Itineraries Special Issue 2012 | Partnerships In Aging

Betty Friedan’s 1963 watershed book, The Feminine Mystique, defined — to the great relief of many American women — “the problem that has no name.” By every societal measure, women living the mid-century, middle-class American Dream should have been thrilled with their roles as suburban housewives and mothers. The problem was, Friedan revealed, that many felt dissatisfied with their lives and longed for something more meaningful than maintaining homes and caring for their families.

First, as a family caregiver, and later as a gerontologist, I experienced similar nagging feelings about aging in place being lauded as a panacea for institutional care. Given the literal and figurative price of living in a nursing home, however, what was there to dispute? Besides, research confirmed overwhelmingly, most Americans wanted to age in place! Like Friedan, however, I could not reconcile the discrepancies between people’s ideals and what is real for so many elders.

The reality is millions of older Americans struggle physically, financially, and emotionally to stay in homes and communities not designed to accommodate their changing needs. Without meaningful social connection and support, many suffer the same three plagues that afflict residents in nursing homes—loneliness, boredom and helplessness. In the aftermath of 9/11 and Hurricane Katrina in which elders at home disproportionately died, the question became inescapable: Isn’t there a better way to care for our elders than sentencing them to institutions or leaving them to age in place?

With this issue of Itineraries, my pilgrimage with Second Journey comes full circle in raising and answering this question. In May 2005 I attended Second Journey’s Visioning Council at Bill and Jude Thomas’s Summer Hill Farm in upstate New York. About two dozen visionaries gathered to contemplate innovative solutions to creating community in later life. We discussed institutional long-term-care facilities at one end of the spectrum, and “aging in place” at the other. We also discussed new models of communities that were emerging between these two extremes. We categorized the features of the “physical environment” — the tangible aspects of community design, such as the site plan and orientation, unit design, walkability, and incorporation of green and universal design principles — and the “social software” — those aspects of a community that nurture social, spiritual, emotional, creative, and civic life — that we believed exemplified such communities. And we gave a name to this new paradigm of intentional communities — communities created by small groups of people committed to helping elders stay in their homes and stay meaningfully connected to their communities; we called it “aging in community.”

It is exciting to see how far we have come in seven years! Google “aging in community” and you will find 57,800 references to articles, initiatives, and research in this area. In this Itineraries issue, we are delighted to share some of the wisdom and experiences of our colleagues and friends who are blazing this trail together. From essays that describe the vision of aging in community, to specific programs you can adapt to your neighborhood, we hope these writings will inspire you to create ways to age at home while nurturing and deepening a meaningful connection to community.

Moving Beyond Place by Bill Thomas

In 1519, the Venetian scholar Antonio Pigafetta was among those who accompanied Captain Ferdinand Magellan on the three-year voyage that became the first known circumnavigation of the earth. During his travels, Pigafetta kept a detailed diary in which he noted that the lifespan of the average Brazilian Indian was between 124 and 140 years (a longevity he attributed to the Indians’ retention of what he called a primitive innocence similar to that of the Biblical patriarchs).[1]

The standard for exaggerated claims had been set by Christopher Columbus 30 years earlier. In one of the explorer’s early letters he gushed over the seemingly limitless supply of food available in the New World, calling it “a veritable Cockaigne” or land of plenty.

Such observations were welcomed by rich and poor alike because they offered hope at a time when few people lived past the age of 40 and devastating famines were a common occurrence. Pervasive scarcity, back-breaking labor, and the prospect of early death led people to imagine a land where food and good health came effortlessly — to everyone. They dreamed of a utopia called Cockaigne, in which there was no need to work, the streams ran with water that restored the full bloom of youth, and the houses were roofed with meat pies.

Today, of course, the fanciful legends of Cockaigne can seem juvenile, encouraging us to believe that we have outgrown the need to console ourselves with imagined utopias. But such is not the case, certainly for many people growing old now.

Today’s Fear: Old Age in an Institution

The paradox of modern societies is that they provide the stability and affluence that enable many people to grow old, while at the same time denying older people a suitable role within the social order. Old age does not occur in a vacuum. How we define, experience, and perceive old age is influenced by a number of complex and interrelated factors, including social policies, politics, demographics, economics, and cultural values, as well as class, gender, and race/ethnicity. While theories of aging evolve over time within gerontology, it is apparent that social policy and public opinion are often slow to catch up. In public discourse and policy, aging is still largely defined by a biomedical perspective that emphasizes dependency, loss, and decline. Not surprisingly, the proposed solutions are rooted in the same soil. As a consequence, more than 70 percent of long-term-care dollars are spent on skilled nursing facilities, or nursing homes, that conform to the medical model.[2]

At the beginning of the past century, an American could reasonably expect to die at home, surrounded by loved ones and consoled by the most familiar of surroundings. Today, most older adults die in unfamiliar and impersonal hospital and nursing home environments. While a relatively small percentage of older adults find themselves living in nursing homes on any given day (5 percent of the population over age 65), the risk for a 65-year-old of entering a nursing home for some period of time is 46 percent and increases with age. With the survival rate increased to age 65, it is estimated that the number of 65-year-olds who will spend some time in a nursing home will double by 2020.[3]

People fear nursing homes. Indeed, when asked what they fear most, older people ranked loss of independence and placement in a nursing home above the fear of death.[4]

Aging in Place: Still “Dreaming of Cockaigne”

This brew of fear and loathing inspires millions of older Americans to dream of growing old in their longtime homes, or “aging in place.” Indeed, the ideal of growing old in one’s own home has developed into a powerful idealized counternarrative, the opposite of a dreadful old age cursed with indignity, a loss of autonomy, and the looming terror of institutionalization. The power that animates “aging in place” as a concept is its implied promise of freedom from that which we fear most. Rather than experience a loss of independence, we remain masters of our own domain. Instead of being cared for by strangers, we are sheltered within the bosom of our families or at least come to rely on a trusted homecare aide. Instead of being placed in an institution, we stay safe, secure, and comfortable within the walls of our own homes. This is the most consoling of all the ideas that we associate with old age. We have come to believe that in all times and in all ways, “home is best.” Indeed, some 92 percent of Americans age 65 and older who participated in 2000 in an AARP survey said they wanted to live out their lives in their current homes; even if they should need help caring for themselves, 82 percent said they would prefer not to move from their current homes.[5] With this idealized notion of the old age that awaits us, we are still “dreaming of Cockaigne.”

The bitter truth is that an older person can succeed at remaining in her or his own home and still live a life as empty and difficult as that experienced by nursing home residents. Feeling compelled to stay in one’s home, no matter what, can result in dwindling choices and mounting levels of loneliness, helplessness, and boredom.[6] This difficulty is often compounded by the fear that someone (a state official or even a friend or family member) will discover the true state of affairs and enforce the ultimate sanction. Because it is fixated on a location (the private home) and pays little heed to the factors that make up actual quality of life, commitment to aging in place can turn out to yield benefits that are as mythical as those of Cockaigne, and may actually do harm.

Aging in Community: A Third Way

Our culture has constructed a continuum that positions institutional long-term care at one end of a spectrum, and an idealized vision of aging in place at the other. The challenge is to escape this false choice. An increasing number of Americans are searching for, and finding, a third way.

Historically, American cultural values of independence, self-reliance, and individual responsibility have supported the notion that elders can and should age in place. TheNew York Times columnist David Brooks recently challenged this ideal:

This individualist description of human nature seems to be wrong. Over the past thirty years, there has been a tide of research in many fields, all underlining one old truth — that we are intensely social creatures, deeply interconnected with one another, and the idea of the lone individual rationally and willfully steering his own life course is often an illusion.[7]

The United States faces a range of issues that must be addressed cooperatively. Global warming, a faltering economy, a troubled healthcare system compound the challenges that come with an aging population. New responses to these challenges, from senior cohousing to shared households to cooperative urban “villages,” point to the emergence of a new doctrine: People working together can create mutually supportive neighborhoods to enhance well-being and quality of life for older people at home and as integral members of the community. This is the essence of “aging in community.”

We use the word community to refer to a small group of people who voluntarily choose to rely on each other and to be relied upon over an extended period of time. Aging in community presumes that those who embrace it have a high degree of interest in a way of life that offers daily opportunities for social connection in the context of smaller, clustered, village-like settings, whether urban or rural. The qualities of aging in community are highlighted below.

The Qualities of Aging in Community

Inclusive — People of all ages, race/ethnicities, and abilities, especially elders, are welcome.
Sustainable — Residents are committed to a lifestyle that is sustainable environmentally, economically, and socially. Size matters. People need to know each other, and scale determines the nature of human interaction. Small is better.
Healthy — The community encourages and supports wellness of the mind, body, and spirit and, to the same degree, plans and prepares programs and systems that support those dealing with disease, disability, and death.
Accessible — The setting provides easy access to the home and community. For example, all homes, businesses, and public spaces are wheelchair-friendly and incorporate universal design features. Multiple modes of transportation are encouraged.
Interdependent — The community fosters reciprocity and mutual support among family, friends, and neighbors and across generations.
Engaged — The community promotes pportunities for community participation, social engagement, education, and creative expression.

The concept is focused on building vital communities that engage people of all ages and abilities in a shared, ongoing effort to advance the common good. A useful analogy envisions the people who populate an “aging in community” setting as bricks and the relationships that develop between them as the mortar. Together, the bricks and mortar create “social capital.” In this society, the value (rising and declining) of financial capital is measured obsessively, while our stock of social capital earns surprisingly little attention. It is the web of informal, voluntary, reciprocal relationships found within the mundane routines of daily life that forms the core of any society’s social capital. Aging in community embraces strategies that help people intentionally create and deploy the resources of social capital alongside financial capital resources.

The current practice of institutionalizing elders in need of care is undesirable because it consumes large quantities of financial capital while it also destroys reservoirs of social capital. Aging in place, with its dwelling-centric approach, relies heavily on dollar-denominated professional and paraprofessional services while offering older people little or no opportunity to create or deploy reserves of social capital. Aging in community presents a viable and appealing alternative to both approaches.

Types of Communities

Today, as 78 million boomers turn 60 and beyond, we stand at a crossroad that will redefine the second half of life. The vanguard of this generation is already at work redefining core elements of the experience of aging. One facet of this cultural revolution in aging is the emergence of so-called intentional communities that address a constellation of desires — for a sense of place, sustainability, shared values and goals, diversity, and respect and support for elderhood as its own distinct life phase — a phase of life that lies beyond adulthood.

As work and family responsibilities shift and retirement looms in the future, some boomers are reflecting back on the peak experiences of their youth. They lived together in a variety of household settings with friends who shared the daily rhythms of life and who really cared for one another. Boomers bonded in ways unheard of by their parents with unrelated people outside their families.

A growing number seek to rekindle this vision of building custom communities with select friends and kindred spirits. Recent research found that about a quarter of boomers interviewed are interested in shared housing (“private living units with communal living areas”), and a third indicated interest in a “clustered living community” with a campus-like setting, private space for residents, and such shared amenities as a dining room, library, and laundry (this form of living is also referred to as cohousing). Some yearn for an urban, intergenerational, and diverse community, while others seek rural, back-to-the-land places.[8] The boomer generation is likely to do for aging services what they did for the ice cream industry 40 years ago. Three flavors will no longer be enough.

Intentional Communities

“Intentional communities” are planned residential groupings, usually founded on similar spiritual, social, or political beliefs or other shared values or goals. Resources and responsibilities are often shared, although the degree varies significantly among different community models. Intentional communities include cohousing, communes, ecovillages, ashrams, kibbutzim, and cooperative housing. The fastest growing type of intentional community is cohousing, an arrangement of resident-designed-and-managed housing, usually in developments of about 30 homes that include shared facilities, require residents to share responsibilities and resources (but not incomes), and are not necessarily devoted to any particular age group. The concept was imported from Denmark in the early 1990s. From about 16 communities in 1995, the number of cohousing communities in the U.S. had grown to about 113 in 2008, with 111 currently in the planning stages, including several senior cohousing communities designed by and for adults 50 and older.[9]

Elderspirit is one of the first senior cohousing communities, founded by former nuns who left their order in the 1960s over philosophical differences. Without the safety net of the convent, in retirement they wanted to build their own community dedicated to personal growth, mutual support, and spiritual deepening in later life. Elderspirit has 29 units. Residents are of mixed income levels and must be at least 55 years of age. The development is built along the scenic Virginia Creeper Trail, within easy walking distance of shops and downtown Abingdon, Virginia.

Hope Meadows is a mixed-income, intergenerational community in Rantoul, Illinois, founded in 1994 and dedicated to addressing the challenge of children living for years in foster care without permanent families. Hope Meadows illustrates that ordinary people are capable of extraordinary compassion, caring, and love, regardless of their age, class, or ability. The resident seniors serve as honorary grandparents and agree to volunteer at least six hours per week in exchange for reduced rental housing. Even more than their volunteer work, it is the caring relationships they develop with the children and other adults that has been identified as a key factor in healing the children and providing stability to the community, while also enhancing the lives of the elders. As the older residents age, the community is helping them to continue to live in their homes and stay connected.

Spontaneous Communities

Notably, the U.S. is home to many successful communities that developed spontaneously in already established places. Within small towns and suburban and urban areas in every state, one can find a community in which traditional ideas about caring for one’s neighbors still prevail. Often, however, as people age they may require more specialized support than other residents are able to offer on a regular basis. Established communities are developing new capacities to deal with this challenge.

The Beacon Hill neighborhood in downtown Boston is such a community. In 2001, several friends and neighbors came together to create a plan, the Beacon Hill Village, to help each other stay in their homes and remain meaningfully connected to the community. The Village model uses a nonprofit organization to vet and organize programs and services for older adult residents. To help defray costs, the organization charges residents a yearly membership fee, with discounts for those in financial need. Beacon Hill Village has received considerable media attention in recent years, resulting in thousands of inquiries about replicating the model. According to the Village-to-Village Network, 90 affiliated villages are “open” (as of August 2012), with another 130 in development, located in 38 states and the District of Columbia.

The Trillion Dollar Question

While our culture seems to revere the notion of aging in place, our public policy continues to favor institutionalization for those requiring long-term-care services. The conflict between what people say they want (to receive services in their own homes) and the way their tax dollars are spent has become especially acute. This situation exists despite studies showing that, on average, it costs about half as much to maintain an elder at home as compared to placement in a nursing home.[10] Given that three-fourths of the nation’s long-term-care budget is spent on nursing homes, and Medicaid is the largest source of payment for that care (about half), the need for a rebalancing of the public funds committed to meeting the needs of frail elders becomes clear.

Because of its intense focus on independence, the concept of aging in place leads, rather directly, to an emphasis on the dollar; paid professional services are required to provide care that will allow individuals to remain in their own homes. The combination of an aging society with the enshrinement of the private home as the only acceptable locus for aging yields cost projections that boggle the mind. Consider the following: The post–World War II generation that is now approaching old age has about 70 million members. If we imagine making a trillion dollar investment in the care of that generation, simple arithmetic tells us that that provides a per capita amount of just under $15,000 dollars. That is not $15,000 a year but rather for the entire period that members of this generation will need care, barely enough to cover two years of in-home supportive services in 2005.

The cost of an independence-based public policy, centered on the concept of aging in place, lies far beyond what our society can afford. At the same time, the use of mass institutionalization to cope with the needs of frail older people is gradually being seen as morally unacceptable. It is in this context that a third way becomes increasingly attractive. We need a public policy that facilitates the blending of financial resources (such as personal savings, pensions, and money from government programs like Medicare and Social Security) with social capital (which is created and maintained by healthy families and communities). For this blend to occur, we will have to confront and overcome deeply held and highly negative preconceptions about age and aging.

Conventional wisdom holds that the aging of America is, by necessity, a bad thing. The inventory of losses and unwelcome burdens is long and has been detailed in scholarly journals and the mainstream media. Omitted from these calculations, however, is an accounting of what age and aging contribute to everyone. The virtues of aging remain invisible.

Occurring parallel to this phenomenon of a rapidly aging society are shifts in family patterns (particularly the trend toward smaller family size, childlessness, alternative families, and divorce); increased mobility of families; the growing number of women in the workforce; increased life expectancy past the age of 85; spiraling healthcare and long-term-care costs. Another factor is the increased social acceptance of age-segregated communities.

Still, new opportunities and hopeful paradigms are emerging: an increased interest in civic engagement in older adults; a conscious-aging movement that promotes a new vision of elderhood; and examples like Hope Meadows that show intergenerational community as a tool that can be used to address social challenges that young and old face.

At its most fundamental level, human longevity creates the possibility of multigenerational families and communities that contain three and sometimes even four or more generations. Because it is the multigenerational transmission of culture, values, and wisdom that is most essential to our humanity, strategies that strengthen interaction and ties between generations contribute enormously to our stock of social capital.

The concept of aging in community is presented here as a useful successor to the concept of aging in place because the former shifts the emphasis away from dwellings and toward relationships. As the models described above demonstrate, the aging-in-community idea will be replicable across the spectrum, from rural to urban. With a high value placed on economic sustainability, it is critical to explore ways to extend the opportunity to age in community to the broadest possible segments of the population.

United by the intention to create innovative alternatives to current housing choices, the new movement for aging in community promises to inspire the entire national conversation about aging and to engage the skills, spirit, and imagination of architects, planners, builders, and community activists of all ages.

William H. Thomas, M.D., is an international authority on geriatric medicine and eldercare from upstate New York. He is the founder of the Eden Alternative, a philosophy and program that has helped de-institutionalized nursing homes in all 50 states and worldwide over the past 20 years. A self-described “Nursing Home Abolitionist,” he is also creator of the Green House®, a radically new approach to long-term care where nursing homes are torn down and replaced with small, home-like environments where people can live a full and interactive life. He is the author of What Are Old People For? How Elders Will Save the World and Professor of Aging Studies and Distinguished Fellow, Erickson School, University of Maryland, Baltimore County, Baltimore, MD. Access the video, “Elderhood Rising: The Dawn of a New Age,” at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ijbgcX3vIWs.

Janice M. Blanchard, M.S.P.H., is a gerontologist and nationally recognized writer, speaker, and consultant on aging issues. For 20 years she has worked on the cutting edge of public policy and programs promoting a new vision of elders as valuable members of our communities and of elderhood as a distinct phase of the human life cycle. Renowned for her seminal work in “aging in community,” Janice consults with government, non-profit, and private organizations to develop innovative housing and community-based solutions that strengthen the fabric of our communities, for all ages and all abilities — especially our elders.

An Artist Colony Where You Never have to Go Home by Tim Carpenter

I grew up near Yaddo, an artist colony in Saratoga Springs in upstate New York. Saratoga Springs is known for three things — its racetrack, its mineral springs, and the arts. What a heady gumbo of neighbors — semi-connected mobsters and lowlifes, water-loving hippies, and — my favorite — artists. Small town that Saratoga Springs was, you always knew when the famous artists were there — Capote, Baldwin, Picasso, Highsmith, Puzo. It had a profound effect on me as a youngster.

Flash forward to the late ‘90s when I was just starting to work in senior housing and on the verge of forming a nonprofit that did outreach to that population. My epiphany came at a breakfast meeting of the Senior Housing Council in South Orange County. The guest speaker was a gentleman named Bill Thomas — a medical doctor who had invented something he called the Eden Alternative. It sounded promising — and sitting there — after having gotten up at dawn and driven miles and miles across the Los Angeles sprawl — I thought, he’d better deliver.

Dr. Thomas blew my mind. He spoke about something he called intentional community. It was my first exposure to the concept, and my instructor was a real master. He described an assisted living community for seniors that included raised gardening beds and a shop out back for people to tinker on projects. Nothing extraordinarily radical in these suggestions. What was radical was how he arrived at what amenities to include. Predict who was likely to live in the facility, he urged us. Ask what are the values of the surrounding community. Create an environment that reflects them.

So I started thinking… I had logged miles to get to this breakfast. The plan for my new nonprofit was to serve communities that required similar punishing treks — miles and miles on some of the most unforgiving byways in America. Bill’s idea of intentional community presented an opportunity for me to indulge two of my baser, but treasured, instincts: my inclination to “borrow” shamelessly someone else’s terrific ideas and my unadulterated self-interest. I wanted to create a residential community where — based on their shared values — I could predict the type of people who would populate it. And I wanted to create it close to my office in Burbank.

Burbank — “beautiful downtown Burbank,” as Carson used to quip on The Tonight Show— was home to an enormous population of retired professionals of a certain stripe — artists and entertainers. I’d grown up, as I said, near an artistic community that attracted artists from varying disciplines; they’d come to feed their souls, work on a project for a few months, talk with other like-minded searchers, and then go home. What, I asked myself, still sitting in the room and Bill still talking — what if they never went home? I wrote down “The Burbank Senior Artists Colony” in large letters on my pad below the copious notes of Dr. Thomas’s ideas that I’d scribbled down. Then I drove the many frustrating miles home to pursue a dream.

After cold-calling the city of Burbank, many meetings, lots of collaboration, and the partnership of a lifetime — with the visionary John Huskey of Meta Housing Corporation — the Burbank Senior Artists Colony (BSAC) opened in May of 2005, developed by Meta like no other developer could have developed it. It boasts 141 units, residents of all artistic skills, both professional and newly acquired, and a rich variety of physical amenities that include a theater, arts studios, computer media lab, outdoor performance spaces, classrooms, and other bells and whistles intended to spark creativity. The physical amenities are more than matched by what we at EngAGE call the intellectual amenities: college-level classes provided onsite by professional artists and groups of residents who come together to create art shows, plays, films, and other forms of expressive neighborly lunacy.

It’s the kind of place I’d move to grow up in, not grow old in. Trust me.

Our COO, Dr. Maureen Kellen-Taylor, a lifelong artist and influential shaper of the creativity and aging movement, designed our arts program, EngAGE in Creativity, bringing her own rich personal and professional skill set to the task. Maureen was given the California Arts Council Directors Award a few years ago for a lifetime of achievement in the field.

I tell the following story often to help listeners understand the power of BSAC — the creativity it nurtures and the beauty that emerges when a late-blooming risk taker dusts off her dreams and takes them for a test ride.

Before moving to the Burbank Senior Artists Colony, sixty-something Suzanne Knode had not had an easy time of it — a single parent who had worked hard, neglected her own needs, and had recently suffered a traumatic accident that created physical struggles for her as well. After moving in, Suzanne attended an EngAGE writing class; she had never written much before, did not think of herself as a writer, but felt a tickle in her that she might have a story or two to tell.

She wrote a short screenplay as a class assignment. It was called Bandida, and it tells the story of an older woman who takes a senior bus. When the bus stops in front of a liquor store, the woman and her tennis-ball-shoed walker are lowered down on the handicap lift. She ambles inside the store, dons a mask (à la the film Scream), pulls a gun, and starts to rob the place. During the course of the crime, she develops a relationship with the older Armenian shopkeeper behind the counter, and he lets her get away with the crime in the end. The screenplay is funny and touching and real — not easy to pull off for a fledgling playwright.

It was such a good piece of writing, we decided we’d try dipping our toes in the filmmaking business. We raised a little money, hired a director, recruited the cast from the residents of our communities (even the hair and makeup folks were residents), and “rented” the liquor store across the street in which to shoot it. Since EngAGE also produces a radio show called Experience Talks, we were already in the radio business. Darby Maloney, one of our producers, pitched the idea to Ira Glass, hoping the story would end up on This American Life, Ira’s world-renowned show.

