt like I was living again.
I had limited funds but a great inspiration came to me. I could have the best of
both worlds. There was a way to have the privacy I needed and the contact with family
that nourished me. I would buy myself a new home; a mobile home and place it in their
forest land. We went to see a dealer locally and plunked down what was to me a small
fortune and lo and behold I was a home owner again. I had forgotten all the headaches
that word implies. Permits, contractors, drainage, taxes, landscaping, setup and
finishing work. I had made the down-payment and I am really into it. It is fun. It's
scary. I'll let you know how it all works out. Tune in next issue for further gruesome
developments.