Onward and upward on my search for summer camp activities, a new thought crossed my mind. Even though I don’t fit the stereotypical mold, I am, indeed, a Senior Citizen. I’m retired, with plenty of extra hours on my hands. I don’t wear my hair as many older women might, finding I like it long these days. I do wear shorts and tees more than I should, but then, I have really nicely tanned legs. Ace tells me so.
I don’t carry a big purse, because I prefer a fanny pack. “Both hands free, Don’t Mess With Me.” Period. I like my Sketcher’s athletic shoes. My fingernails are gardener short. The next time I wear make-up might be when I am laid out for a final viewing. I just don’t fit the mold of old. I guess I could be considered YOLD. Young Old.
Thinking of Miss Firecracker, so far away in lovely new life, it’s always been obvious she didn’t fit the mold either. Neither of us will ever be Moldy Oldies. The truth of the matter is, I need another Thelma to run with my Louise, and so far, I haven’t met one. Of course, there is only ONE her. Period. Thinking deeply, the brand new Senior Center just might be the place I could find new friends. I decided to give it a try.
The building was nearing completion last spring when Covid hit. Finished and empty for months before it actually opened, there would have been time to make this space adorable and inviting. It was Institutionally perfect. Any young relative would love Mom or Pops to hang out in this brand new space. Mom and Pops might feel differently, as it lacked humanity of any kind. It also lacked any sort of welcoming leadership giving direction to the program. What had they done behind all those months behind locked doors? A golden opportunity lost.
The old Senior Center was in a cozy house. Well loved, and a little rough around the edges, it spoke to the years of friendships built there. Often, aged things have value lost on the young. I’d only driven by once with Miss Firecracker. We found it was already closed by then, in anticipation of the bright new building on the other side of the tracks. Interesting and private, it was a private space for seniors to share themselves with other seniors.
Yesterday, shining up a little, I prepared for action. My shorts were replaced with black capris. My tee-shirt was replaced with a black and white blouse bling-ed just a bit. With new sandals on my feet, but still sporting the fanny pack, I was off. Today, I planned to visit the new Senior Center, expecting to find something totally different than that which I did.
The building is functionally sturdy, similar in structure to a pre-fab design. With no extra charm, the front doors lead to a large desk that should be managed by a receptionist. There was none. This entry way seemed to be shared by Seniors and Social Service Clients. This is not the most comforting combination of clients that could be paired.
An entire wall of glass separated the waiting room and the Senior Center. Two institutional glass doors were closed behind the receptionists desk. In my mind, thinking as an old teacher, the thoughts of privacy and safety came to mind. Inside, with the capacity to hold 100 people, you would have the most vulnerable citizens, distracted and trying to have fun. Right outside the glass wall, clients waiting for mental health, child protective services, or welfare. Nothing would ever go wrong. Until it might.
Thinking of the private little house on the other side of the tracks made me a bit sad. As I investigated more, I realized I’m not quite at the age to appreciate the Center. About thirty round industrial tables and brand-new plastic chairs filled the room. There was not one ounce of creativity or welcoming feeling coming from this space. To one side was an industrial serving area where people could get their daily meal for $2.00. Yesterday’s meal was spaghetti and meatballs, but, I’d lost my appetite. In all the time that took, not one employee came up to say “Hello” or ask if I had questions.
Being “Multi-Purpose”, the use could be changed at the drop of a hat. They could show ponies in this barn. House homeless. There is nothing specifically dedicated to Senior’s and their taste.
Sitting very near the kitchen sat five old friends. I believe Poker was the game of the day. They never saw me enter, as they were into a hot game. This cavernous room with 20 foot ceilings did not scream WELCOME or YOU’LL BE COMFORATABLE HERE. It’s cold walls perfectly new and white repelled me and I left as quickly as I’d entered.
Leaving, I noticed sign up sheets with the names of friends I’d not meet on that day. They’d all signed up for the new Watercolor classes to start next week. At the bottom in red ink-ed block letters –CLASS FULL. That sealed the deal. Searching for summer camp activities, I’d continue to look elsewhere. I wasn’t ready for this place nor it for me. Not yet, anyway.
The library was Monday closed. Dropping off donations at Sassy Second’s, down the road, I realized my summer camp would remain within the confines of Winterpast for a few more days. Water aerobics at 10. BBQ hot dogs at noon. Afternoon nap. Free Swim at 2. Dinner under the stars with a light show that is new and exciting every night.
When camp doesn’t come to you, make your own. Just don’t let the old lady in (as Willie Nelson would tell you). No matter, what. She will find a way in sooner or later. Until then, keep on the search for your own summer camp fun. Others are waiting to join in, you just haven’t met them yet.