Well, he liked it. A lot. And the making of Suzanne’s film along with her own personal story of reinvention was profiled, not on the radio show that Ira produces, but on the soon-to-be-syndicated national television show This American Life on Showtime. It’s a beautiful piece on taking risks and living life as we get older.

Suzanne’s own debut viewing of her movie was at the El Portal Theater in the NOHO Arts District of Los Angeles, and she shared it with an audience of 350 film lovers. The film had been juried into the competition at the NOHO Film Festival, and Suzanne got a standing ovation when she walked onstage for the audience talk back.

Suzanne is now working on several new film and stage projects and has also taken up painting in an EngAGE art class. She mentors at-risk teens at the school next door. Here is what she said about her changed life when profiled on theExperience Talks radio show: “I couldn’t believe that there would be a community for me at this time in my life. I didn’t think I’d be able to find something new inside of me. You know that same feeling when you got out of school and the whole world was open to you? Now, all over again, the whole world is open to me.”

The moral — at least for me — to the story: I want to be Suzanne Knode when I grow up. She’s a rock star! But I also want to be Teddi Shattuck, an amazingly talented painter (and my art teacher), who at BSAC has also discovered she’s a writer and actress. (You can read her own telling of her story in this issue.) And I want to be Sally Connors, a resident who has achieved dream after dream as a writer, an actor, and a singer since she moved into the community.

I want to be Walter Hurlburt who — simply because he can — spends most waking moments painting and attending almost every class of every variety. I want to be Dolly Brittan, who moved to BSAC from South Africa, after her husband died, and discovered she was an artist — a sculptor, painter, poet, and actor. She also started teaching again and mentoring children in desperate need of a guiding hand. Then she fell in love again, marrying the man who taught her sculpting class; and no one was more surprised about all this happening than she was.

What do you do when you find a model that works so well? You share it, of course. Meta Housing has scads of new initiatives at various stages: The Long Beach Senior Arts Colony will open near the end of this year — 200 units of housing for artists and artists-to-be open to discovering their till-now hidden talents. Long Beach will be the first 100% affordable senior arts living center. Bigger, improved, amazing.

The NOHO Senior Arts Colony opens this autumn in the North Hollywood Arts District not far from where Suzanne’s film premiered. And this one has a live, open-to-the-public theater in the lobby, complete with box office and marquis, an 80-seat, state-of-the-art house operated by the award-winning troupe, The Road Theatre Company. Road Artistic Directors Taylor Gilbert and Sam Anderson will partner with EngAGE to provide high-end theatrical programs for their residents, while they stage their own annual season in their new space.

John Huskey and his team at Meta Housing have constructed thousands of units of senior (and family) housing, and John prides himself on breathing life into what could be just sticks and bricks. EngAGE now provides programming in 30 housing sites in Southern California serving nearly 6,000 seniors — and I owe it all to my mentor and partner, Mr. Huskey. Bill Thomas and I have since become friends and colleagues — Janice Blanchard, editor of this issue, introduced us — so my own creative aging in community has been blessed with a splash of good fortune which has allowed me to work with and develop relationships with the people I admire and try to emulate. Not a bad way to create a community in which to grow older, with intention. Now I just need to develop a senior colony based on rock and roll — then all will be right with the world.

Tim Carpenter is the founder of EngAGE and host/producer of the Experience Talks radio show. EngAGE is a nonprofit that changes aging and the way people think about aging by transforming senior apartment communities into vibrant centers of learning, wellness, and creativity. Experience Talks is a radio magazine that shines a light on the value of experience in society, airing for 250,000 listeners on Saturdays at 8 a.m. Pacific on KPFK 90.7 FM in Los Angeles and streaming live worldwide on the Web at www.kpfk.org. The show is syndicated by the Pacifica Network to up to 100 cities nationwide. Tim serves on the board of the National Center for Creative Aging. In 2008, Tim was elected an Ashoka Fellow for being one of the top social entrepreneurs in the world, and in 2011 he received the James Irvine Foundation Leadership Award.

Reweaving the Social Fabric of Our Communities by Janice Blanchard

We are all longing to go home to some place we have never been — a place half-remembered and half-envisioned we can only catch glimpses of from time to time… Community means strength that joins our strength to do the work that needs to be done. Arms to hold us when we falter. A circle of healing. A circle of friends. Someplace where we can be free.

— Starhawk

Aging in Community is not new. Throughout most of human history, elders have aged in community — at home and as integral members of their communities. Humans, as social animals, have depended on cooperation and caring for one another for survival. The sharing of basic resources such as food and shelter and the commitment to help each other, often to include nurturing and caring for our young, elders, sick, and disabled, have contributed significantly to our evolution as a species. In turn, elders have played essential roles as teachers, spiritual advisors, healers, and as the bridge between the past, present, and future.

The Fraying of Our Social Tapestry

Over the past century or so, numerous factors and trends have converged that have negatively impacted our relationships with our family and friends, our neighbors and community ties, with our work and “free” time, and with our elders. Consequently, the social fabric of society has become worn and frayed. As our relationships have unraveled, our nation has become increasingly polarized and radicalized in political and religious viewpoints, particularly with regard to moral issues, including our obligation to elders. Income has surpassed race in segregating communities, and while the income of the middle class has shrunk to an all-time low, the gap between rich and poor has become staggering.

Close personal friendships and social networks — key to psychological well-being, community health and social capital — are likewise shrinking. Americans report one-third fewer friends than two decades ago, with 25% having no one to confide in, and with well over half reporting that they know only some (29%) or none (28%) of their nearby neighbors. The disintegration of intimate social connections is particularly poignant among older adults, as divorce and suicide rates soar to the highest of any age group. America is only a few percentage points away from being predominately a nation of singles — only 51% of adults are currently married according to 2010 census data, compared to 72% in 1960. Single-person households are skyrocketing, with about 28% of all households now consisting of one person, and a startling 40–50% of all households occupied by singles in cities like Atlanta and Washington, DC. This is not just a result of young people delaying marriage and children; one-third of single households are persons aged 65 and older.

The decline in American civic engagement, social interaction, and social capital has been well documented over the past several decades. Our social compact — the implicit agreement with our government, strengthened through Congressional laws, to provide economic, health, and social security for our children, elders, disabled, and others in need — has become a topic of current political debate. Ageism, in the workplace and on the street, is on the rise. For elders today and boomers turning 66 years old at a clip of 10,000 a day, the golden age of retirement has become a tarnished future at best.

Rebuilding Communities Through Caring Relationships

Despite this bleak picture of social cohesion and interpersonal relationships, there is hope. There are a growing number of movements afoot that empower individuals to take steps to mitigate these forces in their own lives and in their communities. Positive change is within our grasp — and it happens one person, one family, one neighborhood, one community at a time. It begins with caring for ourselves and expands by forging new relationships of caring for one another. Caring relationships manifest through acts of kindness, concern, empathy, nurturance, and understanding for another.

Notably, caring relationships between family, friends, and neighbors cannot be replaced by the caring of institutions or professional services. According to John McKnight (1995).

Service systems can never be reformed so they will “produce” care. Care is the consenting commitment of citizens to one another. Care cannot be produced, provided, managed, organized, administered or commodified. Care is the only thing a system cannot produce. Every institutional effort to replace the real thing is a counterfeit. Care is, indeed, the manifestation of community. The community is the site for the relationships of citizens. And it is at this site that the primary work of a caring society must work. (p. x)

Caring relationships are at the heart of aging in community — and a cornerstone for livable communities for all ages and abilities, as well as a great society. Central to the concept of aging in community is the deliberate consciousness to be “a darn good neighbor.” Relationships between community members tend to be informal, voluntary, and reciprocal, and therefore, sustainable over time. Aging in community promotes social capital — a sense of social trust and interdependence enhanced over time through positive interactions and collaboration in shared interests and pursuits.

Aging in community is philosophically rooted in the “conscious aging” movement that views elderhood as a distinct phase of the human life cycle, with its own gifts and challenges. In aging-in-community projects, the wisdom and experience of elders are honored and opportunities promoted to share this with others in the community. Key to the model is an asset-based community-building approach that taps into individual and group interests, skills, and experience to address the challenges and needs of both individuals and the community.

Aging-in-community projects tend to be made up of local individuals drawn together as a group to address an issue or simply to create a better way of living. Two major axes describe where aging in community takes place. The first axis is the “physical environment” — including new neighborhoods, retrofitted old neighborhoods, apartment or condominium buildings, cohousing communities, housing cooperatives, shared housing, affinity-based housing (e.g., Burbank Senior Artist Colony), and other physical housing and neighborhood structures that are the basis for defining the geographic parameters of the community.

The second axis is the “social software” — the intentional design and enhancement of social relationships, even the incorporation of programs and services — that will improve the quality of life of all residents and ultimately will contribute to the elders’ ability to remain in their own homes or residences of choice and connected to their communities. Examples of social software include community-based health services such as Eden at Home, the Nurse Block Program and Share the Care, cultural enrichment programs like the Circle of Care Project and Elders Share the Arts, civic engagement programs such as the Experience Corp and Connecting Generations, community-building programs such as Community Gardens and Farmers Markets, and so forth.

To the degree that both the physical environment and the social software are brought into alignment from conception, the probability of creating the hoped-for outcome of a supportive neighborhood that enhances an individual’s well-being and quality of life at home and as an integral part of the community across the age continuum exponentially increases.

Key Ingredients for Aging-in-Community Projects

While aging-in-community projects can theoretically occur in any geographic location or social grouping, such as within a church or synagogue, there are some core principles and beliefs which appear to be vital to their success, as outlined in Table 1 below. Central among them is a core group of people who are willing and able to take leadership of the project. While occasionally this leadership has come from outside sources such as non-profit organizations, some of the most long-term success stories have been initiated by elders themselves from the communities they live in or want to live in, as in the case of cohousing, shared housing arrangements, and the Village model.

A great deal of the assistance elders need to stay in their homes and connected to the community are activities that most people are comfortable providing, such as transportation, picking up prescriptions or groceries, home visits, assistance with light housekeeping, and yard work. Likewise, there are many activities that elders can do for others in the community, such as walking younger children to and from the bus stop, editing the community newsletter, cooking a meal for a single working mother, and skills they did before retiring, such as bookkeeping or legal advising.

Thoughtful consideration and discussion should be given to the type of care individuals and the community are willing to provide, particularly around personal care, the type that often will make or break an elder’s ability to remain in their home. Sometimes community and family members are willing to do whatever it takes; in other instances when personal care, such as bathing, dressing, and toileting, is needed, the expectation is that the elder will hire home health services. Notably, in most cases, the care that is needed does not require a professional — no more than a professional is needed to care for the personal needs of an infant. Still, the nature of personal care often makes this the most difficult conversation and topic of negotiation, and one that needs to occur preferably before the need arises.

Once the commitment and leadership have been solidified, there are numerous templates and resources that communities can adapt to identify the strengths and needs of their community (see, for example, the Second Journey’s Creating Community in Later Life: A Resource Guide). Starting with one or two goals and picking low hanging fruit can create a sense of progress and accomplishment. For example, if one of the concerns of residents is that no one will know if an elder is incapacitated and needs assistance, create a “smoke signal” program — have the elder leave the porch light on at night and turn it off in the morning. If the light is still on at 9:00 a.m., that gives the next door neighbor the signal that something might be wrong and the consent to come knock without fear of prying.

The Future of Aging in Community

Across America, as baby boomers celebrate their sixtieth decade birthdays and welcome grandchildren, even great-grandchildren, into the world, it finally is sinking in — we are getting old. Despite the media pondering whether 60 is the new 40, the fact is, we are entering retirement age. For many, for the first time in decades, our lives are wide open. There are no familiar roadmaps and few role models to follow into this new terrain.

Baby boomers, who have by mass and method redefined every other period of their life, are likely to redefine the third age — elderhood — including innovative housing arrangements and supportive networks to navigate the roads of later life. As work and family wind down, some boomers are beginning to reflect back on the peak experiences of youth, when often we lived together, in a variety of households with friends who shared the daily rhythms of life and who really cared for one another. Boomers bonded in ways unheard of by our parents, sharing personally, intimately, deeply with unrelatedpeople outside our families. We bonded in ways that lasted, and we created — sometimes intentionally, sometimes spontaneously, but always authentically — communities of caring and love that resulted in enduring influences long after the physical disbanding of the groups themselves.

A growing number are beginning to rekindle this vision of building custom communities with select friends and kindred spirits. Research reveals that about a quarter of boomers are interested in “building a new home to share with friends that include[s] private space and communal living areas.” Some seek their own version of 50+ active adult living communities, with people their own age, background, and interests. Others are looking for an intergenerational, diverse community of all different walks of life. Some seek rural, back-to-the-land places, while others still yearn for the cultural richness of urban living. One thing is certain. For a substantial number, it won’t be Sun City Centers. Like they did with ice cream, boomers will create a thousand flavors of housing and communities to live out the rest of their lives.

Table 1. Aging-In-Community Beliefs, Values, and Assumptions
The following beliefs are integral to creating aging-in-community projects:

Aging is a normal part of life; it is not a problem.
Most people prefer and benefit from living in intergenerational neighborhoods (senior housing can be part of the larger neighborhood).
Good neighbors balance independence and interdependence.
Being good neighbors enhances the feeling of belonging to a community.
Everyone in a community has something to give and benefits from receiving from others. Good neighbors value reciprocity because giving and receiving strengthens social ties and provides meaning and purpose.
Informal relationships over time build trust, connectedness, and social capital which, like financial capital, can be intentionally earned, stored, and expended to meet our needs.
Most of the help people need can be provided by good neighbors, friends, and family.
Not everyone works full time away from home; therefore, help is often available when needed, especially when planned in advance.
The opportunity to get to know and help others can be enhanced with periodic community get-togethers where information and resources can be shared and planning can occur.
There is leadership and a core group who are willing to take action to support neighbors aging in their homes and staying connected to their communities.
Providing a broad range of care options as well as senior-friendly services (e.g., plumbing and electrical) can be enhanced by partnering with organizations within the larger community.
Each community (and individual) will have to address the threshold of the level of care that they are willing and able to provide to neighbors with physical, mental or cognitive impairment.
(Blanchard, McCarthy, Thomas, and Stambolian, 2011. Unpublished manuscript.)

Connected to the Community: Current Aging-in-Place Choices by Susan Poor

As we age, our needs and interests evolve and change, so our choices of housing should be wide ranging, as should be the spectrum of activities and services.[1]

Most older adults wish to remain in their homes and communities as they age. Today, just 10% of older adults live in supported environments of some kind, with the remaining 90% living in “traditional” housing with no external assistance.[2] By choice and perhaps economic necessity, the large majority of older adults will continue to live as independently as they can for as long as they are able — and will need a range of services and supports to achieve this.

Successful aging in place requires coordination — and ideally integration — at the intersection of housing, health care, non-medical long term services and supports (LTSS), and technology. LTSS components are the services and practical supports that, when absent, may limit peoples’ ability to live independently or encourage them to neglect their medical plan of care, which can lead to poorer health. The supports include such things as caregiving assistance, transportation, grocery shopping, home modification, prepared meals, connection to the larger community, and social capital. This article profiles a number of options that are allowing older adults to age in place, connected to their communities.

Aging: The Big Picture

The American population is aging and living longer. Baby boomers — the oldest of whom began turning 65 in 2011 — can expect to live into their 80s and 90s, giving them a 20-30-year period of phased retirement, encore careers, volunteer activity, and perhaps roles in raising grandchildren, supporting their children, or being caregivers to family members and friends.

As they age, nearly all will have at least one chronic condition, and many will have several. If their health declines, it will likely occur gradually over time, with intermittent periods of inpatient care and more intense medical needs. Some conditions, such as high blood pressure and arthritis, which occur in half the population, will be readily managed in home settings. Advanced stages of other diseases (e.g., dementia, cardiopulmonary disease, stroke, cancer, diabetes, obesity-related conditions) will require intensive care management and a range of medical and non-medical services to support patients and their caregivers. These realities notwithstanding, 85 percent of Medicare beneficiaries with three or more activity limitations still live in traditional housing.[3]

The majority of boomers, like their parents, own their own homes. Some will live with other people; some (primarily women) will live alone or become widowed or divorced during these years. Yet for many, homes have lost value, and retirement savings have diminished due to the 2009 real estate and economic crisis.

Homes may also need basic maintenance as well as modifications in response to owners’ physical needs. While estimates vary, the Employee Benefits Research Institute reports that in 2012, 64 percent of retired Americans had less than $50,000 in their retirement accounts.[4]

Other data indicate that nearly half of middle-income workers will be poor or near poor in retirement.[5] Some may benefit from reverse mortgages, annuities, and other vehicles for increasing their economic security. But poverty will disproportionately impact the heath care, housing, and economic security of low-income and minority individuals and their families.

While nearly all will be covered by Medicare, many will be shocked to learn that Medicare does not cover either residential or community-based long term services and supports (LTSS) and that their access to nursing homes or community-based alternatives means spending down to become Medicaid eligible. They will need, on average, three years of assistance, including one year in a nursing home (currently about $87,000/year) and two years of paid care at home (currently about $36,000/year).[6] As is true today, family and other informal caregivers (e.g., friends and neighbors) are likely to provide the majority of the care older adults will receive.

Aging in Place Considerations

Aging in place has generally meant aging independently while living in the place of one’s choosing for as long as possible. What the overview above makes clear is that aging in place, in the community, is not only the preferred choice of older adults; it may be theonly affordable and available option for many seniors. While publicly funded systems and services exist for those with low incomes, the same supports do not exist for the middle class. Even if older adults wish to move, most will not qualify for subsidized housing and will find other options, such as Continuing Care Retirement Communities (CCRCs) and assisted living, costly. The challenge of the future is therefore to enableaffordable independent living in peoples’ own homes, as the need for services increases and at a time when it is clear that the federal and state governments are not going to lead these efforts for middle-income seniors.

Increasingly, aging in place incorporates the idea of “aging in community” and the necessity of “housing with services.” Aging in community expands the concept of aging in place by including active engagement of older adults in planning and implementing services and supports, maintaining meaningful connections to the surrounding community, and having control over housing and other choices. We must weave together housing with health care, LTSS, and technology so that people have both a place to live and healthcare coverage and the non-medical services and supports that buttress independent living and enhance the success and efficacy of medical interventions.

The role of technology cannot be underestimated in achieving these goals. Advancements in technology for social connections, communication with medical personnel and family, brain fitness, arranging in-home services, diagnosis, medication management, health monitoring, receiving medical services at home, etc., will be groundbreaking in upcoming years. Finding balance in the “hi-tech/hi-touch” equation will play out over a long period of time.

A New Vision of the “Continuum of Care”

Today’s seniors — including baby boomers who have experienced the aging of their parents — are searching for and creating alternatives to the traditional forms of long-term care (skilled nursing facilities, assisted living, or continuing care retirement communities). These settings are increasingly seen as institutional and out of sync with consumers’ preference to age in their own homes and stay meaningfully connected to their communities. That said, there is a “culture change” movement afoot that is impacting institutional long-term care facilities and encouraging a shift in focus from the needs and ease of the institution to those of the resident and family. Key to this transformational shift is emphasis on “person-centered care” or “resident-directed care.”

Person-Centered or Resident-Directed Care is an ongoing, interactive process between residents, caregivers, and others that honors the residents’ dignity and choices in directing their daily life. This is accomplished through shared communication, education, and collaboration. Relationships developed as part of this process benefit all involved, creating a community that affirms the dignity and value of each individual who lives and works in the nursing home.[7]

The current and ever-expanding spectrum of choices for places and support services for aging — ranging from the medical model of skilled nursing facilities to emerging models of programs that support aging in place in one’s own home — is almost mind-numbing. Following the conclusion of this article, you will find a descriptive compendium that includes examples of transformational change occurring within the more traditional models of long-term care settings as well as within the community.

Thinking About the Future

No sector of the U.S. economy will be untouched by the doubling of the age 65+ population over the next 30 years to 20 percent of the population — 80 million people, one in five of us. Twenty-two percent of the older population (19 million people) will be age 85+, half of whom will have dementia. Is the near universal desire of older adults to age in their homes and communities a pipe dream or the only affordable option we have as a society?

It is more affordable if we “operationalize” the value of non-medical LTSS. Vermont’s Blueprint for Health recognizes the difference between evidence-based medicine and evidence-based health. Leaders there discovered that evidence-based medicine doesn’t work, because physicians have limited, if any, knowledge about obstacles patients live with at home and in their communities that keep them from doing what physicians recommend. In an evidence-based health model, community health teams that include physicians, nurses, social workers, and behavioral health counselors help tie medical care together with real-life issues such as transportation, insurance problems, housing, and unemployment. Based on its evidence-based health approach, Vermont has seen reductions in hospital admissions, emergency department visits, and lower monthly costs per person.[8]

Isolation is another factor that, when left unchecked, can have a severe impact on health status and therefore costs. Data show that social connections — friends, family, neighbors, or colleagues — improve our odds of survival by 50 percent. Low social interaction is equivalent to smoking 15 cigarettes a day, equivalent to being an alcoholic, more harmful than not exercising, and twice as harmful as obesity.[9] Further, receiving social, non-medical supports decreases morbidity and mortality rates and increases life expectancy, self-efficacy, adherence to medication regimes, and self-reported health status.[10]

To extend the resources available to upcoming generations of older adults, it is critical that housing, health care, and LTSS models be linked (and enhanced by technology) to take advantage of low-cost “aging in place, connected to community” models such as Villages, NORC SSPs (Naturally Occurring Retirement Community Supportive Services Programs), TimeBanks, grassroots caregiving models, neighborhood associations, block captain approaches, and church and other faith-based networks. All of these models have strong civic engagement, volunteers, and mutual assistance cultures that can strengthen communities while supporting the individuals who live in them.

We will need many innovative housing and LTSS choices for the burgeoning older adult population. We cannot ignore the need for consumer direction, safe dwellings, and holistic, humane settings for those needing skilled or custodial care in group environments. But we can greatly expand the range of non-medical LTSS by shining a brighter light on the wealth of social capital that exists in most communities and inspiring the creation of innovative ideas and solutions.

A Compendium of Options

Skilled nursing facilities, formerly called nursing homes, are nursing and healthcare facilities licensed by the state which provide a residence for elders who need skilled nursing and assistance with LTSS. Many provide additional services such as dental care, mental health care, dementia care, pain management, and palliative care. Medicare covers short-term rehabilitation stays but does not pay for elders who have longer–term needs. For those with long-term acute or chronic healthcare needs, they will have to pay out of pocket until they “spend down” their assets to become eligible for Medicaid, which covers costs for those who are low-income. Long-term care insurance can also be a vehicle for covering costs for a time period specified in the contract. In 2011, the average annual cost of a private room in a nursing home was $87,235.

Assisted living facilities provide a residence to elders who need some support with such activities as dressing, bathing, or cooking, or who want a more supportive environment (e.g., dining room meals, planned social activities, transportation), but who do not require skilled nursing care. Smaller settings for up to six people may be called adult foster care, adult family homes, supportive care homes, and board and care homes. Most assisted living facilities only accept private pay or long-term care insurance. A few states offer fee-waiver programs for low-income elders. Assisted living costs in 2011 were about $3,500/month or $42,000/year.[11]

Congregate care facilities combine private living apartments with centralized dining services, shared common spaces, and some LTSS, including meal preparation, housework, and outside the facility shopping and healthcare appointments. Some contract for healthcare services, but congregate facilities are not licensed to provide care services such as bathing, dressing, and toileting. Congregate care is an industry segment between independent living and the health-related services of the assisted living facility. Costs are slightly less than those of assisted living.

Continuing Care Retirement Communities (CCRCs) provide a continuum of care as a resident’s health changes, from independent living apartments, to assisted living, to skilled nursing care, although not all residents move through the continuum. Most CCRCs require a one-time entrance fee ranging from $250,000 to upwards of $700,000 and monthly service fees of $2,000-$4,000 or more. CCRCs typically offer at least one of three contract types: 1) life care (Type A) where the entrance fee is nonrefundable (or refundable on a declining balance approach) while monthly fees are fixed regardless of the level of care the resident requires; 2) modified life care (Type B) where the entrance fee is usually refundable in part and the resident is entitled to some period of free care (e.g., 60 days) or at a reduced cost when the resident moves to a higher level of care; and 3) fee for service (Type C) where the entrance fee is almost always refundable but the resident pays market rate if a higher level of care is needed. Many CCRCs accept Medicare in the skilled nursing section of the community, and some are beginning to address residents with long-term-care insurance, but otherwise no third party reimbursement is available to cover the fees associated with CCRCs.

Green Houses® are small, home-like, skilled nursing facilities for six to ten people that focus on a holistic approach to care and services. They are designed to provide an alternative to institutional long-term care, with an emphasis on honoring seniors’ dignity, privacy, and autonomy by providing meaningful activity and relationships, independence, and improved quality of care. Green House architectural hallmarks are an open kitchen, a hearth, a single dining room table, and lots of natural light, creating a home-like atmosphere rather than the often more sterile environment of a large nursing facility. The organization and philosophy of care of these homes are transformative, with an emphasis on creating a small, intentional community and an emphasis on person-centered care. The costs are comparable to those of nursing homes; currently about half of Green House residences are covered by Medicaid.

Alternative Assisted Living Facilities are a small but growing number of assisted living facilities that are embracing a more holistic care model in response to consumer demand for person-directed care. For example, in Oregon, Elite Care’s Extended Family Residences provide resident-directed assisted living in a home-like environment. Embedded in their philosophy is a culture of mutual reciprocity, family involvement, and engagement of residents who might otherwise need to be in a skilled nursing facility due to high physical care needs or dementia.

Section 202 Supportive Housing for the Elderly is the only federally funded housing program specifically for low-income seniors, although other subsidized housing programs do include older adults. Section 202 Housing provides secure, barrier-free, and supportive housing that can accommodate residents as they become more frail. Services commonly available include transportation, assistance with housekeeping and meals, and some social and health services, usually provided in partnership with other community providers.

CCRCs Without Walls — also called Continuing Care at Home (CCAH) models — are less expensive alternatives to “brick and mortar” Continuing Care Retirement Communities. Sometimes managed by staff affiliated with existing CCRCs, these home-based programs offer the continuum of care concept to community residents who do not wish to live in a CCRC or can’t afford to, but who want access to services such as home health aides, visiting nurses, and transportation that could delay or even prevent the need to move away for care. Care Coordination is a key aspect of these community-based plans. Like CCRCs, there are both “Type A” and “Type B” continuing-care-at-home plans. Type A plans typically offer unlimited lifetime coverage and require up-front entrance fees ranging from $20,000 to $70,000, and monthly fees from approximately $250 to $800 per month. In Type B plans, the subscriber shares some portion of the financial responsibility for care and, as a result, fees are significantly lower. The entrance fee, which can be paid over time, is typically equivalent to the total fees for a full year and ranges from $3,000 to $7,000 depending on age at enrollment. Type B plans are especially appealing because subscribers don’t feel as though they are paying for something that they may never use. Like the Village model, most CCRCs Without Walls seek to promote a sense of community through organized events, from exercise classes and book clubs to theater nights and museum tours. There are currently CCAH plans operating in ten states, including the District of Columbia.

Villages are consumer-driven, grassroots, membership-based organizations that empower older adults to remain active and engaged in their communities as they age. Villages offer members a network of resources, services, programs, and activities that revolve around community building; daily living needs; social, cultural, and educational activities; ongoing health and wellness; and member-to-member volunteer support. Ninety Villages are now in operation across the country. Villages average 150 members with annual membership fees ranging from $100-$1,200.

Age-restricted communities, also called senior retirement or active adult communities, provide market rate housing to healthy, active seniors, generally age 55 and older, who wish to live among their peers rather than in mixed-age communities. Supportive services are not provided, and residents may need to move should their health conditions change requiring more care.

Naturally Occurring Retirement Communities (NORCs) is a demographic term used to describe typical communities or neighborhoods where a large number of residents have lived for a long time and have aged in place. AARP estimates that about 5,000 NORCs exist across the country; these concentrations of older adults can facilitate the organization of supportive communities. In some NORC communities, non-profit organizations have partnered with other agencies to create Supportive Services Programs (SSPs) that include social services, healthcare services, and socialization, recreation, and volunteer opportunities for residents. NORC SSPs are designed to be responsive to individual and community needs, and they depend on resident involvement and community partnerships to maximize success.

Accessory Dwelling Units (ADUs) are a type of housing created or added to a single family home or built separately on a lot. In-law units, “granny flats,” and restored out-buildings are examples of ADUs. Consumers can lease and purchase ADUs (if their local zoning laws permit them) through such companies as MedCottages™, which provide prefabricated 12-by-24-foot bedroom-bathroom-kitchenette units that can be set up as a free-standing structure in a back yard and include state-of-the-art technology features.

Shared Housing is an arrangement in which a homeowner provides space for a tenant and, in return, receives income and/or needed assistance. It also includes individuals jointly sharing the housing expenses. Shared housing allows older adults to stay in their homes while benefitting from companionship, assistance, and mutual support.

Cohousing or Cluster Housing models create intentional neighborhoods by designing residential developments around shared and jointly owned common areas. Cohousing supports independence but promotes interconnectedness, mutual assistance, community interaction, and a degree of community management. Elder Cohousing communities are built by midlife to older adults and focus on the unique needs of this population.

Senior Cooperative Housing is a housing model popular in rural communities that provides apartments and townhomes that residents own and run cooperatively, although some hire a management company to assist in managing the property. Commonly owned amenities include a community room, kitchen, gardens, workshops, laundry facilities, and exercise room. There are usually a number of resident-directed social programs such as book club and gardening clubs, pot lucks, and games and activities in the common room. Like elder cohousing, because of density they make a good location for community partnerships that serve older adults, such as a congregate meal site or health clinics such as a flu vaccine site.

Community-Based Services are an integral part of the network providing critical services to older adults and invaluable support and respite for family caregivers.

PACE (the Program of All-Inclusive Care for the Elderly) fully integrates Medicare and Medicaid financing as well as medical and social supports, with services delivered through Adult Day Health Centers and home care. About 20,000 people in 29 states are served by PACE programs.
Hospice is an integrated, end-of-life medical/social model that supports families with a full range of skilled home health care and supportive services when a person is diagnosed with a terminal illness and has a life expectancy of six months or less. Hospice benefits are usually covered under Medicare, Medicaid in most states, insurance plans, as well as private pay, depending on individual circumstances.
Senior Centers provide a wide array of services, including socialization/civic engagement opportunities, information and assistance, meals and nutrition counseling, transportation, options counseling, wellness programs, etc., often at very low cost or even free for qualified seniors. Over 60 percent are delivery sites for Older Americans Act programs and services. Many senior centers are reinventing themselves to appeal to a broader range of community residents. The country’s 11,000 senior centers serve 1 million older adults every day.
Adult Day Centers provide a range of services for older adults. Social centers provide meals, recreation, and some health-related services. Medical/health centers provide social activities as well as more intensive health and therapeutic services. Specialized centers provide services to specific care recipients, such as those with diagnosed dementias or developmental disabilities. Adult Day Centers also serve as sites for Chronic Disease Self-Management Programs. About 4,600 adult day centers across the country serve over 260,000 people.

Innovative Community Models

Mather Lifeways Café Plus model serves up fun and educational, wellness-related programs and activities in pleasant café surroundings. The Café Plus model has been appealing to senior centers looking at new ways to attract older adults.
Episcopal Senior Communities Senior Center Without Walls program is a nondenominational free telephone program connecting California elders through activities, friendship, and community. From the comfort of their homes, participants can access an assortment of classes and support groups, when going to a community senior center is difficult.
The Living At Home Network in Minnesota coordinates local volunteers, health professionals, and a wealth of other resources to help older residents stay in their own homes and connected to their communities.

Innovative Grassroots Support and Caregiving Models represent an innovative wave of services and programs to support seniors living in their homes and their caregivers. These models harness the social capital within the community and utilize the individual assets of people willing to volunteer their assistance to provide care.

Share the Care brings together friends and family in an organized network to provide supports and services for people who are chronically ill, terminally ill, or disabled.
Lotsa Helping Hands provides a free, Web-based service that develops communities for organizing circles of community during times of need.
TimeBanks represents “pay it forward” models that allow members to perform a service for another member, in the process earning a “time dollar” that can be redeemed for an hour of time volunteered by another member.
Tyze Networks provides private online communities centered around one person needing friendship, support, and connection.
The Transition Network’s Caring Collaborative provides member-to-member volunteer support for health-related needs.

¹ See “The Roseto effect: a 50-year comparison of mortality rates” at http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1695733/.

¹ Henry Cisneros, Margaret Dyer-Chamberlain, and Jane Hickie, eds., Independent for Life: Homes and Neighborhoods for an Aging America (Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, 2012).

² Independent for Life.

³ Independent for Life.

⁴ Helman, R., et.al., “The 2012 Retirement Confidence Survey,” Employee Benefit Research Institute, March 2012. (accessed August 31, 2012).

⁵ Teresa Ghilarducci, “Our ridiculous approach to retirement,” New York Times, July 21, 2012.(accessed August 31, 2012).

⁶ MetLife Mature Market Institute, “Market survey of long-term care costs” (New York: Metropolitan Life Insurance Company, October 2011). (accessed August 31, 2012).

⁷ Wisconsin Coalition for Person Directed Care. www.wisconsinpdc.org.

⁸ Pauline Chen, “When doctor’s advice is ignored at home,” New York Times, March 10, 2011. (accessed August 31, 2012).

⁹ Julianne Holt-Lunstad, Timothy B. Smith, and J. Bradley Layton, “Social relationships and mortality risk: A meta-analytic review,” PLoS Medicine, July 10, 2010. (accessed August 31, 2012).

¹⁰ Michele Heisler, “Building peer support programs to manage chronic disease: Seven models for success” (California HealthCare Foundation, December, 2006).

¹¹ MetLife Mature Market Institute.

Susan Poor, M.P.H., is the Director of Innovation and Business Development at On Lok in San Francisco. She is a specialist in community approaches to aging, the Village model, long term services and supports (LTSS) for older adults, end-of-life care, family caregiving, health care reform, and managed care. Prior to joining On Lok, Susan worked with the Village-to-Village Network to replicate Villages nationwide. As Owner/Principal of Susan Poor Consulting, she worked with local governments and nonprofit providers on a wide range of aging and health-related projects. Susan is a Founder and Board Member of San Francisco Village, Co-Chair of the San Francisco Long Term Care Coordinating Council, and West Coast Director of Outreach for Share The Care. In her work with On Lok and the Village movement, Susan is a leader in focusing attention on the LTSS needs of middle-income seniors.

Online Surveys Engage Older Adults in Community Planning by Mia Oberlink

Among its many benefits, the Internet is facilitating direct communication across different sectors of society as never before. Anyone with a computer and an Internet connection has the opportunity to express his or her opinions and needs to a variety of audiences. Under the right circumstances, this can create positive change swiftly and effectively.

A recent New York Times article provides a good illustration of how female consumers are influencing cosmetic companies by participating in online conversations. In their efforts to stay fresh and up to date, cosmetic companies are constantly discontinuing old products and introducing new ones. The rub is that many women prefer the old products. Now, through company-run Internet chat lines and social media sites, women are expressing their preferences, and the cosmetic companies are listening. “Until recently, these consumers had little recourse other than to register complaints with manufacturers’ service centers,” writes the author. But now, thanks to the Internet, the companies are receiving timely input from customers and responding by reissuing the discontinued products. “It’s literally reshaping how the market is driven,” said one analyst. “The consequence of a poor decision could take 18 months to two years to filter back to the head office,” said one executive. “With social media you can take an instant read.”

This concept works not only in commerce but also in the public arena, where the Internet is facilitating communication between groups that in the past rarely had direct, instantaneous access to one another. The Internet allows like-minded people to find one another, exchange ideas, and become a collective force capable of influencing decision-making. Voters can easily reach their elected officials and make their opinions known; community residents can easily alert local government departments about pressing community problems and needs.

An Instant Read on Older Adults’ Opinions

Another effective, low-cost way to engage older people in civic matters is the online survey. The AdvantAge Initiative has developed a survey tool and planning process which allows a community to measure — and improve — its “aging friendliness.” Collecting older adults’ perceptions of and experiences in their communities becomes the first step toward involving them in the process of making their communities more livable.

The philosophy driving the AdvantAge Initiative approach is that community planning needs to include roles for the people most affected by decisions and actions that result from the planning process. Once older residents weigh in with their thoughts and opinions, they then become active stakeholders who can help implement whatever plans emerge. While this may seem patently obvious to readers, it’s surprising how often communities fail to take these important, necessary steps!

AdvantAge Online Surveys Reveal Problems

The AdvantAge Initiative team recently conducted an online survey in two urban neighborhoods that illustrates many of the points made so far. Over 1,200 adults age 60 and above responded to the survey. An extensive marketing campaign encouraging people to take the survey was conducted with the assistance of many neighborhood associations, providers of health and social services, elected officials, and others. In promoting the survey, these same groups became stakeholders in the survey process and joined an advisory group that helped interpret the survey findings.

The survey asked older people their opinions about what they thought about their neighborhoods and how they could be made better places for older people in which to live. Demographic characteristics (age, gender, marital status, living arrangements, health status) of the respondents were also collected along with information about their social networks, care needs, activity levels, and knowledge of available services.

The answers to questions that asked residents how they got around the neighborhoods proved particularly useful to the sponsoring organization whose mission was to advocate for improvements in the built environment (e.g., housing, sidewalks, streets) in addition to improving older adults’ knowledge of and access to existing services.

When all the responses were tallied, these key issues emerged: over 71% of respondents cited heavy traffic as a big problem in their neighborhood, 27% thought streets and sidewalks in the neighborhoods needed repair, and 15% felt that traffic lights allowed too little time for pedestrians to cross the streets. A follow-up series of open-ended questions asking what changes they would make to improve conditions for older people in the neighborhood identified the same issues. Here is a small sampling of some of the comments we received:

I live in an area with streets that permit truck traffic. Although there are recent changes that give pedestrians some more protection from autos and trucks, I am loath to cross the streets at night.

I would work to reduce traffic deaths to pedestrians and make this a safer neighborhood for seniors to walk in.

[I would] eliminate hazardous pedestrian crossing areas by having lights with a countdown, and varying them according to the crossing time needed, especially for seniors and people with disabilities.

Similar comments addressed pedestrian safety issues, including references to the dangers that bicyclists who don’t follow traffic rules pose to pedestrians, sidewalk curb cuts that need to be improved for people in wheelchairs and scooters, and uneven pavements that cause pedestrians to trip and fall. The overall instant read was that older people and people with disabilities in these two neighborhoods are very much at risk when they leave their homes and try to navigate the streets.

Because this was a physical safety issue involving traffic flow and pedestrian crossings, the feedback the survey had generated was immediately taken to the city Department of Transportation. Interestingly, we learned that the department already had plans to install pedestrian countdown signals in neighborhoods throughout the city. These signals let pedestrians know how many seconds they have to cross the street before the light changes, and many survey respondents had urged their use. While a decision to install the signals was in the works, the department had not yet prioritized which neighborhoods would get the new signals first. The survey findings and the respondents’ comments made a very compelling argument for beginning the installation process in the two neighborhoods surveyed.

…But It Also Reveals Community Assets

Through our surveys we also learned some important things about how older residents feel about their role in community life. Several of the respondents pointed out the need for seniors to get involved in making their neighborhoods better places to live. One respondent wrote, “More outreach programs [are] needed to make citizens aware of how they can personally get involved in community affairs and problems existing on a particular block in the neighborhood…” Another said, “[We need to] make a real effort to get 90% turnout in every election and make the politicians take our neighborhoods’ concerns seriously.” Still another said, “[We need to] identify the seniors in the community and actively seek their participation in community affairs.”

Survey findings and comments also strongly indicated that older individuals are seeking more personal involvement in meaningful activities. One respondent said, for example: “Programs for seniors should be more interesting and vibrant to keep them involved and growing, with many activities for them other than just games for the old! We need things that will keep us going.”

While we found that most of the survey respondents are active in many different ways, they seem to crave even more engagement in community life. Nearly a quarter of the respondents said they are working either part or full time, and another 11% said they work occasionally. Nearly half of the respondents said that they volunteer — tutoring or mentoring young people, supporting programs that deliver services to older adults, advocating for political causes, and in many other ways. The vast majority of respondents — 60% or more — had gotten together with friends or neighbors or engaged in some other kind of social activity in the past week. Yet while nearly the same percentage (60%) of respondents said that they are happy with their level of work, volunteering, and social activity, nearly 40% said that they would like to be doing more. Again, some respondent comments are good illustrations:

The senior center at [a local church] is wonderful. I hope the community leaders will give that program support and money. I should volunteer there… This survey made me realize that I don’t do enough for others. Thanks for making me realize it.

Another respondent wrote:

In my case, I am in good health and have a good business and financial background. If there was a [way to] put my services to some use for seniors, or for any other residents that might need them, I would consider that very productive for all parties concerned.

The Survey as a Call to Action

The AdvantAge Initiative survey not only gave us the opportunity to learn a great deal about older people and conditions in the two neighborhoods — it was also an invitation to older adults to get involved in making their communities better places to live, not only for themselves but also for residents of all ages. Judging from the number of completed surveys and extensive comments we received, many older people in these two neighborhoods want to have a voice and meaningful roles in community life, and taking the survey seriously and sharing their thoughts was a first step toward potential ongoing involvement in community improvement. Just knowing that others are interested in their opinions prompted one respondent to comment, “I appreciate that there are those who care enough to want to know about us through this survey.”

Older adults’ willingness to get involved seems to be there; the challenge, of course, will be to keep older adults engaged over the long term. This means taking active steps to remain attentive to their voices and periodically take that instant read of their concerns; mobilizing older adults by providing meaningful roles for those who want to actively work on resolving community issues; finding ways for interested older adults to use their knowledge and skills to help others; and last but certainly not least, celebrating their contributions whenever the opportunities arise.

Mia Oberlink, M.A., is a Senior Research Associate at the Center for Home Care Policy and Research (CHCPR) of the Visiting Nurse Service of New York. She manages the AdvantAge Initiative, a project that has collaborated with over 50 communities nationwide to measure their elder-friendliness and develop strategies to help older residents age in place. She is the Director of the technical assistance office that provides support to the grantees of the U.S. Administration on Community Living program, Community Innovations for Aging in Place (CIAIP). For more information about the AdvantAge Initiative, please visit their Web site: advantageinitiative.org.

The Ties that Bind by Tobi A. Abramson

The current cohort of older adults is comprised of the generation who were at the forefront of developing and cultivating the growth of suburbia. Suburbia provided numerous, multifaceted opportunities for social connection to one’s neighbors and community. However, as this cohort ages and experiences age-related physical challenges, this suburban reality — once an innocuous choice for a good quality of life — may now be fraught with less than optimal consequences. Buffers to these consequences, paired simultaneously with opportunities for vitality in one’s later years may be found in one’s social networks and in the social capital within one’s community.

What are social networks and social capital ? Since both are both key components to successful aging in community, an explanation of the two concepts is in order. The fundamental difference between the two relates to how and to whom we are connected. Our social networks tend to be composed of those individuals with whom we have social ties and from whom we receive social support on a personal level. They are dynamic, and our affiliations within these networks can — and usually do — change over time. On the other hand, our social capital refers to our deep social connections and resources within our larger communities. Social capital is more of a collective dimension focusing on the social relationships between groups of people, whereas social networks reflect an individual dimension. According to Robert Putnam, noted author of Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community, “‘Social capital’ refers to features of social organization such as networks, norms, and social trust that facilitate coordination and cooperation for mutual benefit.”

Although these two concepts are intertwined, it is possible to have few individual social ties or little personal social support while at the same time having rich social community connections within one’s environment. Communities with high social capital typically respond best to external physical and health threats (e.g., natural disasters), and this is true even for older adults who may be socially isolated.

The Value of Social Networks

Throughout one’s life, individuals are embedded in a variety of different interpersonal relationships that include family, friends, and neighbors. The value of these social networks increases as one ages. How extensively one engages with one’s networks has a lot to do with availability, frequency of contact, and proximity to other people.

Those with the largest social networks tend to be married people with higher levels of education and income. Additionally, those in the early years of later life — the “young-old” (65–74 years of age) — are more likely to be part of larger social networks than their “old–old” counterparts (75+ years of age). For these younger individuals, social networks include more non-family members. Not surprisingly, unmarried older men living alone are typically part of the most circumscribed social networks. In addition, one’s functional status influences one’s social connections: physical impairments lower the amounts of family and friend support.

The type of social network one belongs to — friend focused, neighbor focused, family focused, faith based, or restricted in focus and composition — is also a key indicator of social capital. Different types of networks have different outcomes for older adults. Those who are part of a diverse or friend-focused social network are apt to have the widest range of social connections and, consequently, the best outcomes — regardless of physical health status or other demographic characteristics. Interestingly, having family connections available (independent of the quality of these relationships) either lowers or has no impact on one’s morale. Thus, just having family around is not enough to affect older adults’ sense of well-being (which includes such subjective measures as morale, happiness, and life satisfaction).

Our physical and mental health is also impacted by our connection to others. In times of stress, social networks help to minimize the psychological distress. Those integrated into social networks experience less anxiety. This is significant, because anxiety has been linked to older adults’ suffering from and experience of medical illnesses, cognitive decline, sleep disturbances, and even hospitalization. Being lonely — not being connected to or part of a social network — has also been shown to be a reliable predictor of cognitive decline, mortality, depression, self-harm or suicide, as well as problems with alcohol and drug use. In general, those with few social connections tend to have higher rates of major mental disorders.

The Role of Social Capital

Social capital is a critical component of successful aging. With age, the experience of loss increases at the same time one’s social network is shrinking. As a consequence, older adults may become less dependent on their individual social networks and more dependent on the social capital within their communities. Similar to social networks, social capital positively impacts both physical and mental health, increasing life expectancy and decreasing rates of diseases such as cancer, cardiovascular disease, obesity, and diabetes.

Social involvement has been likened to the happiness of increasing one’s income. Joining a group can reduce — by half — the risk of dying within the next year. Rates of depression and substance abuse problems decrease. Having a sense of purpose, feeling needed and useful — these add meaning to one’s life and combat depression. Being able to depend on one’s neighbors, the availability of neighborhood or community services, and social cohesion (interdependency among neighbors) all serve as buffers to life’s stressors and lessen the adverse effect of the losses and declines older adults, especially those who are poor and single, experience.

As its population ages, social capital within a community naturally declines. It therefore becomes critical for adults of all ages to build their social capital throughout their lives, so that they can reap the benefits of their investment during their later years.

Thriving Where We Live

Where to live one’s later years is not an easy decision for older adults. The decision is often presented as a false dichotomy — the choice to remain in one’s current home (for many, the home they raised their families in) or to relocate (to retirement communities, assisted living facilities, or other long-term-care settings). Though numerous technical advances have made aging in place a more viable option than in the past, many of these same advances can actually create a more asocial environment for many older adults. Aging in one’s own home has to be more than the ability to age in place; it must include the ability to continue to function and, yes, thrive in one’s community.

Communities must be able to provide opportunities for older adults to engage in and leverage the community’s social capital with appropriate social, cultural, educational, and religious opportunities. An efficacious community is one that provides these avenues of support. Examples can range from neighborhood-based volunteer programs or projects (like mentoring), to social clubs, to creative engagement. Libraries are becoming centers of activity, and research increasingly indicates that involvement in the arts has a wide range of mutual benefits for the individual and the community. This need to participate in lifelong learning, civic engagement, and cultural enrichment and religious activities will only continue to grow.

We would be remiss not to anchor this discussion in its important historical context. The generation now entering later life is the boomer generation noted for its high levels of civic participation, community involvement, and social capital. As a generation, they have long been accustomed to entertaining and socializing with friends, family, and neighbors at home. We know that volunteering has increased over the last 10 years, due mainly to the retiree workforce. Consequently, this generation is often referred to as the civic generation. They are used to giving back to and staying involved with their community. The challenge, then, is how to maintain this lifelong civic participation with rich social capital and social networks so that, when faced with the demands of aging and less-than-ideal housing alternatives, they can continue to thrive.

As the range of living arrangements has evolved — moving from institutional options to assisted living, to aging in place, to livable communities — the focus, both of the environments and the professionals serving within those environments, is also evolving. Transportation; safety; ADA compliance; affordable, accessible, and appropriate housing; adjusting the physical environment for accessibility; and creating walkable communities — these were the issues that livable communities initiatives usually focused on. What was often lacking in such initiatives was how to move beyond physical needs and be more inclusive of the social and psychological components of living.

It is only now that we are beginning to detect yet another shift — a further evolution beyond livable communities to a new focus on aging in community. The robustness of this new option depends upon our ability to strengthen and leverage the social capital for older adults. This means encouraging participation in a wide range of civic, cultural, social, and recreational activities. The organizations that exist within communities are a starting point for such an effort. Families, and even long-time friends, may be too spread out to fulfill some of the social network needs; consequently, the social capital within the community becomes critical for older adults wanting to maintain their independence and autonomy within their homes and communities.

Keep in mind that this is not one directional. Not only do older adults benefit from the social capital of their communities, they too give back in myriad ways and are a vital component of the community fabric. Many older adults are looking for ways to make meaningful contributions to their communities. For those that do, the benefits are not only physical, but also psychological.

Conclusion

Increasing longevity and the enormous growth of the aging population require a reappraisal of how we engage older adults to help them thrive in their later years. The need to belong is a fundamental human need which directs thoughts, emotions, and interpersonal interactions. Older adults face many barriers that prevent them from remaining part of their community, and there is a strong need to develop strategies to allow them to not only continue to reside in their communities, but to stay engaged and thrive within these milieus. Joining new groups and being involved in organized groups with some consistency greatly impacts both physical and mental health. Community connectedness can make a tremendous difference in the lives of older adults. Greater access to social capital and connections to one’s community not only will enhance the well-being of older adults, but allow them to successfully age in community.

Tobi Abramson, Ph.D., is Director of the Center for Gerontology and Geriatrics, an Assistant Professor of Mental Health Counseling at New York Institute of Technology, and an Adjunct Assistant Professor of Family Medicine at New York College of Osteopathic Medicine. For over 25 years, Dr. Abramson has served in leadership roles on numerous national boards and professional associations in the fields of gerontology, geriatric medicine, and mental health.

We All Share the Same Sky by Teddi Shattuck

During the Great Depression, I was fortunate to grow up with six sisters on 66 acres in Rockfall, Connecticut. I often wandered all day through the woods and fields, discovering the natural beauty that surrounded me. I learned to immerse myself in the changing seasons, not only the endless patterns and colors of Mother Nature’s palette, but also the natural and man-made sounds which transformed into designs in my mind. I remember, for example, the sound of the electric wires humming in the frigid, early mornings, as I waited for the school bus. Later in the day, I tried to visually interpret these sounds into colors and designs on paper. Color fascinated me with the play of light, and to this day this interplay is a major influence in all of my work.

In spite of the economic challenges of the day and coming from a large family, we were blessed with parents who encouraged each of us in our goals. One of my favorite Christmas gifts of childhood was my first small black box of water colors. It was truly Pandora’s box, introducing me to the magic, mystery, and discovery of color. I kept the paint box long after the colors were gone. Color, design, and patterns became the magical ingredients that have mesmerized me for hours ever since.

After high school I was thrilled to be accepted into Rhode Island School of Design. For the next two years, an entire new world opened to me. Sadly, for financial reasons, I was unable to complete my degree. The exposure and knowledge I gained, however, have stayed with me all my life.

Marriage took me to Atlanta, and “30-too-long-years” later divorce took me to California to join my four children who migrated there. Three of my children enjoy successful careers in the arts: My son Dwayne is an accomplished artist and an award-winning producer for the hit TV series, “Mad Men.” My daughter Shari is a successful actress as well as a critically acclaimed author, and my daughter Stephanie has a rewarding career teaching art. My youngest daughter, Shawna, has a fulfilling career in family counseling.

As a travel agent and an intrepid explorer, I have traveled to over 100 countries, often for extended stays. I have used a pencil or paints to document my journeys and to share them with others. Painting is my passion, but it is also a language I use to communicate my experiences and impressions of people, places, nature, and other cultures.

I believe that one of the most effective methods of diplomacy and problem-solving in the world is through one-on-one human interactions. Blessed with the ability to travel, I strive to be a goodwill ambassador, creating lasting friendships and tangible pieces of art as I go. Additionally, creating art is part of my cathartic process — it is both a way of depicting the spiritual essence of my journey, as well as a visual reminder of my travels through life. I am profoundly influenced by stimulating new environments. I revel in the scents, the dissonant sounds, the myriad faces, and fantastic happenings. In response to such intense sensory input, I feel compelled to put pen or paint to paper to capture these feelings and emotions. In this heightened state of total immersion in the creative mind I lose all sense of time, and it often evokes feelings I did not know I had. Pouring color after color onto canvas or paper, deeply lost in the work, I never know where the work will take me, nor the results; but the work itself guides me forward.

One of my favorite destinations is Egypt. Recently I was invited to return to paint a mural at a school in El Qusair on the Red Sea. This ancient town was once a major port for pilgrims making the dangerous crossing to Mecca. Centuries later it became a mining town, and today it’s a sleepy forgotten seaside village. The mural covers a 20-foot wall, depicting many endangered African animals, such as an elephant, zebra, rhinoceros, lion, and a variety of birds. It was designed to educate children about African animals in need of protection. I enjoyed watching the delight and wonder in their faces as the animals appeared. I do not speak Arabic, nor they English, but pictures transcend language barriers.

I often thought when I was younger that when I retired I would have plenty of time to paint and pursue all the things I wanted to do. At 76, however, I am busier and more creative than ever before! I live in California in Burbank Senior Artists Colony. One of the things I appreciate about living here is having an art studio accessible 24/7, as it allows me to work late at night in a safe place. The camaraderie and the sharing of ideas and critiques are all conducive to a productive work environment. While living here I have discovered my love of writing. In five years, I have written three plays, all of which have been performed in our in-house theater.

I mentor and work at a school for at-risk kids. They are my inspiration. Most have had horrible life experiences, and we try to help them express their feeling and anger through art. Many are very gifted, and just being with them as someone who cares and shares inspires me. Our joint projects have included a film written and filmed with our help, Claymation, and various art projects. I see this raw talent and try to nurture their efforts, giving them guidance; but I receive so much more than I give.

In between creative projects, I still travel. My next trip will be an eco-adventure tour of Dutch Guiana (Surinam). I have been blessed with a life of boundless joy, colored by every hue in the rainbow.

When it is time for me to leave this earth, I will ask God to put a paint brush in my hand so I can paint rainbows across the sky. We all share the same sky.

Teddi Shattuck studied art at Rhode Island School of Design, Georgia State, University of Georgia Studies Abroad in Cortona, Italy, Glendale College Studies Abroad in Prague, Czech Republic, and with private teachers. With an extensive background in art history and as an avid traveler, her journeys to over 100 countries profoundly influence her work. Teddi’s paintings are in many corporate and private collections throughout the world. She lives at Burbank Senior Artist Colony in Burbank, CA.

Life at Beacon Hill Village by Susan McWhinney-Morse

I have belonged to a “village” — that new aging in community concept — in downtown Boston for over 10 years. Beacon Hill Village is a member-driven organization for local residents 50 and older, which provides programs and services so that members can lead active, vibrant, and healthy lives while living in their own homes and neighborhoods as they age. For many, that will be for as long as they live. For others less fortunate, the choice to stay at home may become more complex, sometimes impossible. But the fact remains that most of us want to be autonomous, linked to our own neighborhoods and able to pursue our own lifestyle as we age.

The elements that enable us to thrive — and I believe most village members feel they do — vary greatly from person to person and from month to month. I rarely avail myself of all the opportunities and services that our village has to offer. I am healthy, happily married to an active retired lawyer, and surrounded by wonderful family. Life is good. Yet I depend on our village in a very deep sense. And, I really love our village.

I love our village because it espouses community engagement, healthy lifestyles, and intellectual stimulation; it is run by and for our members; but it mandates nothing, and it has no requirements or restrictions other than paying an annual fee.

I love our village because it is reflective of the neighborhood in which I live. With nearly 400 members, it is a magnetic combination of the vigorous and the frail, the new old and the very old, the rich and the urban poor. (Contrary to myth, Beacon Hill and Back Bay, the neighborhoods our village covers, is not just an enclave for the wealthy. Twenty percent of our population over age 65 live near or at the poverty line.) We are a diverse group representing a variety of backgrounds and interests. We meet in both structured meetings and casual settings, in large groups as well as small, informal gatherings. Some members attend stretch classes, walking groups, and tai chi, while others meet informally for a cocktail or potluck. At any gathering, one finds canes and walkers, running shoes, and high heels. Some members are actively involved in the life of the village; others rarely or never appear at any gathering nor request any support or services. They are just happy to know that the village exists and is there if and when they should need it.

Searching for a Better Way

The prospect of aging, particularly in our culture rampant with ageism, is disconcerting, even frightening to many people. These feelings were the impetus for a small group of us to gather in 1999. Each of us had witnessed firsthand the distress our relatives experienced as they aged: a mother in a retirement community in Florida who felt lonely and abandoned; a parent in a nursing home, marginalized and overdrugged; an uncle with very limited means and no immediate family to help out. We found these prevalent scenarios shocking and unacceptable — and we were determined to find another way.

It did not take us long to discover that the conventional wisdom about aging well was deeply flawed and limited. The first piece of advice we all received was to MOVE: to a warmer climate, to continuing care retirement communities, to senior housing near our children. Why, we asked, should we have to pull up our roots from a community we love just to be “safe”? Why did we need to lose our history, our friends, our identity? Why did we have to compromise our lifestyles before it became absolutely necessary, just to fit into a pre-designed community? In my opinion, senior congregate housing is “warehousing the elderly.” Why would we ask our children whose lives were already hectic with jobs and children to take us on, too? And what about financial considerations? Moving is an option available only to a small group of us who could afford it. Although we conceded that warmer climates and segregated communities were good choices for some people, they were not a viable or attractive option for us.

Sadly, the only other option for most people was to just stay put, to downsize, perhaps cut way back on expenses if necessary, and hope for the best. For those on very limited budgets there are community-based, government-sponsored programs, but that leaves the majority of us on our own. Alone. A pretty grim option for anyone.

Our small group of 11 neighbors spent two years studying all aspects of aging, dreaming of solutions. Though discouraged at moments, in the end we prevailed.

In the winter of 2002 our group came up with a plan for aging well that was so grounded in common sense, so available to all older people, and so responsive to our needs and wants, that we could scarcely believe that it did not already exist. It is a 21st–century update of the way things, in an ideal world, are supposed to be but with an important fail safe component: we form partnerships with healthcare professionals and community organizations that help us advance our mission to remain at home and stay healthy and connected to our community.

In doing so, we totally rejected the hierarchical system of the past, which was designed to take care of us, make choices for us and keep us safe. That system is one that all too often patronizes and infantilizes us. It is also a system that is unaffordable for so many older people. The concept of partnership brought about a paradigm shift in the way we age. It has instant appeal. And most remarkable of all, it is affordable. As of this writing, there are 96 open villages stretched across 38 states, 4 villages internationally and over 100 villages in development. We are now all linked together by a Web-based network called the Village to Village Network — vtvnetwork.org.

I love going to my weekly political discussion group. It is full of informed, articulate people with strong opinions. I love seeing how organs are made, how bronze is cast, how a totally green office building in Cambridge was constructed. I will be forever indebted to the caterer who served dinner to my family the day I came home from the hospital with a new knee. All this courtesy of Beacon Hill Village.

But what is most important to me is I have entered an older age still in control of my life, still a contributing member of my community, still a known member of my neighborhood. There are moments when all of us, as we age, search for new meaning in life. As children we learn; as adults we earn. What is it we do with this gift we have received — the gift of longevity? My friends and I, and all the baby boomers who are following us, must at some point confront this question. I believe that being a member of the village has left me free to explore my tomorrow in a healthy and informed way with little anxiety or worry about my future. I know where to find support and information and friendship when and if I need it. That is what villages are all about. I also know that it is up to me to forge a healthy and happy future. Beacon Hill Village is here to help me to accomplish this goal.

After a career in marketing and fundraising, Susan McWhinney-Morse was haunted when her mother-in law, after being placed in a nursing home, said, “Here, I’m just an old woman. I’ve lost my identity.” In 2002, at age 69, McWhinney-Morse and a group of Boston residents created Beacon Hill Village to give people over 50 the support and services they need to retain their identities by “aging in community,” in their own homes.

Life in Takoma Village Cohousing by Ann Zabaldo

My name is Ann Zabaldo. I’m 62 years old and I live in an intentional community in northwest Washington, DC. Today I’m sad, vexed, and… cranky. I’m sad because my 61-year-old childhood girlfriend called to tell me she has “pre-frontal brain atrophy.” I don’t know what this is, but anything with “atrophy” at the end of it can’t be good. My friend lives in a rural area of North Carolina — Asheville is 60 miles away.

She’s having a difficult time trying to figure out how to get a ride to the doctor’s office on a regular basis. She has friends, of course — one will be taking her to Asheville this week. But her friends have their own lives, as well as being scattered over a large geographic area. She can’t depend on them ad infinitum. And she needs help with other things, too. She’s having trouble making change. She forgets a lot of things. She’s depressed. And she’s scared. Very scared.

I’m vexed because she’s having these difficulties, and because she doesn’t know what to do. Neither do I. This makes me cranky. What makes me crankier is knowing it doesn’t have to be this way.

How different it is for me, living in this intentional community called Takoma Village Cohousing. We are a small-scale condominium, comprised of 43 privately owned homes. We came together because we saw the value of knowing our neighbors and pooling our resources to do more with less. By collaborating, we have all that we want and need without excess — we don’t need 43 lawn mowers. We are NOT a commune. While we share a lot of things, income is not one of them.

Strangers to each other when we began 12 years ago, we have come to know firsthand the power of living in community which helps us live longer, healthier, more robust lives.

I was part of the development team that built Takoma Village. When I started the marketing and outreach campaign for the community, I was still walking 10 years after being diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Over the last 12 years, I’ve gone from walking to using a power wheelchair. I suffer from extreme fatigue, especially in the heat. While I could live on my own in a single-family house or in a standard condominium, it would be so much harder. Most of my day would be taken up just maintaining my daily needs.

Instead, one of my neighbors buys my groceries every week of the year. I send her a list on Sunday night and Monday morning she delivers them, even puts them away for me. Another neighbor shops at the Farmers’ Market so I can have fresh produce all year. Yet another neighbor picks up my prescriptions at the local drugstore. Several neighbors drive me to my appointments because I get so easily exhausted from driving these days.

I contribute my time and energy to our community through activities that I can do from home. I’m the point person for elevator maintenance and repair. I organize community events. On community work days, I’m the job-broker helping to match up people with work that needs to be done. I serve on a team that’s overseeing refinishing the interior of our Common House — a community building, only bigger, with a lot more bells and whistles. It includes a living room with a small library/meeting area, a sun room, and at the center a very large dining room and kitchen, designed to host large community meals, parties, movie nights, and other community celebrations and events.

Living in community makes it possible for me to live an interdependent full, dynamic, passionate life in my own home. I am ever grateful to my neighbors.

Unlike my friend in North Carolina, I have 65 adult neighbors whom I can call for assistance if I need it. One of my friends in another cohousing community says you know you live in cohousing when you can call any neighbor at 2:00 a.m. — even the one with whom you have the least relationship — and they will come if you need help. That’s the commitment that comes with the decision to live in cohousing. An example from my own life: One night fairly late, I fell in my living room. Luckily I had my cell phone, and I called a neighbor. In fewer than 30 seconds, three sets of neighbors showed up at my door. All of this makes this kind of community living a safe place for me.

My friend’s situation would be so different if she lived in this kind of intentional community. The conversation wouldn’t be “Who can I get to give me a ride?” but rather “Which one of my neighbors is going to get here first?” Ubiquitous in Europe, intentional community living can be the norm rather than the exception in our country.

You can do cohousing anywhere. While there are architectural design principles — front porches, central courtyards, or green spaces; parking relegated to the exterior of the community; core principles of spontaneous sharing, spontaneous support, commitment to neighborliness, bottom-up governance; shared work maintaining the community — all these can be practiced in any housing or neighborhood situation.

I’ve shared with you my experiences of how living in community has mitigated the effects of my disability. Living in community also mitigates limiting circumstances as we age. For those of us 80 million getting-ready-to-retire-baby-boomers, we would be wise to think in advance about what kind of community we want to be in as we age before someone makes the decision for us. It’s important to make that decision as early as possible so you have nurtured the relationships that will see you through difficult times. Waiting until you’re 85 years old, in poor health and needing lots of assistance, is too late to form the relationships to age in community.

And now, I have to return to the vexing problem of helping my girlfriend find a ride to Asheville.

Ann Zabaldo, M.A., is a national leader in the cohousing movement. She is past-president of The Cohousing Association of the United States and is a founder and current board member of Mid-Atlantic Cohousing, a regional non-profit organization. A specialist in outreach, education, and marketing, Ann is a certified facilitator for McCamant & Durrett’s Senior Cohousing Study Group workshops, and the co-executive producer of “Building Sustainable Communities for Today’s Housing Market,” a DVD and companion handbook created specifically for developers. Ann was also on the development team for both Eastern Village Cohousing in Silver Spring, MD and Takoma Village Cohousing in Washington, DC where she lives.

Pocket Communities by Ross Chapin

Mending the Web of Belonging, Care, and Support Among Neighbors

Just as I was finishing writing my book on pocket neighborhoods, I was invited by a friend to a garden party. Twenty guests were invited to dine at a long table in her orchard overlooking a broad valley. It was a beautiful scene.

We all knew our host, but many of us did not know one another. At one point during the gathering, she asked that we take turns introducing ourselves and saying a few words. When my turn came, I said my name and that I was just finishing writing a book about pocket neighborhoods. Of course, the response was, “What is a pocket neighborhood?” After pausing for a moment, I suddenly noticed a connection. “This table is like a city block within a neighborhood,” I said. “Look where our conversations have been happening before our introductions — one at each end, and one in the middle. These are like three pocket neighborhoods along our block.” I pointed out how conversations happen spontaneously in smaller groups, while a conversation with the larger group requires organization. Then I asked them to imagine themselves as a house — each with a formal façade adorned with a bay window, two-story arched entry, and two garage doors. “If we were a typical neighborhood, our stiff facades would be facing the street, while the life of our homes would be oriented toward our backyard BBQ, kitchen, and family room. The street out front would be empty, except for cars. If we were at a dinner party,” I continued, “there would be no conversation! We each have all the privacy in the world, yet no community. In a pocket neighborhood, active living spaces of houses face toward a common area shared with nearby neighbors, while quieter, more private spaces are farther back. Living in such a neighborhood, like friends around a dinner table, conversation is effortless.”

The home I grew up in was an American classic: a shingled bungalow with a wrap-around porch, within a neighborhood of homes built at the turn of the last century in White Bear Lake, Minnesota. The street out in front seemed to have a constant stream of walkers parading by, and there was never a question that it was off limits for kids.

During warm summer evenings, I remember our porch being the scene of long, meandering conversations, typically begun with a laptop supper. Several adults, including my folks, my great aunt, and a neighbor or two stopping by, would offer up the main stories. Often us kids would add our own animated chatter to the mix. After dinner, we would head back out for another round of play in the neighborhood. When we returned after sunset, the adults would still be talking on the porch.

Reviewing the American Dream

Since those days of my youth, the new houses being built have changed radically.

With the introduction of air conditioners, porches became a nostalgic extra, replaced with two- and three-car garages, with their wide doors and driveways flanking the street. Family life retreated indoors, taken up at first with TV and entrenched over time with ever evolving choices of electronic entertainment. Once a mecca for kids and pedestrians, the street became a kind of no-man’s-land, a danger zone replete with strangers and fast cars. Today, parents chauffeur their kids to “play dates” and after-school activities, and neighbors are more likely to be seen at the grocery store than knocking at the back door.

For empty nesters, it’s a different scene altogether. Without the bustle of kid’s activities and the impromptu drop-by neighbor, daily life can feel lonely and isolating. Friends can be across town, and family members across the country. Who can you call in case of an emergency? Who will walk your dog or go for groceries if you break a leg or are in bed with the flu?

Ask any of the 80 million retiring baby boomers to describe their ideal home, and the answer is not likely “a large, high-maintenance house out of sight from any neighbors and tied to the world by car.”

The challenge is, what other living options are there?

Exploring another approach

About 15 years ago I had an opportunity to explore this question. The town I live in on Whidbey Island, north of Seattle, has only 1,000 people. Yet it is only 7 miles as the crow flies to where Boeing builds their airplanes. You can imagine how the pressures of suburban sprawl seriously threaten the character of our town. In response, our town passed an innovative “cottage housing” zoning ordinance, the first of its kind in the country, to help direct new development toward neighborhood-sensitive, small-scale infill housing.

The ordinance focuses on expanding the choices for households of one and two people, such as empty nesters, singles, and single parents — a population segment today that represents more than 60 percent of American households. The carrot of the code is an incentive that allows twice the number of homes normally allowed in residential zones. The catch is that the house size is limited to 700 square feet on the ground level and no more than 1,000 square feet total, including a second floor. Such an increase in density comes from the recognition that cottage-sized homes have less impact than their plus-sized cousins. In addition to the size limitation, the ordinance stipulates that the cottages must face a usable landscaped common area, have a room-sized porch, and have parking screened from the street.

Around the time when this ordinance was passed, I met Jim Soules, a builder with a planning background and a former Peace Corps volunteer. We are both passionate about small houses and decided to test the new code as a way of demonstrating the market for smaller homes. We pooled our savings, rallied our relatives into joining us, and purchased 4 lots within a 5-minute walk of downtown. We came up with an approvable plan and were able to convince the local bank to lend us the capital to build eight cottages and a commons building.

A Pocket Neighborhood

The cottages we built were tucked off of a relatively busy street, like a pocket safely tucking away its possessions from the world outside. It seemed to me like a “pocket neighborhood,” and the term stuck.

Our hunch that there was a market for small homes in a community setting proved true. The cottages quickly sold to working and retired single women, empty nesters, and a couple with a 3-year-old child. Within a few months, word got out about our pocket neighborhood across the country, with articles in numerous magazines, newspapers, and cable TV. The response we received was electric. Inquiries came in from all age groups, but especially seniors, asking, “Are you building any of these in my area?” It became immediately clear that we had tapped into a deep, unmet longing for smaller, simpler houses where neighbors actually know one another.

Design Patterns for Community

Many people respond enthusiastically to the cottage style of our pocket neighborhoods. The buildings and details are quickly familiar and easy to love. But style is not critical to what we are doing. Beneath the skin of the form are the bones that make these communities work. In the way of the “pattern languages,” a structured method of describing good design practices developed by Christopher Alexander, we have identified a series of essential design patterns below to describe key elements of pocket neighborhoods.

Clusters of Nearby Neighbors — A larger neighborhood might contain several hundred households, but when it comes to pocket neighborhoods, I think the optimum size is around 6 to 12 households. These are your nearby neighbors, the ones you know by name and run into on a daily basis. They are the ones who “have your back” — the first to notice a need, and the first to call for assistance. Think of it as a neighborhood within a neighborhood.

Shared Commons — The shared outdoor space at the center of a cluster of homes is the key element of a pocket neighborhood. This space is neither private (home, yard) nor public (street, park), but rather a defined space between the private and public realms. Residents take part in its care and oversight, and feel a pride of ownership. A stranger walking into the commons will immediately feel they have entered private space and is likely to be greeted with a friendly, “Can I help you?” During the daily flow of life through this commons space, nearby neighbors offer a friendly nod of greeting or stop for a chat on the porch. These casual conversations can grow to caring relationships and a meaningful sense of community — all fostered by the simple fact of shared space.

Eyes on the Commons — The first line of defense for personal and community security is a strong network of neighbors who know and care for one another. When a small cluster of houses looks onto the shared common areas, a stranger is noticed. As well, nearby neighbors can see if daily patterns are askew next door or be called upon in an emergency.

Layers of Personal Space — Community can be wonderful, but too much community can be suffocating. On the other hand, with too much privacy, a person can feel cut off from neighbors. Creating multiple “layers of personal space” will help achieve the right balance between privacy and community. For example, a guest coming to visit might pass through an arbor into the commons. This is the first layer. From here to the front door are five more layers: a border of perennial plantings at the edge of the courtyard, a low fence with a swinging gate, the private front yard, the frame of the porch with a sittable-height railing and flower boxes, and the porch itself. Within the cottages, the layering continues with active spaces toward the commons and private spaces further back and above.

Room-sized Porches — The front porch is a particular “layer of personal space” that needs highlighting. It is essential in fostering neighborly connections. Rather than a small “key-fumbling” porch, it should be large enough for friends and family to gather, and in view of the commons, street, or sidewalk in front.

Nested Houses — Having a next-door house or apartment peering into your own can be uncomfortable and claustrophobic. In pocket neighborhoods, we design homes with an open side and a closed side so that neighboring homes can “nest” together — with no window peering into a neighbor’s living space. High windows and skylights on the closed side can bring in ample light while preserving privacy.

Commons Buildings and Gardens — How many lawn mowers do you need in a close-knit neighborhood? Sharing is a central value of residents living in a pocket neighborhood. So, the answer is, one. Some communities take it a step further with a shared multipurpose room complete with a kitchenette to host community potlucks, meetings, exercise groups, and movie nights. Larger communities may afford a community kitchen and dining hall, guest apartment, and workshop. Pocket neighborhoods of any size will enjoy the benefits of a community vegetable garden. Beyond being amenities for residents, these common facilities cultivate relationships among neighbors and strengthen their sense of community — and they are considered by some as essential ingredients for creating community.

Corralling the Car — In America, nearly everyone has a car. But cars don’t need to dominate our lives. Don’t let garage doors be the first greeting. Shield parking areas and wide banks of garage doors from the street. In warmer climates, we locate parking areas so that residents and guests walk from their car doors to the front door. This arrangement creates an opportunity to enjoy the flowers and nod to a neighbor along the way. Of course, there are more patterns, but these are few of the essential ones to convey the hallmark features of a pocket neighborhood.

Creating Community Where You Live Now

But let’s say you do not want to move from where you live now. How can you create a stronger sense of community? Here are a few actions that most people can do with little or no money at all.

Move your picnic table to the front yard — See what happens when you eat supper out front. It’s likely you’ll strike up a conversation with a neighbor. Invite them to bring a dish to share. It’s likely others will want to join in. Make room.

Plant a front-yard vegetable garden — Don’t stop with the picnic table. Build a raised bed for veggies; plant edible landscaping and fruit trees. If you’re inclined, invite your neighbors to share the garden. Along with carrots and sweet peas will come conversation and friendship — a bountiful harvest.

Build a fence bench — If you live on a street with walkers, build a bench into your front fence to offer a welcome way-stop or a foot-activated water bowl to offer their dog a cool drink on a hot day.

Make a Book Lending Cupboard — Take a book, lend a book. Collect your old reads and share them with passersby in a book-lending cupboard mounted next to the sidewalk out front. Give it a roof, a door with glass panes, and paint it to match the flowers below. Or, change the story — create a poetry cupboard with a signboard announcing, “Read a Poem, Write a Poem.”

Mending the Web of Belonging, Care, and Support

For aging boomers, this seems to be the time when many of us are evaluating our living situations. Where is home? Such a fundamental question can come when our parents (or we ourselves) are facing another season with the burdens of a big house and yard, or in the wake of natural climate events that are disrupting lives within entire regions.

The sad story is that many of us lack networks of personal and social support. Family members can be spread across the country, friends live across town, and neighbors don’t know one another. Too often, a listening ear or helping hand is not available when it’s most needed.

Pocket neighborhoods are one answer to mending a web of belonging, care, and support among those who are physically closest to us — our neighbors. Their small scale makes it easier for neighbors to know and look after one another. The simple act of having a neighbor admire a newly planted garden or share stories about grandkids strengthens the bonds of “neighborship.” This makes all the difference.

I’d like to say that pocket neighborhoods are common. The fact is, there is a lot of work to do. Neighborhood and housing advocates are speaking out. Planning officials are changing zoning and housing policy. Architects and developers around the country are creating new communities. Writers and producers are featuring stories in a range of media. One thing is for certain, though: The baby boomer generation will surely reinvent how they want to live out the rest of their lives, and for many that will be in neighborhoods that foster the same sense of community that many of us knew growing up.

Notes

1 See “The Roseto effect: a 50-year comparison of mortality rates” at http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1695733/.

Ross Chapin Ross Chapin, FAIA, is an architect and author based on Whidbey Island, north of Seattle, WA. Over the last 15 years, Ross has designed and partnered in developing six pocket neighborhoods in the Puget Sound region—small groupings of homes around a shared commons—and has designed dozens of communities for other developers across the US, Canada, and the UK. Many of these pioneering developments have received international media coverage, professional peer review and national design awards, including AIA Housing Committee Awards in 2005, 2007, and 2009. Ross’s book, Pocket Neighborhoods: Creating Small Scale Community in a Large Scale World (Taunton Press), has received wide acclaim, including a full-page review in USA Today, listing on Wall Street Journal’s Top Ten House & Home Books and as one of Planetizen’s Top Ten Planning & Design Books of 2012.

Aging Better Together by Anne P. Glass

I recently visited an 82-year-old relative. I had been with her five months earlier when her husband died from pancreatic cancer. She says she is doing “all right.” She continues to live in the same large house that has been her home for 54 years. It is on a busy road with no sidewalks. She has not missed a Sunday at church since her husband died, and she attends a “senior group” there once a month. Her son and his family are nearby, and she goes out for breakfast or lunch with her friends periodically. Despite these supports, there are weeks when she does not see anyone, other than at church. She showed me a book of word search puzzles that she had bought and said she used them to pass the time.

I could not help but reflect upon how different her life might be if she was living in an elder cohousing community. Elder or senior cohousing has flourished in northern Europe for decades but it is new in the United States. The first three elder-only cohousing communities opened during a two-year period between late 2005 and 2007, in Davis, California; Abingdon, Virginia; and Boulder, Colorado. The communities are small, with 12 residents in the smallest to less than 40 in the largest. These self-directed intentional communities represent an innovative type of living alternative in the United States. Older adults proactively choose how and where they want to live, and who they want to live with, in a close-knit community where neighbors look after each other. It is a radical “do-it-yourself” approach that older people themselves envision and implement, with no administrator telling them what they can or cannot do.

I have been fortunate to have had the opportunity to visit each of these communities and interview the residents.(1) At one, I have a longitudinal study continuing in which I have collected data every year since the community opened in 2006. In these communities, I have observed neighbors helping each other and looking out for each other in a way that stands out in stark contrast to the neighborhoods in which many of us live — where we drive home at night, pull into our garages, and never even see our neighbors.

We know very little about the role of older friends and neighbors in helping and supporting each other. Our society has largely focused instead on assuming that old age is a time of dependence when people can only be on the receiving end of assistance. Both long-term-care policy and the vast body of caregiving studies assume that the family will be responsible for providing that care when it is required. There are at least two problems with these assumptions. First, this image of old age does not fit with the reality. Not all older people are dependent; most will have many years in which they are healthy and actively engaged in life. Simultaneously, they may have more unstructured time than they have had at any other point in their lives to spend as they choose. They want to have a sense of meaning and purpose in life. The second issue is that when the day comes that some help is needed, not all older adults can depend on family members to provide care — either because they are not close (whether physically or emotionally, or both), or they just do not have families. This gap will only increase with the aging of the baby boomers, as they are more likely to be single(2) and to have only one or no children,(3) compared to previous generations.

The concept of elders helping take care of each other has been little studied, but it offers a way to provide caregiving outside of institutional or traditional structures. It opens the possibility for provision of mutual support that encourages and allows independence at more advanced ages. Establishing the delicate balance between independence and accepting help when needed is one of the challenges that ultimately often comes with age.

These self-managed communities hold the potential to enrich residents’ lives in many ways. Cohousing communities are physically designed with shared common spaces to facilitate social contact. When you move into a cohousing community, you can know all your neighbors within a matter of days. The design promotes a sense of community and mutual support. The concept and potential of mutual support assume even more significance for older adults, with many finding that giving assistance can be as rewarding as receiving it.

Mutual Support

Living in such a community is not without challenges, but a distinct sense of a close-knit neighborhood evolves over time, and mutual support occurs. The model of mutual support developed by the ElderSpirit Extension Team in Abingdon, Virginia, has three elements. Residents must be willing to (a) ask for help when needed, (b) accept help when needed, and (c) give help to others, to the extent that they are able. Additionally, residents also have the responsibility to take care of themselves. As part of their mutual support model, each resident in this community has named other residents to be their “care coordinators,” who will step up when help is needed and organize the necessary assistance. These types of assistance have included grocery shopping, preparing meals, visiting, accompanying a neighbor on physician visits, dog walking, and even personal care. In addition, there is the invaluable knowledge that there is someone to call on, even in the middle of the night.

Beyond assistance when people are hospitalized or recuperating from illness or injury, there is another even more basic level of mutual support that is occurring: people are watching out for each other in this neighborhood, and this familiarity helps residents feel safe. They value the combination of having their own homes but not feeling alone, having the security of knowing that a neighbor would notice if something happened to them. One female resident stated that when she lived in her prior condominium, there was no sense of community or mutual support and that people just exchanged pleasantries. She then continued graphically:

One of the reasons I wanted to live in community, rather than isolated in my condominium [was]…just ‘cause I thought, you know some morning I’m going to wake up dead and nobody will know for two weeks until they pass my door and say, “It really smells funny in here.” And here, we’re going to do like [others have] done, and check on one another.

Another expressed, “Here we are to some degree interdependent. That’s the way it should be. That’s the difference to me what a community is as opposed to just a bunch of neighbors.”

Benefits of Aging Together

The “solidarity in aging” gained through living in an elder-only community helps individuals to accept their own aging and encourages a willingness among many residents to consider and discuss aging issues. They have purposefully chosen to live in an adult-only community. Most residents would agree with this statement: “It helps being with people who understand because the same things are happening to them.” Some residents also mentioned that they found older neighbors to be excellent role models for aging. For example, a 70-year-old respondent expressed that she learned a lot about aging from observing residents in their 80s. The theme of role models was also expressed in another way: Some residents recognized that what they were pioneering was being viewed as a model by others in the larger community.

As residents age in the community, another significant benefit is support for the caregiver within the community. For example, there have already been cases of couples in which the husbands have been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. Certainly it would be an enormous comfort to you as a caregiver whose spouse or partner is dealing with a life-threatening illness to know that you are not dealing with it alone, but have only to go out your front door to reach out for social support.

Respondents have exerted positive influences on each other in a variety of ways, such as encouraging exercise. Another theme many residents mentioned was the ability to have a sense of humor and laugh together about their limitations. Finally, living in this community was energizing to many respondents, simply from the sheer excitement of being part of pioneering a new model of how the later stage of life could be lived.

Thus, the mutual support is part of a larger phenomenon that is helping residents have a better experience with aging by going through the experience together. All the residents know each other, which facilitates convenient companionship and a sense of looking out for each other. This familiarity is important, as there is a strong connection between social networks and improved health outcomes,(4) and friends can play a significant role in well-being and mental health.(5)

A self-directed elder cohousing community is the ultimate example of residents being proactive and taking full responsibility for what happens in their retirement community. Pride in what they have accomplished in these elder cohousing communities is evident.

Creating a “Family of Friends”

Many older people are happily ensconced in a network of family and friends and meaningful activities and have all the support that they will need to help them deal with whatever the future holds. For others, however, especially those without close family, the aging process can be frightening if they see themselves walking that path alone. In fact, too many people face their older years solitary, isolated, and in denial about their own aging. We know now that isolation itself can increase health risks for individuals.(6) Some people, particularly the baby boomers, have witnessed with dismay the experiences of their aging parents and are hungry for a new approach. Building on a concept that has emerged from my work documenting the experience of these elder cohousing communities, my future research will explore an innovative approach for older adults and baby boomers to consider: forming a “family of friends” as an intentional way to build a sense of community and solidarity as a path toward resilient aging. People choose where and with whom they wish to share this journey.

The intentional “family of friends” community model is built upon the idea that older adults are capable of taking a proactive role to share the experience of aging together. Mutual support in this model is based on the concept developed at ElderSpirit Community. The fact that some individuals will eventually also need more formal services is recognized, but it provides an essential “social safety net.” The “family of friends” idea would provide a supportive environment in which individuals grow old in solidarity, thereby enhancing their quality of life through this communal aging process.

The potential for older adults to experience this kind of arrangement is only beginning to emerge. Based on my research, if a group of individuals jointly commits to this idea, they will see each other regularly and often, and share a dedication to mutual support of each other. This mutual support could extend to each individual naming a “care coordinator” among the other members. This self-directed “intentional community” can exist in cohousing specifically designed for it, and some groups may follow the examples of the pioneers who have established the first elder cohousing communities in the United States. Indeed, a fourth elder cohousing community opened in 2010 in New Mexico, and others are opening in California and Oklahoma. However, I believe this “community” can also be created in a variety of existing sites, such as people organizing in an apartment building, a condominium association, or even a traditional neighborhood. Another possibility would be to explore the use of the new concept of a “pocket neighborhood,” as described by Chapin in another chapter, within a standard subdivision or even within a retirement community.

Conclusion

Increasing the likelihood of older people helping each other and sharing information to improve their levels of knowledge about health and aging all lead to healthier older adults. Choosing to live with an enhanced sense of community cannot guarantee that an individual will completely avoid the need for nursing home admission, and it does not preclude receiving help from one’s family, if available. With additional help, if necessary, however, the support provided by one’s “family of friends” certainly increases the likelihood that one can remain longer in one’s home. As one respondent in Colorado expressed:

I think it’s less scary if you think you’ve got support, people are going to be dropping in or bringing you some soup or whatever, and it just makes you feel, I can get through anything better because I’m not frightened of being alone or isolated or ignored or something like that. So I think it definitely does help.

Individuals can remain independent in their housing and be part of the larger community, but still have the support and comfort provided by interdependence among a group of their peers, which can facilitate their ability to remain in the community longer. There are too many older adults who, like my relative, are spending too many days lonely and isolated. It is time to give thoughtful attention to innovative and creative ways that elders can build a sense of community in a way that will help them create solidarity and resilience in dealing with the aging process. Sharing the experience with a “family of friends” is a powerful way for elders to take back control of their own aging from the medicalized bureaucracy that sees aging as a disease and older adults as dependent.

Anne P. Glass, Ph.D., is internationally known as a leading researcher in the field of elder self-directed intentional communities. She is especially interested in the potential for older adults to provide mutual support and age better together, and how communities can facilitate this process. She is an Associate Professor and the Associate Director of the Institute of Gerontology in the College of Public Health at the University of Georgia. Visit her website at https://elder-cohousing.squarespace.com/.

Lessons of an Accidental Developer by Dene Peterson

My mother used to tell everybody that I’ve been “an administrator since the age of two.” Chances are, the first time that occurred to her was in a moment of exasperation. From the beginning, I had a pretty good idea of how I wanted things to go. And I would insist in moving in that direction, organizing processes and people around me, no matter what the barriers. As a child, those qualities probably didn’t always endear me to adults. Nor was it always a plus in dealing with job supervisors as an adult. But it was exactly those traits, refined over the years by lessons learned working in collaboration with others, that served me well in my unexpected career as an accidental real estate developer. In fact, if there is one category of advice I have for those hoping to replicate our work in establishing what we believe is America’s first affordable, mixed-use, elder cohousing community, it’s the following.

To turn beautiful ideas into bold action, make sure that your leadership team:

Possesses a high tolerance for risk;
Prepares for steep learning curves;
Keeps laser-like focus on long-range goals (so that they’ll work their way through the inevitable frustrations to get there); and
Understands the need to attract powerful allies and to build, nourish, and leverage networks of influence.

If reinventing communities for successful aging were easy, reinvention wouldn’t be necessary.

From Convent to Community

The vision for what became the ElderSpirit Community in Abingdon, Virginia, had its foundation in 1967, when a group of us women working in Appalachia in areas of community service and development organized the Federation of Communities in Service (FOCIS). We had an advantage when it came to seeing both the big picture of service to others and the finer-grain responsibilities that come along with lofty goals. Core members of that founding committee were former nuns. For years, we had been committed to community development in Appalachian communities. When the Church hierarchy insisted we be more conventional than what we thought our work required, we chose mission over obedience, and we left the convent.

The FOCIS group expanded to include men as well as women. As some members approached retirement age, we thought about what it might take to create a retirement community that addressed our concerns for conscious, meaningful aging. We decided on the following goals:

Create a model that allows older adults to share their wisdom with the larger community in such a way that younger people begin to look differently at old age.
Create a community that builds personal relationships, as we believe that this is where we find much of our spirituality and meaning in life.
Create a model that is affordable for all those people who have not made big salaries, but who have contributed to our society by the lives they have lived.
Create a community where we are encouraged to face the fact we will die, and are supported to do what we need to complete our lives.

Finding the Right Place for the Right Idea

With those goals in mind, the where and the how of the community became crucial. It would have to be a neighborhood within an existing community, so that even though we were planning a close-knit group of aging friends, we’d be surrounded by multigenerational families in the larger community. The way homes fit together, the balancing of private and public space — all of that called for expert design. And, toughest of all, the homes and maintenance responsibilities had to be within reach of incomes of ex-nuns and others who had not amassed huge nest eggs.

In 1995, we formed the FOCIS Futures committee to explore alternatives. We learned about the cohousing movement and chose that as a model. We found ourselves attracted to the later-life spirituality concepts of Drew Leder because of our background and missions orientation.(1) We chose the name ElderSpirit for our community, based on Leder’s writings.

Several people interested in the project lived in or near Abingdon in southwest Virginia, and they invited all who had expressed an interest to come to an “Immersion into Abingdon.” Our friends gave us a tour of the town. They showed us the health, professional, and shopping resources for seniors and told us stories and experiences of living in Abingdon. The town has many features that make it attractive for retirees—a rails-to-trails walking, cycling, and running trail; the Barter Theater; several arts and crafts establishments; a fine health activities center with indoor pool; and an annual arts festival. It looked perfect.

I moved to Abingdon to look for property and found 3.7 acres bordering the Virginia Creeper Trail, a Rails-to-Trails success story and a popular recreational destination for visitors. To purchase the property, we borrowed $45,000 from 23 FOCIS members. The Retirement Research Foundation of Chicago awarded FOCIS a three-year grant for pre-development expenses, which provided salaries for a part-time staff.

In 1999, our group bought the 3.7 acres. Thanks to the grant, I had a job as project manager — and not a clue what was ahead.

Embracing the Challenges

Despite all my years as a born administrator, including fundraising and managing community development projects with budgets in the millions, I had to learn a whole new set of skills. Designing and implementing the kind of nurturing environment for aging the way we envisioned was an act of real estate development. That means overseeing teams of experts, not only in design and construction, but also in engineering, storm water management, landscaping, building and zoning codes, finance, sales, marketing, health regulations, and a long list of other responsibilities that folks who are not in the development professions can’t imagine. It is also a political act, requiring allies in government at the local, state, and national levels.

The surest route to managing all those tasks successfully is to hire an experienced developer who will remove the day-to-day headaches of project oversight. But for us, and for most groups like us committed to affordability, renting the political and real estate development expertise we needed at market rate prices was likely to push costs beyond the means of many of those most open to the idea — and many of those most in need of the aging in community experience. What’s more, even if we could come up with the money, there was no assurance we could find a developer with the right mix of political and real estate development experience AND the ability to apply that expertise to the goals of our project.

The simple fact is that, over the last half-century, the real estate development marketplace has become very good at delivering pretty much the opposite of what we wanted: car-dependent suburbs that tend to isolate people from workplaces, school, healthy exercise, and food — and from one another — at costs beyond the means of most family incomes. Choosing alternatives, including connected neighborhoods nestled within broader communities, often means paying a premium to others to face the political and technical headwinds. Because of those headwinds, even though elder cohousing is gaining traction throughout the U.S., the hassles make it tough for the movement to achieve growth on the scale necessary to make a difference in most seniors’ lives.

What We Learned

Over the course of the decade-long effort that began with our initial meetings, followed by the purchase of the property — and thereafter the financing, design, and construction of our community — before finally moving-in in 2006, I had a series of revelations.

I, of course, renewed my gratitude for the gritty determination that seems wired into my head and heart, and for lifelong friends who have indulged and supported my ideas, even when the ideas seemed a little nuts. But I also grew to appreciate — more than anything, perhaps — the need to forge networks of support beyond our core group. At every stage, we could call upon well-placed experts, many of whom knew us from our previous lives as nuns and community development workers, and had no doubts about our competence and commitment.

There was no way that we could achieve our goals of affordability without help from nonprofit foundations and government agencies. Just when we needed them most, old and new friends from these networks of support stepped forward to help us with grant writing, with contacts with the right officials, and with coaching on design and engineering matters.

We ran into delays and dead ends. Construction was all but halted for 150 days because of rain, while the interest on our loans continued to grow. We negotiated and detoured our ways around unexpected barriers with regard to the site, and with environmental and public health requirements. We had to rethink wish lists when costs threatened to bust our budgets. We hired and fired. We argued (respectfully) among one another. And we continually engaged with the broader community and our future next-door neighbors to prevent rumors of a “cult” moving into Abingdon from gaining traction.

Few, if any, of these tasks were anticipated in our initial, inspiring discussions of how we wanted to live with friends, new and old, for the rest of our lives. And I suspect the same goes for other groups just starting on this journey. This is why I wanted to spend so much time emphasizing the practical and often exasperating responsibilities that go along with making better places.

It’s just as important, though, to stress that the struggle is rewarded. By the time we moved into our ElderSpirit homes, we were already a community, tested by adversity and made more confident by the ways in which we overcame the challenges. Our self-esteem went through the roof. As a result of managing all the practical necessities of building a physical place that enhances community, we’ve grown to be quite good at managing it. All the advantages we dreamed of when we first talked about aging in community have materialized, enriched by the experiences we’ve already shared. It just shouldn’t be so hard to get to this point.

The tasks are made harder because of their against-the-grain ambitions. Many of the habits and rules of business-as-usual real estate development are unreasonable barriers, especially now that so many of us in America and the world are entering the last stages of our lives in places inhospitable to aging in community. So what I often stress in my talks to groups these days is that we all need to invest more energy into making changes in the way we shape neighborhoods.

That’s my first recommendation: Let’s lobby for change.

For those looking for more detailed lessons learned from the ElderSpirit journey, I offer these practical tips:

Hire design and construction professionals with experience with affordable housing. Be honest about your intended price points. And understand how last-minute tweaks and amendments can radically alter costs.
Get the best advice you can on how to make contracts clear and binding when it comes to what’s expected of contractors. Be specific about who’s responsible for absorbing costs for budget overruns and for missed deadlines. The “time is money” adage is never truer than in real estate development.
Understand how real estate valuations and market rates in your locale affect financing and the perceived value of your project. Make homes affordable through compact, well-thought-out design, not through unrealistic discounts from market rates. If subsidies are part of your financial plan, make sure profits realized through later sales are at least partially recouped to continue supporting your project’s affordability.
Be aware of local building and zoning codes. Changing them to accommodate your project’s needs can be a political ordeal. Be prepared for that, or adjust design to accommodate the rules.
Take advantage of Universal Design, which address accessibility concerns in passageways, counter heights, bathrooms, etc. By itself, Universal Design doesn’t assure successful aging in community. But if the place is right, in terms of neighborhood access to what seniors need for physical mobility and social interaction, then Universal Design completes the package.

To learn more about ElderSpirit, visit the community’s Web site: www.elderspirit.org.

Notes

1 Leder, Drew. “Spiritual community in later life: A modest proposal.” Journal of Aging Studies, 10(2):103–116, 1996.

Dene Peterson, a former Glenmary Sister, is the founder and developer of ElderSpirit Community® in Abingdon, Virginia. Her professional background is in fundraising and administration of nonprofit organizations. She has won national recognition for her work with Head Start, community mental health, family planning, and neighborhood organization. Dene serves on the boards of the Aging in Community Network and Second Journey, and she has been honored with a Life-Achievement Award from the National Cohousing Organization.

The Not So Big Community by Sarah Susanka

Ever since moving to the United States as a teenager in 1971, I’ve believed that there is a better way to shape our communities, towns, and cities than what is currently practiced in this country. I grew up in England, a country of small villages and historic towns built over hundreds of years, so when I moved here I found the American methods of construction, as well as the almost exclusive orientation to the convenience of the automobile, very limiting in terms of opportunities for human interaction.

In the world I’d come from, people of all ages lived in the village and interacted on a daily basis. There were also no retirement communities or senior centers. Seniors, or “pensioners” as we called them, were an integral and essential part of village life, like anyone else. Rather than being cordoned off to a separate community for those of their age, they lived amid and amongst the rest of us and could be seen sitting on park benches, walking their dogs, or chatting with one another outside the corner store. Though I’d never thought much about it as a child, these older members of our village played a large part in my upbringing. They were like caretakers in a way, always watching, offering encouraging glances when we were playing, and looking on disparagingly when any kind of fighting or emotional outburst was being displayed. They were passing along signals about what constituted appropriate behavior, and I learned a lot from them over the course of my early childhood.

By contrast, I vividly remember driving through a Los Angeles suburb with my parents in the early seventies, and wondering what would happen as one aged in such a place where everything is so spread out. How did anyone ever get to know each other here, when everyone was safely ensconced within their automobile? What would you do if you couldn’t drive? Where would you go? How would you get around without a car? How would you shop? What would you do all day if all you could see out your windows were your own front yard and the occasional passing car, with no way to regularly interact with the world? It seemed a pretty desolate future.

Back when my parents were in their 40s and 50s that vision was only a distant imagining, but now it’s a growing concern. Like so many of my generation, I look at the options available for seniors like my parents, and for myself a few decades from now, and I know unequivocally that these are not choices that either my parents or I would willingly make. My parents like their independence. They’ve created a home for themselves over the past 40 years that fits them to a tee. The available options, an independent or assisted living facility, or a retirement community, would mean a complete break with the past, with all the places and people they know. It’s the equivalent of extreme surgery just at the time in life when one feels the most vulnerable.

And the requirement that you then spend the rest of your days surrounded by people whose faculties and physical abilities are gradually waning seems a harsh sentence. Wouldn’t it be better to give those who are themselves aging a view into the lives of those who are just beginning their lives, to weave generations together, as was so abundantly present in the village I grew up in?

Why is it that our current development practices require that once we lose our ability to drive, we must also lose hundreds of other freedoms, simply because there’s no way for us to get around by foot since everything is far too spread out and inaccessible, with no public transportation system to help get us where we need to go? Why can’t we create communities where all ages of humans can thrive, no matter their ability to maneuver an automobile?

That’s the question that’s been uppermost in my mind recently as I’ve been contemplating ways to improve the quality of our cities, towns, and neighborhoods here in the US. I’m envisioning a type of community that’s informed by the same Not So Big sensibility as the work I’ve been doing in house and life design over the past few decades.

What Does “Not So Big” Mean?

I coined the term Not So Big to describe a perspective that focuses on the qualities rather than the quantities of space and time.

In terms of house design, this means a home that’s designed for the way we really live, with every square foot of space in use every day — a home that’s an inspiration to live in because it is beautiful as well as functional. A house that’s 5,000 square feet but sorely lacking in character and craft, for example, is nowhere near as satisfying to live in for most people than one that’s half that size but beautifully tailored to accommodate its inhabitants’ needs and aesthetic preferences.

And in terms of life design, this means a life that’s filled with the things we love to do, and with ample opportunity for the kinds of experiences that allow us to grow and flourish. A life that’s devoted to making it to the top of the corporate ladder at the expense of one’s relationships, health, and well-being, for example, may look successful from the outside, but inside can be empty of meaning, filled with stress and frustration. But a life that is spent pursuing the things you love to do, that has time built in for connecting with others and for taking care of oneself, is successful in the true meaning of the word. It feeds our spirits, and not just our bank accounts.

A Not So Big House is not intended first and foremost to knock the socks off the neighbors, and a Not So Big Life is not focused upon accumulation of money, power, and stuff, although it doesn’t preclude those things happening. It’s just that those things are not why you do what you do.

The Ingredients of Not So Big Community

So how can we translate this same sensibility to the places we share and call our collective home…our community? If we look at what we love about the hill towns and villages of Italian Tuscany, for example, or the well-weathered stone cottages of the English Cotswolds, there’s something timeless and at the same time deeply connected to nature that draws us in and makes us want to explore them and spend time in them. Most American towns and cities have precious little of these same qualities. And because of this, whole neighborhoods are regularly torn down, only to be replaced by the next new development trend, the next quick fix to house the largest number of people in the shortest amount of time.

We don’t have to continue this way. We can in fact build towns, neighborhoods, and homes that are every bit as lovely and inspiring as the European models we travel to on our vacations. We just have to recognize what it is that we like about them, and learn to emulate those characteristics in our new developments.

Ingredient #1: Beauty

At the root of the Not So Big sensibility is the notion that beauty matters and is in fact one of the most sustainable attributes a place or object can have. When something — be it a tool, a piece of furniture, a home, or a community — is lovely to look at, to work with, or to live in — in other words, when it’s designed to inspire as well as to function well for its intended purpose — it is not only a delight for those who use it today, but its beauty transcends time and brings that same pleasure to every generation of people who inherit it. The making of a place that’s beautiful, inspiring, and alive is the first step toward the realization of a new, more sustainable, and at the same time Not So Big form of community.

Ingredient #2: The Lessons of New Urbanism

I’ve often characterized the Not So Big House movement as a perfect parallel with what the New Urbanists have promoted in terms of walkable, mixed-use communities and neighborhoods. the New Urbanism sprang up in the early 1980s to counter the trend toward urban sprawl, and is based on the characteristics and proportions of neighborhoods that were developed before the advent of the automobile. Over the past two decades, over 600 New Urban communities have been built around the United States, and the movement promises to continue to grow in decades to come. Now I believe it’s time to weave the tenets of both the Not So Big House movement and The New Urbanism movement together into a new vision for integrated community design.

Ingredient #3: Learning from A Pattern Language

Another important addition to the mix of ingredients for this new type of community are some of the key concepts from A Pattern Language.[1] This weighty tome, first published in 1977, is a marvelous compendium of principles, or patterns, that govern successful building around the globe. The book begins with principles that apply to the city scale, with patterns named such things as “Lace of Country Streets,” “Mosaic of Subcultures,” and “Identifiable Neighborhoods”; and works its way down in relative scales, to neighborhood considerations such as “Degrees of Publicness,” “Main Gateways,” and “Hierarchy of Open Space”; then on down to the scale of the house, with patterns such as “Farmhouse Kitchen,” “Alcoves,” and “Sunny Counter.”

This book was pivotal in the development of my own architectural work and has much to lend to the discussion of sustainable community design. At the time of its release it presented a paradigm shift in the approach it recommended to design and construction, and it continues to provide a compass for those who want to revitalize our approach to the built environment.

Ingredient #4: Aging In Place and Multigenerational Communities

As the baby boom generation moves ever closer to retirement, they’re looking for ways to age in place rather than to move to a community of people all their own age. Studies show that over 80 percent of adults want to stay in their own homes until the end of their days. To address this desire there are a number of new initiatives being spearheaded by AARP. One in particular is called CAPS, or the Certified Aging in Place Specialist program. With increasing numbers of designers now trained to help people stay in their homes as they age, there’s also an increased awareness about how we can make all homes and communities accessible, not only for those with age-related disabilities but for those with other types of disabilities as well.

Taking these understandings and applying them to the designs of new communities will allow people to stay in their homes for the full duration of their lives. By designing for accessibility without making those features look or feel institutional, we’ll be creating truly multigenerational communities that are sustainable for all age groups and physical abilities… a truly inclusive environment.

As well as the obvious features required for ease of movement and general functionality, there are the critical ingredients of walkability and visibility. We feel most alive when we can see others fully engaged in their own activities. Being able to take a stroll on fairly level surfaces, placing benches and sitting areas throughout the community, and having views out from every home to pedestrian walkways, green spaces, and everyday activities like farming, shopping, and playing, can transform one’s later years from isolated to alive and vibrant.

Although none of this is complicated to accomplish, there’s an immediate need to integrate these design characteristics into the communities being designed today to allow for aging in place in the future. It’s not rocket science, but if we put it off, we’ll be depriving generations to come of the type of aging experience that almost everyone today longs for.

Ingredient #5: Not So Big Living

This last ingredient, the principle tenets of Not So Big living that I describe in The Not So Big Life, is perhaps the most critical but least quantifiable aspect of community design. A big part of what makes neighborhoods that already have the magical quality of real community so special is the connection between human beings. There’s an authenticity and a genuine caring for one another that comes about as a result of a quality of interaction that’s almost impossible to define in words. It truly is a quality and not a quantity, with the central characteristic being one of real interest and attention, as opposed to social obligation.

A community can be so much more than we normally appreciate when the inhabitants share a common bond around the way they engage their lives, understanding that every activity and interaction is a kind of nutrient for one’s sense of well-being and personal growth. On the surface, everything looks very much the same as in any other community, but inside each individual who lives there there’s a depth of experience that is rare in today’s world. Although it is possible to live in a “Not So Big” way by oneself, it becomes a great deal easier when a number of people share the same aspiration and vision. They can support each other as they go about living their everyday lives, and in so doing become a community of true friends.

This process of Not So Big living is not connected with any particular spiritual tradition; yet it does acknowledge that we are spiritual creatures that crave a type of engagement with each other and with ourselves that is less superficial than we presently recognize and generally allow in conventional society. It’s a challenging vision to bring into being because it is so little understood or appreciated, but one I believe we are ready to entertain and live into over the coming decades.

Mixing It All Together

This vision for community design will, I believe, provide a new model for the kind of place that supports its inhabitants in living fully all the phases of their lives, from infant to elder. And it will do so in much the same way that The Not So Big House has provided a new model for house design over the past dozen years. It will be a community designed with true sustainability at its core, where people can live in harmony with their environs, with each other, and with themselves.

So how do we begin to make such places? Not So Big Community begins with the first imaginings about its form, and it is colored and shaped by the involvement of everyone who touches it, from the planners, designers, builders, and developers, to the long-term residents, participants, and caretakers. Community is not only a place, but also — more importantly — a process; and the more people who are fully and passionately engaged in its making, the more alive, regenerative, and sustainable that community is likely to be.

Notes

1 Christopher Alexander, Sara Ishikawa, and Murray Silverstein, A Pattern Language: Towns, Buildings, Construction (Berkeley, CA: Center for Environmental Structure, 1977).

Sarah Susanka, F.A.I.A., is an inspirational cultural visionary, acclaimed author of nine books, and an architect who describes herself first and foremost as a student of life. She became a household name in the world of home design with her Not So Big House series, but the true magic behind her life story is revealed in her landmark book The Not So Big Life, where she unveils the process by which she lives her own life — a process she is adept at sharing with everyone interested in more fully inhabiting their own life and realizing their full potential. Visit her Web site at susanka.com/.

Isn’t This Where We Started? Irony and Remembering in Late Life by Philip Stafford

A couple of years ago, after a long absence, we made a sentimental journey to the old neighborhood and realized the truth of the saying “You can never go back.” Gone was the casual and tolerant informality in lifestyles, along with the former graciousness displayed in area neighborhoods. Victorian houses had been razed and replaced by imposing new mansions, creating an atmosphere of wealth and even arrogance. New stores had ushered out the old familiar ones. New York merchants, with high-priced offerings, had moved into a huge, elaborate shopping mall a few miles distant. The lovely little village we cherished had vanished — like Brigadoon — and been replaced by ostentatious wealth and class distinction attesting to moneyed success.[1]

Not too long ago, I made a similar “trip to bountiful” — back home to explore my old neighborhood in Hobart, Indiana. My parents moved to Hobart in 1948, seeking a small town alternative to life in the city. They purchased an 1850’s farmhouse on the edge of town, initiating a 20-year remodeling project that engaged all five members of the family. We moved the kitchen so many times we came to call it the “whichen.”[2]

The acreage behind the house was mostly undeveloped woods and field, leading down to “Duck Crick,” where we spent hours and hours, in every season, wading, swinging, exploring, building forts, sledding and, occasionally smoking. Across the creek laydanger, as the area bordered the “hoody” part of town and kids from that neighborhood would shoot their BB guns at us as we played. It was a classic idyllic childhood, I have to say.

I left that neighborhood for college in 1967, my parents moved soon after and, in subsequent years, it rapidly developed into a suburban zone with ranch houses, cul-de-sacs, and neatly trimmed lawns. No wonder I was totally disoriented on my return to that neighborhood about 40 years later. It was difficult to imagine myself in the woods while looking around at asphalt and grass. As I was sitting at a street corner in my car, trying to orient myself to the area of the creek, I looked up at the street sign. It read “Memory Lane.”

That is irony. The (street) sign, in semiotics, would be called a zero-sign, where a presence derives its significance, for me, from an absence. How ironic that the sign is meant to evoke the value of memory (or, rather, nostalgia) when, in fact, the memory of the place has been radically erased.

As we reach advanced old age, much of our reality is defined by absences rather than presences. The scales begin to tip in favor of things gone, over things remaining. Positively and meaningfully engaging with absences becomes another of those existential challenges facing us in old age, akin to Erikson’s notion of integrity versus despair. Irony is perhaps the singular dramatic trope that defines our condition at this stage of life,[3] as we are surrounded by signs that signify absence — a landscape of trees and buildings razed, a house full of photographs of people no longer alive, a newspaper replete with wars that have been fought before.

To return to a landscape we inhabited in the past is to experience the dialectic tension between who we are and who we think we were. Irony occurs when there is a dissonance between the two identities and, as Vesperi has noted, citing Kenneth Burke, the irony can be tragic or comic. Erikson appears to have dwelt on the tragic, without considering the healthy function that the comic can play in sustaining our sense of psychological health (ego integrity). I can laugh at the Memory Lane sign. I can hold the cherished landscape in my heart even though it no longer exists.

Ralph Remembering

Some time ago I became interested in the process of individual remembering while listening to and working with an audio-recorded life history of an old friend, now deceased, whom I came to know initially through a counseling relationship during my days as a geriatric mental health worker. (I will call him Ralph to protect his anonymity.)

I recall with fondness how much of my so-called therapy with my older client (and others) centered around a process of reminiscence. I wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to call this “reminiscence therapy,” however, for that lends an overly professional label to something that felt much more like good company. What was remarkable about my old friend was his depth of attention to his past and his serious obsession with life review. Perhaps most notable about the six hours of audiotape is that they were produced by a man completely alone in his room, door closed, speaking into a microphone, like Samuel Beckett’s figure, Krapp,[4] and unprovoked by the interviewer, so ubiquitous in most life history studies as an external condition of remembering.

To borrow these tapes, I phoned Ralph’s widow, with whom I had intermittent contact since his funeral several years ago, and inquired as to the availability of his tapes for my research. Graciously, she invited me to visit and took me to his room, which I found completely unchanged since his death — not a thing moved from the closet nor bureau, though clean and tidy as a pin, as is always the case with her entire house. Atop the bureau, among numerous family pictures, sat his wooden, slotted case, holding perhaps 100 or more audio cassettes, carefully labeled with dates and themes. Most of the tapes were “mixes” he created from country music stations on the radio. But, sure enough, there were five tapes labeled Golden Memories, and I suspected these contained his personal memories. With her permission, I borrowed the tapes to duplicate, including a couple of music mixes on the theme he called “Old Age Ain’t So Bad.”

Listening to the tapes has been an emotional experience for me. Hearing his gentle and articulate voice lent a renewed presence to our friendship. Discovering them five years after his death was like finding a secret gift, left by a friend too unassuming to demand instant recognition and gratitude.

It would be my wish to identify my friend and provide the recognition he never received during his life. But my friend is dead. He cannot provide his informed consent. My interpretation of his life cannot be confirmed nor co-authored. There is textual evidence, however, that he presumed an audience. Frequently, throughout the tapes, he makes comments such as: “Listen to this,” or “On this tape, we’ll talk about…” Moreover, he explicitly deletes major areas of his life story that he doesn’t want to talk about because they are too painful. While I am personally familiar with those events, I cannot make reference to them, out of respect for his wishes.

“Let me do what I can, be it ever so small each day, and if the dark days of despair and depression overtake me, let me not fail to recall the strength that comforted me in the desolation of other dark days…”

There are, in other words, things that are to be forgotten, but, as I reflect on the meaning of the story, the things forgotten lend meaning to the things remembered. The vividness and animation of his childhood memories stand in stark contrast to the brief and reportorial character of his summary of later life. Whole decades of his adult life are essentially elided. Yet, in his last tape, he brings his life full circle and, while sparing the details, makes reference to the role that failure has played in his life. He authors his own obituary and waxes philosophical as he reflects on his life as he has lived it, standing outside of the remembering itself.

In constructing a retrospective of his life, my friend relied on several tools. The primary tool was his own introspection, and I use the term consciously as a “looking in.” Frequently, he employs visual imagination, “his mind’s eye,” to revisit and describe the landscape of his childhood, experienced on foot. He employs self-drawn maps to recreate the expanding automobile-supported geography of his adolescent and adult years. He uses old photos to recollect his schools, teachers, and fellow students. Old-time songs taped from the radio support his sense of what things “were like” during the Depression. Occasionally, he makes reference to conversations with his brother and phone calls with school mates that helped to confirm memories.

For the most part, he did not, however, use the physical return to origins — the proverbial Trip to Bountiful — as a technique to jog his memory. The closer he came to the end of his life, the more painful did his visits back home become, as the landscape changed and the buildings disappeared. Increasingly, his comfort was derived from dwelling among things absent, not things present. It might be said that his childhood identity was no longer supported by the physical environment. Yet, alternatively, insofar as emotional pain was part of his adult identity, it was supported by the physical environment — an environment of zero signs, where the meaning (as a world lost) is derived from absences and not presences.

I don’t think it is paradoxical to suggest that my friend’s identity as a child and his identity as an adult were maintained concomitantly. In the privacy of his room, he was a time traveler, moving back and forth from the comfort zone of his past as reconstructed through remembering to the painful zone of his present, characterized, ironically, by absences — things he might have done. Some have argued that the work of autobiography in old age seeks continuity of self.[5]

My friend, like Krapp, experienced discontinuity, moving to his childhood through the embodied tool of visualization, but continuingly re-encountering his adult self upon re-entrance into and reflection upon the present. I think he felt trapped by this paradox. Though I occasionally saw Ralph exhibit the comic, for him the irony was, sadly, too often tragic.

And finally, this could well be my obituary, if they would use it, heh, I don’t know if they would or not… born June the 21st, 1920, in a house long ago torn down, to John and Eunice Deckard, in Monroe County, at the foot of what is known as the Handy Hill. Of five children of John and Eunice, two lived beyond the first few months, John Jr., born on the 16th of August, 1917, and myself. I spent my childhood days on Handy Ridge from 1924, when they moved into the house there. I attended the first through eighth grade at the Red Hill School and four years at Unionville High School, graduating April the 21st, 19 and 39. [Dates and names are fictionalized.] The only accomplishment worth mentioning in my life is that I surpassed the allotted time that the Bible allows man, three score years and ten. And time will not permit to tell of all the blunders and mistakes in those years but I can always look back and think of what might have been.

“Though many of my former friends may seem to have forgotten me, let me not forget myself in despair. Though all the world may seem unfriendly, please do not let me become unfriendly with myself…”

In Wendell Berry’s short novel Remembering,[6] Andy Catlett, a figure quite reminiscent of my friend, struggles with the pain of self-hatred, focused on the literal loss of a member — his hand — to a corn-picking machine and the figurative loss of his attachment to his own past. In his role as a farm agent, Andy is attending an agri-business conference in San Francisco and lapses into a deep depression as he ruminates obsessively about days gone by. When experienced as something which is absent, his past brings pain, as he thinks about the good old farmer and mentor Elton Penn:

To Andy, Elton’s absence became a commanding presence. He was haunted by things he might have said to Elton that would not be sayable again in this world. That absence is with him now, but only as a weary fact, known but no longer felt, as if by some displacement of mind or heart he is growing absent from it. It is the absence of everything he knows, and is known by, that surrounds him now. He is absent himself, perfectly absent. Only he knows where he is, and he is no place that he knows. His flesh feels its removal from other flesh that would recognize it or respond to its touch; it is numb with exile. He is present in his body, but his body is absent.

For Andy, recovery and redemption require remembering — re-membering[7] the long chain of personal relationships over time and centered around a place, Port William, Kentucky. In a reverie near the end of the novel, Andy revisits Port William and discovers it occupied by the shades of his ancestors, not absent but present; and it is the world of the dead that leads him to the world of the living. The paradox is resolved, and his depression lifts as absence and presence are revealed as a unity.

While my friend’s obituary might suggest that he could not find the redemption that Andy Catlett found, perhaps at times he did. On his last tape he spoke something that he had composed and written down on the previous New Year’s Day, 1991. He wrote:

Let me do what I can, be it ever so small each day, and if the dark days of despair and depression overtake me, let me not fail to recall the strength that comforted me in the desolation of other dark days. Let me remember the bright days and hours that found me in the days gone by as I wandered in the woods behind my home on Handy Ridge and as I fished in Griffy Creek with my Dad. Let me recall the comfort that would quiet my puzzled mind as I sat beside a little stream and listened to the crows in the trees overhead. Let my memory relive the enjoyment I shared with others at Unionville High School and the fellowship of the church…

Though many of my former friends may seem to have forgotten me, let me not forget myself in despair. Though all the world may seem unfriendly, please do not let me become unfriendly with myself. Lift my downcast eyes upward as I jog my memory of the worth of friends, loved ones, and the sunshine and the moonbeams that flow in my bedroom window as I sit here and write here today…

Let not my disappointments of the past overcome my appreciation of all the good things that have befallen me in those seventy years plus. Give me a few friends who still love me just for what I am, and let me not condemn others lest in so doing I condemn myself. No, don’t let me get lost in the clamor of this world and all its effects, but let me just walk calmly down the path that is chosen for me in my latter days.

Though my sicknesses and my inabilities of these past few years tend to overtake me and I realize I have fallen so very short of the goals that I once had for myself and for my family, in days gone by, then Lord, teach me to be thankful for life and for time’s golden memories that are so good and sweet and will continue to the grave. Then, may I, as dust begins to settle on my life, be thankful for living, and for the privilege of family and friends, and the companionship of those who may, if they didn’t understand me… but, who kinda liked old Ralph, anyway, and were my friends.

Remembering and forgetting constitute a dialectic of presences and absences, each of which cannot exist without the other. What is said always leaves something else unsaid. Voice cannot exist without silence. As for my friend’s personal memory and autobiography, it is not my place to describe things he wants forgotten to an audience he didn’t create. Indeed, I suspect that, for most of us, our obituaries will recount things we did and not things “we didn’t.” Yet, as anthropologists who engage in cultural critique, an important role is to reveal and even resist the forces at work in the forgetting. Chief among those forces are the bulldozers of modern development, scraping the soil of its memory, creating new environments that bear no relationship to a past. When the bulldozers can’t be stopped, it becomes ever so important to employ story to sustain that connection to our past. Old people, as the rememberers, represent a treasure we must protect. They re-member our communities.

Notes

¹ Francis Sanden, in E. Peterson-Veatch, ed., Experiencing Place (Bloomington, IN: Bloomington Hospital Evergreen Project, 1995).

² This article is adapted from a paper read at the 2005 meetings of the American Anthropological Association, Washington, DC, entitled “Talking about Memory: Zero Signs, Irony and the Cultural Construction of Truth.”

³ Maria Vesperi, “A use of irony in contemporary ethnographic narrative,” in Philip B. Stafford, ed., Gray Areas: Ethnographic Encounters with Nursing Home Culture (Santa Fe: SAR Press, 2003).

⁴ Samuel Beckett, Krapp’s Last Tape and Other Dramatic Pieces (New York: Grove, 1960).

⁵ Sharon R. Kaufman, The Ageless Self: Sources of Meaning in Late Life (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1986). Also in Medical Anthropology Quarterly 2(2):189-90, June 1988.

⁶ Wendell Berry, “Remembering,” in Three Short Novels (New York: Counterpoint, 1992).

⁷ Barbara Myerhoff uses the hyphenated term re-membering in an essay entitled “Life history among the elderly: Performance, visibilility, and re-membering.” Kaminsky notes in his Introduction to that volume that Myerhoff claimed that the term originated with Victor Turner. See Barbara Myerhoff, Remembered Lives: The Work of Ritual, Storytelling, and Growing Older (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 1992).

Phillip B. Stafford, Ph.D., is a cultural anthropologist and Director of the Center on Aging and Community, Indiana Institute on Disability and Community at Indiana University in Bloomington, Indiana. He is a founding board member of the Memory Bridge Foundation and the author of numerous articles on culture and dementia, participatory research and planning, and the meaning of home for older people. His recent book, Elderburbia: Aging with a Sense of Place in America, was published by Praeger Press.

Back to the Garden: Woodstock Nation Values Re-emerge by Janet Stambolian and Janice Blanchard

By the time we got to Woodstock, we were half a million strong.
and everywhere there was song and celebration…
We are stardust, we are golden
and we’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden.

— Joni Mitchell, “Woodstock,” 1969

Were You There?

In the interest of full disclosure, Janet wishes to preface this article with the following true confession: “I didn’t actually go to Woodstock. In August of 1969, I was working in the inner city in New Jersey at Upward Bound. My sister attempted to defy our mother and go, but when our mother threatened to kill herself, my sister changed her mind.”

Janice, likewise, did not go to Woodstock. Although technically a boomer, she was only 9-years-old. Although her oldest brother wanted to go, their mother wouldn’t hear of it either!

Whether or not you were there, if you were a certain age or older at the time — and had a pulse — you knew that something really big had happened on Yasgur’s Farm. All these years later, the event still has power as a cultural watershed moment for many baby boomers.

Perhaps We Were Just Looking for a Bit of Good News

Boomers endured serious, wrenching political turmoil and trauma during our youth, and in those days no grief counselors or school psychologists were on hand to help out. Kids essentially dealt with it on their own and within their families, already grappling with grief of their own: four assassinations (including Malcolm X), a war that tore the country apart, the infamous chaos at the 1968 Democratic convention in Chicago, and the election of Richard Nixon. Boomers were lurching to the end of the decade crushed, anxious, and yearning for evidence that goodness could still be realized somehow, somewhere.

What happened at Woodstock presented that evidence.

The Woodstock Music and Art Festival occurred during the height of the counterculture movement of the 1960s. From August 15–17, 1969, the place to “be-in” was Max Yasgur’s farm, in Bethel, NY. Nearly half a million young free spirits gathered for “three days of peace and love” to hear stellar music and, in the process, became a spontaneous community that would come to be known as Woodstock Nation.

Despite the rain, mud, shortage of water and food, and an over-abundance of mind-altering drugs, there were no riots, fights, nor acts of violence. Instead, the hallmark experience for many who attended was the sense of community fostered through people sharing what they had, helping one another cope with adversity while grooving to the music and each other. For the generation that had become best known for what we stood against, Woodstock showed the world what we stood for — freedom to be our truest selves, acceptance of one another, and living together in peaceful harmony, even in adversity.

Inspired by the possibility of a different way of living, millions of young people joined others in communes, ashrams, and kibbutzim, or banded together in old houses, farms, and school buses to intentionally create community and live out the values that many felt epitomized Woodstock Nation — communitarianism, egalitarianism, environmentalism, social activism, and a general rejection of traditional values and conventional institutions such as marriage, gender roles, and mainstream religion. In sharing the rhythms of daily life, we created bonds between us in ways unheard of by our parents — sharing personally, intimately, deeply with unrelated people outside of our families. While most eventually rejoined mainstream society, many of us recall this period of living in community with other like-minded individuals as one of the most remarkable, growth-oriented, and satisfying times of our lives.

At the Crossroads Again

Boomers once again stand at a crossroads as we leave middle-aged adulthood and begin the journey into elderhood. As was true when we left adolescence and entered adulthood, the customary path that our parents and grandparents traveled is not one that many are willing and/or able to take into the “sunset years of retirement.” For better or worse, the mid-twentieth-century paradigm of life past age 65 as a time to withdraw from work, collect a pension, and enjoy a life of leisure — in a Sunbelt retirement community or in one’s home — has become a mirage.

While many boomers, especially leading-edge boomers born between 1946 and 1955, tend to be healthier, wealthier, and better educated than their parents, this is a broad generalization for an enormous and diverse generation. For example, unlike our parents and grandparents, a significant number of boomers have never married or are divorced; nearly 20 percent do not have children, and the majority live a great distance from relatives. Furthermore, a significant number of our generation do not have adequate savings or retirement income, especially since the economic downturn of 2008. Chuck Durrett, of McCamant & Durrett, a pioneering architectural firm that specializes in ecologically sensitive cohousing projects for seniors and others, says: “Cooperation is the watershed in grappling with this economic downturn. It doesn’t make any sense — economically, emotionally, and environmentally — for retired people to be living in these isolated homes, making thousands of individual trips to the grocery store and pharmacy.”

For many boomers, this life-stage transition evokes that earlier period in our lives when we rejected the well-worn path ahead and sought out like-minded others to forge a new trail. The values inspired at Woodstock and kept alive in our hearts and minds all these years might once again provide a road map into the future. As the country has changed and become in many ways a strange and foreign land, economic, social, and environmental trends suggest a scenario where it is not only appealing, but increasingly necessary, to “get back to the garden.”

Woodstock and Aging in Community

Tending the Same Garden

In the spring of 2006, I sang along with Joni Mitchell, replaying the song “Woodstock” over and over again, as I made the long drive to Dr. Bill Thomas’s farm in central New York. An emerging nonprofit organization, Second Journey, had convened a group of thought leaders to re-think the meaning and purpose of growing older including where we grow older. Driving, I felt that same elation and anticipation I had felt 37 summers earlier when that “other” event was happening at another New York farm. I was two years shy of 60. “Sixty is the new forty,” my peers were fond of saying. Though I recognized the implicit ageism in that adage, I also recognized that mine was not going to be my mother’s 60! Indeed, boomers have redefined every other life stage; undoubtedly we will change old age as well.

At the end of a powerful weekend, we crafted a phrase to reflect our values and our approach to elderhood: aging in community. Below you will find two tables which suggest some striking similarities between the values that epitomize Woodstock Nation (Table 1) and the principles of Aging in Community (Table 2).

While these parallels are not intentional, they do not surprise me. The majority who gathered at Thomas’s farm were boomers; most had experienced living in community and (likely) felt strong affinities to the values of “Woodstock Nation.” More broadly, many who currently live or who are considering living in housing arrangements that support “aging in community” are boomers. Like our core group, most tasted the experience of community earlier in their lives and are also likely to strive to live the values and principles outlined in the two tables below. This is not to say that all people who embrace the values of Woodstock are necessarily interested in an aging-in-community living arrangement — but they are likely to agree with the core principles. Alternatively, if the values of Woodstock Nation do not resonate for a person, it’s unlikely that the aging-in-community model would be an appealing lifestyle choice.

“As a generation, boomers have a unique relationship to the idea of community,” notes Tony Sirna of The Fellowship of Intentional Communities. “Partly because of the Counterculture, many retirees are choosing to create non-corporate senior cohousing, as opposed to traditional senior communities in which they feel institutionalized.”

Economics, demographics, and politics may once again rally boomers to rebel against the current prescribed social norms for old age. Already, we are seeing signs across the cultural landscape that many boomers — particularly in their choice of living arrangements — are coming full circle back to their Woodstock-era values. Whether they live in a group house with services brought in as needed, a shared apartment, a full-on hippie-style commune, or an aging-in-community neighborhood, they will likely live longer and more fulfilling later lives if they choose to grow old together. “The results here are truly amazing,” declares Kirby Dunn, of Homeshare in Burlington, VT. Referencing a number of studies that gauge the effects of shared housing, Dunn concludes, “Across all programs and age-brackets, people say they feel safer, are less lonely, happier, and sleep better.”

Table 1: Woodstock Nation Values

Communitarianism is belief that “we are all in this together,” that people are interdependent, need one another, and mutually benefit from loving one another. This philosophy led to the flowering of communes, ashrams, intentional communities, and other collaborative economic and social arrangements that centered on living more interdependently. The back-to-the-land movement embraced sustainability, self-sufficiency, living simply, raising children consciously, and caring for the land and all living beings.
Egalitarianism is a commitment to treating everyone equally regardless of sex, gender, race, ethnicity, or age. This value was the basis of the social movements in the 1960s and 1970s (Civil Rights, Women’s Movement and Gay/Lesbian Rights).
Environmentalism is a belief that the earth is a fragile and interdependent ecosystem that has finite resources, and humans have a moral obligation to be good stewards of these resources. This value resulted in activism that led to the creation of the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, Earth Day, the Greenpeace movement, and numerous non-profit organizations dedicated to protecting animals, plants, air, ocean, and land.
Integration of Mind, Body, and Spirit is belief that the body, mind, and spirit are interconnected. Boomers began exploring other religions, philosophies, and spiritual practices as well as adopting a more holistic view of health, which led to interest in organic foods; alternative medicine, such as acupuncture, homeopathy, and natural childbirth; and physical and mental fitness practices such as tai chi, yoga, and meditation.
Social Activism is belief that the status quo or “Establishment” of the time was unfair, corrupt, based on greed and authoritarianism, and headed in the wrong direction for the health of the people and the planet. Further, this value implied direct action such as protests, marches, boycotts, and sit-ins to promote social, economic, political, and environmental change.

Table 2: Aging in Community Principles

Inclusive — People of all ages, race/ethnicities, and abilities, especially elders, are welcome.
Sustainable — Residents are committed to a lifestyle that is sustainable environmentally, economically, and socially. Size matters. People need to know each other, and scale determines the nature of human interaction. Small is better.
Healthy — The community encourages and supports wellness of the mind, body, and spirit and, to the same degree, plans and prepares programs and systems that support those dealing with disease, disability, and death.
Accessible — The setting provides easy access to the home and community. For example, all homes, businesses, and public spaces are wheelchair-friendly and incorporate universal design features. Multiple modes of transportation are encouraged.
Interdependent — The community fosters reciprocity and mutual support among family, friends, and neighbors and across generations.
Engaged — The community promotes opportunities for community participation, social engagement, education, and creative expression.

In comparing these two tables, it is easy to see how the values of Woodstock Nation and the principles of aging in community harmonize in a number of ways when building community. Combining them together, they can be implemented in the design, structure, and interaction of a community in the following ways:

Embrace Interdependence

No person is an island — by our human nature, we need one another. Like other primates, we do best in small groups such as villages or neighborhoods, even when located in urban settings. By acknowledging this human condition, we can better design and build homes and neighborhoods to maximize human interaction and interdependence, particularly in later life. By sharing common space, pooling and sharing resources, and fostering reciprocity and mutual support, we give up some privacy and the illusion of “independence” in exchange for deeper human connections and potentially a more meaningful quality of life.

Plan for Everyone

Diversity is the spice of life, and inclusiveness builds the most cohesive and welcoming community. Planning and building for all ages, abilities, income levels, and backgrounds includes incorporating accessible design features (such as universal design principles), housing for all income levels, and community spaces that can be used by all age groups and ability levels.

Incorporate Sustainability

At every level we should strive to reduce an individual’s or the community’s use of natural resources. For example, at the planning and building levels, we can draw on the criteria established for L.E.E.D. (Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design) certification; build smaller living units/dwellings and more densely designed neighborhoods; aim for net zero or very low carbon footprint buildings; and plan site orientation to maximize daylight, views, and solar gain. Within the day-to-day operations, we should maximize ease for residents to recycle, compost, reuse, reclaim, or redirect resources; use alternative or public transportation; support the local economy; and incorporate other measures that increase sustainability.

Encourage Wellness of Mind, Body, and Spirit

Whether in the home or in the community, there should be thought given to creating spaces for spiritual and physical practices that encourage wellness. A meditation garden, labyrinth, community garden, or an area in which to practice yoga, tai chi, or meditation are just a few examples of places where individuals or small groups can practice wellness. In larger communities, paths that can accommodate walking, skating, or biking; sports areas; or an exercise facility not only encourage personal fitness and health — they also provide opportunities to form social connections and friendships that build community.

Promote Social Activism

Ideally, aging in community not only promotes activism within the community through self-governance, volunteerism, and other social contributions — it also reaches out to the larger community in similar ways. Creating a good place to live requires consciousness and action on issues inside and outside the neighborhood, whether it is creating a community “time bank,” lobbying for access to public transportation, or protesting a new development on environmental grounds.

Aging in Community

A 21st-Century Approach to Community Development

The aforementioned strategies are more than theoretical ideas of how to build great communities. Comprehensive design — master site planning, architecture, landscape — plays a critical role in furthering the social values and principles that inspire the aging-in-community model. That model anticipates from the beginning the integration of what might be thought of as dual axis: (1) the built environment and (2) the social software.

The built environment refers to tangible aspects of community development — site plan, layout and relationships of formal to informal interaction, unit design, building orientation, green/universal design — in sum, any aspect of design that helps residents experience a sense of place. Examples of the built environment could include new neighborhoods or master-planned communities, retrofitted apartment or condominium buildings, cohousing neighborhoods, housing cooperatives, shared housing, affinity housing, or other housing and neighborhood configurations including ones for those in need of more intensive medical or supportive environments.

Social software refers to those aspects of a community that feed social, spiritual, physical, emotional, educational, creative, and civic life that help establish a sense of community connectedness among all neighbors/residents. They include programs and activities that enhance the quality of life for residents and which, ultimately, maximize the ability of residents to remain in their own homes or residences of choice and remain connected to their communities. Examples of social software include community-based health services such as Eden at Home; the Nurse Block Program and Share the Care; cultural enrichment programs like the Circle of Care Project and Elders Share the Arts; civic engagement programs such as the Experience Corp and Environmental Alliance of Senior Involvement; and community-building programs such as community gardens and farmers’ markets.

The degree to which both the built environment and the social software are brought into alignment from conception exponentially increases the probability of creating the hoped-for outcome — a supportive neighborhood that enhances an individual’s well-being and quality of life at home and as an integral part of the community across the age continuum.

The aging-in-community model draws on the expertise of developers and builders to expedite the design and construction of new projects; however, it also invites future residents to become involved and consulted in decisions affecting their eventual community.

Conclusion

Aging in Community represents a proactive model that intentionally creates supportive neighborhoods to enhance the well-being and quality of life for residents of all ages and abilities, particularly elders. The model promotes a deliberate consciousness about being a good neighbor and a good steward of our fragile planet.

It encourages a sense of social trust and interdependence which is strengthened through positive interactions and collaboration in shared interests and pursuits. The model recognizes elders’ wisdom and experience and creates opportunities to share these qualities with others in the community and in the community-at-large.

For the past 40 years, through life’s changes and against formidable odds, many idealistic boomers have retained their commitment to the values that inspired them during the amazing period of transformation and expansion in their youth. The time is now for planners, architects, developers, and builders to work diligently and help those who want to “get back to the garden” do so with a strong sense of community, meaning, and full engagement.

Notes

1 See “The Roseto effect: a 50-year comparison of mortality rates” at http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1695733/.

Janet Stambolian, M.Ed., is Director of Business Development for Mackenzie Architects. She has devoted her 35-year career in construction, project management, marketing, and business development to creating environments that enhance the quality of life, promote meaningful intergenerational connection, and tread lightly on the environment. A lifelong community builder, Janet connects and engages people in a common goal through a team-centered, holistic approach. She works to expedite the design, development, and construction of new models of communities nationally.

Janice Blanchard, M.S.P.H., is a gerontologist and nationally recognized writer, speaker, and consultant on aging issues. For 20 years she has worked on the cutting edge of public policy and programs promoting a new vision of elders as valuable members of our communities and of elderhood as a distinct phase of the human life cycle.

Creating Community in Later Life by Bolton Anthony

There is an ad in a trade publication marketing East Coast retirement properties to baby boomers. The text reads something like,

Last Chance Mountain, a village that lives up to the mountain. Relax here, play here, indulge here. Nestled at ease among the near-limitless expanses of one of the East’s last surviving wilderness areas, Last Chance Mountain is synonymous with luxurious adventure. The rustic elegance of its mountaintop Village welcomes your mind, body and spirit to reconnect with nature and rediscover yourself. This is where your family comes to play. This is where you come to relax. This is where you revel in luxury. This is your mountain. This is your home.

You long to “rediscover yourself” and live moreauthentically. Midlife forces us to confront “the lost and counterfeit places within us.” It challenges us to release “our deeper, innermost self — our true self.” It challenges us “to come home to ourselves [and] become who we really are.”[2] An age-old question resurfaces. Though we thought we resolved it in our youth, it returns with new urgency born of our sense that time is running out: Who am I? In the tumult of raising a family and making a career we had somehow lost track of ourselves. Who am I now — now that the nest is empty and the career winding down? Once the frenetic activity of midlife starts to wane and things quiet a bit, we can hear the “still, small voice”[3] calling us to “come home” to ourselves.
You long to live more simply. We feel an urge to slim down and disencumber ourselves: lose those extra pounds, clear out the attic and our storage unit (assuming we’ve kept ourselves to one!), and rid ourselves of useless regrets and poisonous resentments. The Hindus call this time of life our Forest Dwelling period, when it is appropriate to leave behind our previous things, roles, and duties — a letting go we in the West often find very threatening. But as Drew Leder writes in Spiritual Passages: “To the Hindu, aging is more than a series of meaningless losses. There are modes of liberation contributing to spiritual growth. If age strips away pride, pleasures, and profit, all the better… If our responsibilities are diminished, the time available to explore the sacred expands.”[4]
You long to “reconnect with nature.” We have vague memories of a natural world rife with magic and mystery. As adults, weren’t we supposed to put aside such “childish” views? And yet, our intimation — shared with Native Americans — that “the Earth is alive,” is a stubborn one. We dwell among “other beings, other forms of awareness, our voices interweave among others more-than-human,”[5] Anthony Weston assures us. Step outside at dawn and catch the mere snippet of a bird’s song, and you are instantly transported back into this primal oneness with the world. It is only a matter of letting “the soft animal of your body love what it loves.”[6]
And finally, we long for community. We long for companions who will share our excitement for this “second journey” in life — companions who will help sustain our own efforts to live more simply and authentically. For the paradoxical truth is, “We never get to the bottom of our selves on our own.” Indeed, we only “discover who we are face to face and side by side with others in work, love and learning.” Remember those three words: work, love and learning.[7]

Community is what the developers of Last Chance Mountain are hawking — community served up with a heavy dollop of nostalgia. “The rustic elegance of its mountaintop Village” evokes images of a simpler time. “This is where your family comes to play” — as if all families were still like the Waltons. “This is your mountain”: not our mountain — strange community, that. (Never mind the presumption that one could actually own a mountain — that all this bounteous world, including this body I walk around in, was ever anything other than on temporary loan.) “Relax HERE. Play HERE. Indulge HERE,” the ad whispers. But who are the guests at this feast? The short answer is, those who share our “lifestyle.”

That leads us to a useful label for Last Chance Mountain, coined by the authors of Habits of the Heart: a “life-style enclave.” Unlike genuine community, which celebrates diversity and “the different callings of all,” life-style enclaves celebrate “the narcissism of similarity.”[8] Those similarities usually include age: Sun City developments, for example, enforce a 55+-age restriction. And they always include income level: only those who, like us, can afford to ““revel in luxury” are welcome; and, in case of doubt, the guard at the gatehouse can pull your credit report. More importantly, community at Last Chance Mountain embraces only private life, and its rituals revolve around leisure and consumption.

“We never get to the bottom of ourselves on our own. We discover who we are face to face and side by side with others in work, love and learning.”

— Habits of the Heart

Poking fun at Last Chance Mountain is a bit like hunting game with a Kalashnikov (though, trust me, it is a real place, and my only change to the advertisement copy was to rechristen the mountain). But it is important to locate developments like Last Chance Mountain within their sociohistorical context: they are outgrowths of a view of retirement as “a time to take it easy, enjoy leisure activities and a much-deserved rest from work.” This view, according to Marc Freedman, author of Prime Time, is largely the invention of one man, Del Webb, the Arizona developer/promoter whose Sun City launched the retirement community industry. It is a view that Freedman believes has lost its hold on the American imagination. When asked to choose, Americans between the ages of 50–75, by a margin of three-to-one, preferred to think of retirement as “a time to begin a new chapter in life by being active and involved, starting new activities, and setting new goals.” The numbers were even more dramatic among the boomer and pre-boomer cohorts.[9]

The subtitle of Freedman’s book contends that “Baby Boomers Will Revolutionize Retirement and Transform America.” The obvious next question is, “How?” And, specifically, how in relation to this issue of community. First — though it’s a bit late in the game — let’s make an important clarification. “Community” has two aspects. When we speak of “new model communities,” we mean the physical container — the hardware, if you will. When we speak of “new models of community,” we mean thespiritual (for want of a better word) container — the software. So let me conclude with a potpourri of unsystematic ideas about where our dual search might be leading.

First, it takes only a cursory investigation to discover a vanguard of new communities, whose hallmarks are sustainability and Traditional Neighborhood Design. The more compact design of these communities encourages bicycling and walking for short trips by providing destinations close to home and work. The “sense of place” they create invites community and connects people to each other and the natural world in mutual respect. Simultaneously, interest in cohousing and other intentional community models is intense, though it is still a ways from becoming mainstream. And the ranks of architects committed to sustainable design in harmony with the environment are swelling.

This said, you may rightly point out, “Our suburbs are filled with houses that are bigger than ever.” The square footage of new homes continues to soar in inverse relation to the dwindling size of the American family. Those are not cabins they’re building on Last Chance Mountain. Where’s the evidence of a desire to live more simply? Architect Sarah Susanka, author of The Not So Big House (the brisk sales of which are at least anecdotal evidence that change may be in the wind), laments: “So many houses, so big with so little soul.” Then she asks, “Are the dreams that build them bigger? Or is it simply that there seems to be no alternative?”[10] I agree with Susanka that it is the latter. Developers are conservative by necessity; the stakes are high, and deviating from a tried and true formula is fraught with risk. Change will come as successful innovations become more visible and the aging boomers come to understand with greater clarity their hearts’ desires.

The places we live are the physical containers which — by virtue of their wise or careless design — encourage or discourage our interaction with others and with the more-than-human world. But our deepest sense of community is rooted in the intangible, in that network of relationships which supports and sustains our personal growth and spiritual deepening and expands our opportunities for service and engagement in the world. In the past, these networks grew in the soil of small-town life, extended family, and church affiliation. Such primary communities for many — for most? — have lost their relevance. The task we have set ourselves, then, is the monumental one of creating surrogates for the extended family and church community and the various roles they have played through the many seasons of our lives.

Reflecting on the deep friendships we form in our teens and twenties may give us clues about how to go about creating community in later life. Those early friendships grew in the soil of shared, usually intense experiences. Later life is less about experience and more about meaning. Later life calls us to reflect on and understand our cumulative experiences — a radically “unshareable” activity. If we are to create new friendships in later life, we must consciously create new shareable experiences. If they are to be deep friendships, they must be around experiences that engage our deepest, emergent self. That’s probably not golf — or, more generally, leisure and consumption, the stock and trade of life-style enclaves. It may be those things which have to do with “work, love and learning” (remember those): it may be social action, or the “Great Work”[11] of caring for Earth, or a deep engagement in teaching and learning. At the same time — though it would seem to be an example of exactly what I am arguing for — I have misgivings about the intense negotiations that, at least from the outside looking in, seem characteristic of most cohousing developments. A certain indirection seems called for. Couples who spend a lot of time “working on their relationship” rarely succeed as well as couples who simply “do things together.”

“Human conversation is the most ancient and easiest way to cultivate the conditions for change — personal change, community and organizational change, planetary change.”

— Margaret Wheatley

Finally, I have been for a very long time interested in what I called Communities for Imagining the Future, a network of centers around which sustainable residential developments might emerge. Each center — and these might include colleges, retreat centers, organic farms, earth literacy centers, holistic healing centers — would be a kind of magnet that serves as the “strong attractor” not only for the residential community, but also for a certain kind of conversation within the culture. I firmly believe, with Margaret Wheatley, that significant change — “personal change, community and organizational change, planetary change” — begins with conversations about things that matter.[12]

How can I live more simply and authentically? When do I feel most alive and creative? What is the work I am called to? What is the Earth asking of me? What is my gift to the family of Earth? These questions speak to all of us in every season of our lives, but they have special urgency for elders whose personal work is focused on the legacy they will leave and whose societal role is to speak for the unborn generations and for the Earth. My vision for Communities for Imagining the Future is not one I’ve succeeded in moving forward.

Several years ago, in connection with a class I was teaching, I re-read Watership Down, Richard Adams’ novel about an intrepid band of rabbits on an epic journey in search of “home.”[13] One could learn all one needs to know about community from this “children’s” classic: that community is born in our shared experiences, that it is the stories we tell which hold our sense of community, that our very survival depends on our trust in the rich diversity of gifts each brings to the group. And finally, that what we want most from life is the sense of participating in an adventure. Not Last Chance Mountain’s “luxurious adventure” (which is a contradiction in terms), but an adventure where the outcome is in doubt and courage and hope are called for. The outcome will be in doubt if the challenge we have set ourselves to is bold enough. The hope we will need is not an excessive confidence that we will win through to the end, but the simple willingness to take the next step. As Tennyson’s Ulysses says to his aging companions, “Come, my friends. ‘Tis not too late to seek a newer world.” Adventure, yes, that’s what we want — even in later life.

Notes

¹ Maria Polletta, “Rate at which Baby Boomers will turn 65.” May 27, 2011.

² Sue Monk Kidd, When the Heart Waits: Spiritual Direction for Life’s Sacred Questions (New York: Harper, Collins, 1990), p. 4.

³ Harry R. Moody and David Carroll, The Five Stages of the Soul, Charting the Spiritual Passages That Shape Our Lives (New York: Anchor Books, 1997), pp. 3–5.

⁴ Drew S. Leder, Spiritual Passages: Embracing Life’s Sacred Journey (New York: Tarcher/Putnam, 1997), p. 21.

⁵ Anthony Weston, Back to Earth: Tomorrow’s Environmentalism (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1994), p. 79.

⁶ Mary Oliver, “Wild Geese” in New and Selected Poems (Boston: Beacon Press, 1992), p. 110.

⁷ Robert N. Bellah, et. al., Habits of the Heart: Individualism and Commitment in American Life (New York: Harper and Row, 1985), p. 84. Few books have provided such a penetrating analysis of the historic tension in American culture between individualism and communitarianism. As this tension again plays itself out in the strident rhetoric of the current election campaign, it is fitting to include the full quote: “There are truths we do not see when we adopt the language of radical individualism. We find ourselves not independently of other people and institutions but through them. We never get to the bottom of ourselves on our own. We discover who we are face to face and side by side with others in work, love and learning. All of our activity goes on in relationships, groups, associations, and communities ordered by institutional structures and interpreted by cultural patterns of meaning. Our individualism is itself one such pattern. And the positive side of our individualism, our sense of the dignity, worth, and moral autonomy of the individual, is dependent in a thousand ways on a social, cultural, and institutional context that keeps us afloat even when we cannot very well describe it. There is much in our life that we do not control, that we are not even ‘responsible’ for, that we receive either as grace or face as tragedy; things Americans habitually prefer not to think about. Finally, we are not simply ends in ourselves, either as individuals or as a society. We are parts of a larger whole that we can neither forget nor imagine in our own image without paying a high price. If we are not to have a self that hangs in a void, slowly twisting in the wind, these are issues we cannot ignore.”

⁸ Habits of the Heart, p. 72.

⁹ Marc Freedman, Prime Time: How Baby Boomers Will Revolutionize Retirement and Transform America(Public Affairs, 1999), p. 224. Freedman’s history of how modern retirement was “invented” is a spellbinding one.

¹⁰ Sarah Susanka, The Not So Big House: A Blueprint for the Way We Really Live (Newtown, CT: Taunton Press, 2001), p. 7. Susanka’s book bears the appropriate dedication: “For our grandchildren.”

¹¹ Thomas Berry, The Great Work: Our Way into the Future (New York: Bell Tower, 1999).

¹² Margaret J. Wheatley. Turning to One Another: Simple Conversations to Restore Hope to the Future. (Berrett-Koehler Publishers, Inc., 2002), p. 3.

¹³ Richard Adams, Watership Down (New York: Avon Books, 1972).

Friendships in Later Life by John G. Sullivan

Old friends, old friends
sat on their park bench like bookends
A newspaper blown through the grass
falls on the round toes
of the high shoes of the old friends

Old friends, winter companions, the old men
Lost in their overcoats, waiting for the sun

Can you imagine us years from today,
sharing a park bench quietly
How terribly strange to be seventy

Old friends,
memory brushes the same years,
silently sharing the same fears.

Time it was and what a time it was, it was . . .
a time of innocence,
a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be,
I have a photograph.
Preserve your memories,
they’re all that left you.(1)

The poignant song of Paul Simon speaks of friends who are 70 — in their autumn and winter years. Simon was in his late twenties when he wrote the song, and he saw the old friends in sad decline.(2) Memories are all that is left them, says the last line.

But suppose that is not the only way to see and be seventy, to see or be in the last seasons of a life? Suppose that old friends, like those we call “old souls,” have more to offer than the song suggest.

In my recent writing, I look at the lifetime in four stages: Spring Student and Summer Householder on the upward and outward arc; Autumn Forest Dweller and Winter Sage on the downward and inward arc.(3)

I see each season as bringing its own gifts and suggest what I call “integral living.” By that, I mean the capacity to not identify with any one stage but instead to have access to all stages at any moment. In such fashion, we begin to live in a timeless way.

What gifts do the Autumn Forest Dweller and the Winter Sage bring to friendships — especially to old friendships — those that have endured over time? Think first of the various kinds of friendships: the friendship of two spouses, the friendship of fathers and mothers with their daughters and sons. Consider the longtime friendships of grandparents and their grandchildren. Consider the relationships of brothers and sisters and others in the family circle. Imagine further long-term friendships whose roots are in common work or common causes — from classmates to workmates to volunteers. Think even of new friendships made by elders with contemporaries — with children, youth, householders; with other forest dweller and others exploring the depth dimension.

What gifts do the Autumn Forest Dweller and the Winter Sage bring to such friendships?

First of all the Forest Dweller-in-us and the Sage-in-us partake of what I call waterfall energy as they enter the downward and inward half of the circle.

Forest Dweller is learning to release and return to what has always been at core. The skills are letting go and letting be. Letting go does not mean giving up relationships; it means letting them be. Releasing the tendency to control others, re-owning the projections we place on others. Allowing others — especially those we have known longest, to be exactly as they are — on their own path, following their own journey, navigating their own joys and sorrows. Detaching from the desire to control does not mean ceasing to care. Rather, we hold the tension — caring deeply and even having views on what we find healthier ways of achieving goals. Yet, we give up controlling people; we give up controlling events. We rest in one of the great insights of India’s wisdom ways, namely to act while renouncing the fruits of action. We act as wisely and compassionately as we can. We leave the results in the hand of powers beyond ourselves.

What are the fruits of this hard-won releasing?

Love without possessiveness.
Compassion without condescension.
Joy arising from the practice of gratitude, a sympathetic joy in the good of the other without envy or jealousy.
Peace without breaking the bonds of oneness, peace in our goals, peace in our means, peace in every step.

We approach these “releasings” in the spirit of Michelangelo who, when asked how to make a beautiful statue, advised the inquirer to find a piece of marble where the statue already existed and to chip away what was impeding its manifestation. This is the waterfall way. The gifts and the qualities are already in us. We need not strive to achieve them. We need only let go of what we are doing to obscure their manifestation.

Friendship and Time

Imagine again the old men sitting on the park bench like bookends. Imagine they were 70 in 1968, the year the song was released. This means that they would have been born in 1898. And the round toes of their high shoes evoke that earlier age. Surely they had lived through much as had their age cohorts. Their memories stretch back to another time, another way of being. It is winter and they are waiting for the sun. They have much to share. They can speak easily, leaving much unsaid yet understood. They are comfortable with the silence from which arises what can be said and what lies deeper than words.

When old friends have shared a lifetime, much can be said with only a small reference: a song, a proverb, a place, a family ritual, an event. The familiar allusion, the thing half-said, suggested only. Winter in some cultures calls to mind the waters of unknowing. I think of these old friends as dwelling in things known and things unknown. I see the present moment expanding to include vague intimations of past, present, and all that is yet to be. The mystery of it all deepens, revealing and concealing, disclosing and closing again.

Winter wisdom is less certain. We know and do not know our friends. We know and do not know ourselves. As if the universe and even our planetary home is vaster than we know. As if each individual partakes of that vastness. As if in the realm of soul and spirit, what is most ultimate is most elusive, and we are content with glimpses only. A vastness in and beyond all things.

We are changing like a garden changes, seasonally and also in other ways. I think of Robert Irwin who designed the garden at the J. Paul Getty Museum outside of Los Angeles. Of that garden, he says, it is:

Ever changing never less than whole.
Ever present never twice the same.

So it is with those we count as longtime friends. Those we have known over many ages and stages. Over many seasons unfolding. Through joys and grieving and many hurts to the heart. And in it all, landscapes of shared histories, shared memories, shared fears, and shared hopes.

Honoring Our Ancestors

In the native American way, elders are called “grandfather” or “grandmother.” So too are mountains and other elements of nature that are old and wise. While not everyone is a biological grandparent, all who reach a certain age and manifest a wisdom precious to the tribe gain this honorific title.

We can learn much about the skills needed for friendships in later life by focusing on grandparents, in this expanded sense. At their best, I see them fulfilling three tasks:

to keep the big things big and the little things little
to encourage creativity (in themselves and others), and
to bless the young.(4)

Let’s look at each of these “elder tasks” in turn:

1.) Keeping the big things big and the little things little.

Grandparents at their best see us in a much longer view, knowing the wisdom of “This too shall pass.” We in our roles of youth or adult often stay stuck in the limited drama of the moment. (Think of first love, first loss, first event that reveals life as unfair and unjust, the first betrayal, etc.)

2.) Encouraging creativity

Grandparents can remain supple by encouraging creativity in themselves. And grandparents at their best can be allies of the young by encouraging them to be daring, take risks, follow their dreams. We — in our roles as youth or adults — often are locked into what those in the “real world” will say.

3.) Blessing the young

Grandparents at their best see us in our unique core beauty; they see us as deeper than our actions and hence in their presence we often become our better selves. We — in our roles of youth or adult — often do not see each other’s core beauty; we often freeze one another in stories from the past.

So how do we bring these three grandparent gifts to each of our relationships? In one sense, the answer is in the adverbs: Do it ever-more lovingly, compassionately, joyfully, and peacefully.

In another sense, it is through ceasing to approach life as if it were ours to control.

Old Friends to Soul Friends

A Celtic tale: A group of ancient Irish warriors rested while on a hunt. They were led by their chieftain, the great Fionn MacCumhail (pronounced Fin ma Kool.) While they rested for some moments, a debate began. The question was “What was the finest music in the world?” And Each warrior in turn ventured an answer:

A cuckoo calling
The ring of spear on shield
The belling of a stag across the water
The baying of a tuneful pack
The song of a lark
The laugher of a gleeful girl
The whisper of a moved one

“Good sounds all,” said Fionn.

“Tell us, chief, what do you think?”

“The music of what happens,” said the great Fionn, “that is the finest music in the world.”(5)

The Irish poet Patrick Kavanagh agrees in his oft-quoted lines:

So be reposed and praise, praise, praise
The way it happened and the way it is.(6)

Such music is not easy to appreciate. To hear it, we must relinquish control. Letting go of control, we enter into a more spacious loving. For winter wisdom has its own warmth as the old ones waiting for the sun knew. And love is there. As poet Kathleen Raine puts it: “Unless you see a thing in the light of love, you do not see it at all.” (7)

In Celtic Ireland, having a soul friend (Anam Ċara) was highly praised.(8) Such a friend — almost a confessor or spiritual advisor — allowed the fullest sharing of intimate thoughts and feelings, longings and belongings, aspirations and uncertainties. I see the soul friend as sharing in one’s spiritual journey as well as one’s outward life passage. Hence soul-friendship has overtones of what Brother David Steindl-Rast calls “The More and Ever More.” Yet it retains a blend of earthiness, candor, humor, and large-mindedness often rare. A hospitality to the full range of human experience: bodily and emotional, insightful and reflective, mysterious and unimaginatively vast and — at the same time — present in the smallest event. Here the distinction between secular and sacred dissolves. Earth and sky dance together. Things divided are recognized again as whole. Attention is given to matters visible and invisible; things ancient become new. Time merges with the timeless. Such is the province of the soul friend. At best, soul friends leave behind narrow dualism. They keep widening the circle of inclusion so as to embrace the Great Family of elements, plants, animals, and humankind as well.

Soul friends touch the worlds of Source, Self, and the Circle of Nature. As they do, all is increasingly suffused with mystery.

P. A. Mendoza in conversation with Nobel prize-winning author Gabriel García Márquez asked the author about his thirty-year relationship with his wife Mercedes. Márquez replied: “I know her so well now that I have not the slightest idea who she really is.”(9) This loving openness is the fruit of letting go and letting be. It fosters a life where each friend is capable of surprising us, capable of appearing newly, again and again.

I leave the last word with love. Love unfinished. As the lover remembers a lasting love not yet returned. They are not in a city. Not on park benches. Rather the woman is nodding by a hearth fire. And the man is seeing her in his mind’s eye as she is and was and will be for him.

Here is William Butler Yeats’ poem “When you are old”:

When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.(10)

Notes

1 From the “Bookends” album – the fourth studio album of Simon and Garfunkel. This album was released April 3, 1968 by Columbia Records. It was produced by Paul Simon, Art Halee and Art Garfunkel. The song “Old Friends” also appears on the Columbia Records 1999 CD compilation, “The Best of Simon and Garfunkel”.

² In April 1968, when the Bookends album was released, Paul Simon (born October 13, 1941) was in his 27th year. Oct. 13th, 2012 will be his 71st birthday.

³ See my book, The Spiral of the Seasons: Welcoming the Gifts of Later Life (Chapel Hill, NC: Second Journey Publications, 2009). In this book, I overlay the four seasons on the classical four stages of life from ancient India, getting Spring Student, Summer Householder, Autumn Forest Dweller, and Winter Sage.

⁴ I learned these three functions from poet Robert Bly in one of his public talks. He spoke of them as three functions of the sovereign. I see them as functions of grandparents at their best.

⁵ See James Stephens, Irish Fairy Tales (New York: Macmillan Company, 1920). Also see John J. Ó Ríordáin, The Music of What Happens: Celtic Spirituality: A View from the Inside (Dublin: The Columba Press, 1996), p.7. I have altered slightly the telling.

⁶ See Patrick Kavanagh, Come Dance with Kitty Stobling, and Other Poems (London: Longman, 1960) Also see Patrick Kavanagh, Dancing with Kitty Stobling: The Patrick Kavanagh Poetry Award Winners, 1971-2003, edited by Antoinette Quinn (Dublin: Lilliput Press in association with The Patrick Kavanagh Society, 2004).

⁷ Quoted in John O’Donohue, Anam Ċara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom (New York: HarperCollins Publishers,1997), p. 65.

⁸ See John O’Donohue, Anam Ċara.

⁹ Quoted in John O’Donohue, Anam Ċara, p. 91. For the original, see Plinio Apuleyo Mendoza, The Fragrance of Guava: Conversations with Gabriel García Márquez (London: Faber and Faber, 1988, c. 1982).

¹⁰ See The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats (New York: Macmillan Publishing Company. 1956), pp. 40–41.

Books of Interest: Life Gets Better! review by Barbara Kammerlohr

Life Gets Better: The Unexpected Pleasures of Growing Older
by Wendy Lustbader
Tarcher Books, 2011

Wendy Lustbader has long been a soldier in the war against western culture’s bias against aging. With Life Gets Better, she argues that our fear and dread of growing older is unjustified, and she targets assumptions that youth is the best time of life. In the book’s introduction, she touts the book as “a counterbalance to the negative, stultifying stereotypes about aging. I show the worship of youth to be a colossal error.”

The book is a series of chapters on topics such as self-knowledge, gratitude, spirituality, resilience, and other psychological traits that research has shown to lead to a satisfying life. Lustbader incorporates her own life experiences, stories of her clients and her family, and her knowledge about the late-life developmental stage. In a book full of information and real-life stories about how the aging process actually works, she proclaims that everything about life but the physical gets better with time, and she succinctly points out the reasons.

Here are some of the reasons that buttress her optimism:

As self-knowledge deepens with years, we get better at handling relationships and decisions with less frenzy. There is an inner freedom in being less constrained by other peoples’ judgments and expectations.
Gratitude for what goes right in life deepens and, as we focus on what is right, our appreciation leads to a growing inner contentment. After the experiences of loss that are inevitable, we no longer take for granted the things that remain. We begin to appreciate and cherish them.
Decision-making can be done without frenzy and worry; we can call on deep knowledge from lessons of a lifetime. Memories of mistakes from which we have recovered, misadventures and problems we have solved, are all there to use when similar situations arise.
We are less fearful of adversity. After all, we have faced many challenges and noted that most issues eventually work out for the best.
As spirituality deepens, petty concerns recede to their rightful place in the background. We begin to learn that the most important activity in life is inside each of us.
We have learned the pleasures of generosity and, as we become more interested in others, that interest begins to occupy a central place in how we regard the value of what we do.

However, as interesting as the information on the late-life developmental stage may be, it is the copious number of stories of her friends, family members, and clients that bring spice and enjoyment to reading the book. For every principle she explains, there is at least one, and frequently more, poignant story — like the one below — of someone wrestling with that specific issue.

One example is a story about gratitude:

Physical limitation contains its opposite — freedom — because it jars us into prizing that which we can still do. Our capacities, like standing at a stove for hours, go largely unrecognized until threatened.

A friend in her early sixties has severe arthritis in her hands. She takes care of frail women in their eighties who have lost their way through dementia. Her hands sometimes make it hard for her to accomplish simple tasks, but the women are in no hurry. They are delighted by her humor and kindness, and they love the meals she places before them that are prepared with unfailing thoughtfulness. Alone in her house, my friend sometimes has to force away tears about her own future; but with the ladies, she feels the flush of every competence she continues to enjoy.

In considering the audience for this book, I could think of no age group that would not benefit from its information and wisdom. To those well into this last developmental stage, it explains why life is infinitely more satisfying than we were led to believe by our youth-focused culture. My hope, however, is that it will be more widely read by the entire population, especially by younger people who can then exercise a positive approach to their own aging process. A more universal understanding of this most important developmental stage can also lead to less bias and fear about aging. Readers of Itineraries may want to consider gifting this to members of a younger generation.

Wendy Lustbader is the author of several books and essays that have earned her a national reputation in the field of aging. A medical social worker, she holds the rank of Affiliate Associate Professor in the School of Social Work at the University of Washington. She is a skilled psychotherapist and experienced medical social worker. Her other books include: Taking Care of Family Members, 1993; Counting on Kindness, 1993; What’s Worth Knowing, 2004; and Hidden in Plain Sight, 2008.