Escaping. People say that in the elevator or the parking garage, and we always laugh at the partial truth in it. We are the fortunate ones who are ambulatory and still drive and have the freedom to leave as we wish.

I’ve made so much progress in finding my way in the outer world. I easily navigate getting to Wegman’s, Trader Joe’s, CVS and Target. I drive to my semi-monthly massage appointments, and have found a hairdresser, dentist, ophthalmologist and closest Metro station. They’re within 3-6 miles and I can get there without needing the GPS or my written directions from the map. Progress— as these trips have become automatic and I don’t have to concentrate or worry about getting lost. It’s so good to feel competent in navigating the bigger world out there.

The self-contained world of Ashby Ponds feels much like a small college campus. Everything is provided—our residence halls; all meals in dining rooms; a schedule of daily educational, social and exercise activities; extracurricular events like outside guest speakers, the Saturday movie in the theater, musical performances and dances; and the outings by bus to cultural events, sites and restaurants nearby and to DC. Instead of the “freshman fifteen”, the ample food with desserts at every meal contribute to the “Ashby Pounds” weight gain (including mine!).

The big difference is that college students have lives and careers ahead of them. Here, that is behind us and it’s a matter of how we will spend the remainder of our lives. The reminder of this is the almost daily arrival of an ambulance and fire truck with their flashing lights at some residence building.

Here you are just one more old person, absent of the trappings of your prior personal and professional life. Much of your identity is stripped from you　and to some people that doesn’t matter. A few are still called doctor or professor; one gruff man in my building has “Captain” before his name on his badge and insists on being called that.

One way that residents display their identity is by decorating their doors and shelves outside their apartments. I get my daily 5000 steps walking through the connected buildings in neighborhoods 2 and 3. There were colorful Christmas and Hanukkah decorations and now Valentine’s Day ones, a few bowls of Hershey’s kisses or peppermints to sample. Some display photos of themselves or their families, items like seashells from where they lived, displays of their hobbies like miniature cars or airplane models, or floral displays. One woman puts out a different Ikebana floral arrangement each week.

Last week we assembled at an end table in the Tuesday afternoon bridge area because we would be finished before their reserved time. The woman in charge and a man arrived early　to set up their tables and stood next to us talking loudly. I nicely said it was hard to concentrate with their conversation. The man leaned over me and growled, “Young lady, this is our setup time. We have a right to be here and do what we want, and you don’t!”

We said we’d move to a different room as soon as we finished the hand, which we did. As we moved, the woman in charge approached us and apologized. One of our foursome said, “He was mansplaining to you!” Another commented there is so little to have control over here that people find the smallest things.

At the December Progressive Group meeting, the chair asked for suggestions for 2025 programs. When no one spoke up, I raised my hand and suggested it would be nice to have regular meetings with a speaker about a current topic. A man at the next table took the microphone and raised from his chair, facing me and said emphatically, “N0".

In water aerobics class, the man in front of me was drifting into my space, which happens. I kiddingly said, “If you keep floating back, you’ll end up in my lap!”
“Then move back,” he grunted.
“I can’t. I’m already against the wall.”
“Then move over,” he continued.
“That’s the deep area.” I turned sideways to be out of his way.

Irving had a gentle voice and manner. I am not used to being talked to in a curmudgeonly way.

Bob said he experienced something similar about territoriality when he was new. At lunch in the Acorn Deli, he sat at the end of the long table in the far corner.
“Uh-oh, was it the knitting group’s day?” I asked.
It was and he was told to move—but he said not in a “Young Man” tone of voice.

The traditions, mores and folkways of Ashby Ponds are slowly learned by all newcomers.

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I met Margie and husband Jim at the Meadowlark Winter Lights field trip in mid-November. We were the newbies—them at 4 weeks from North Carolina and me at 2 weeks from KY. Margie mentioned their black lab and I asked how the dog was adjusting. Margie laughed, ”Summer’s doing great. I’m the one having trouble.” Since then, we had talked about wanting a newcomer support group.

Some weeks ago after a series of unfortunate events, I had a meltdown. It was time for that support group.

The director of Residence Life told me to prepare a flyer and referred me to her staff person to handle the logistics. I prepared an attractive flyer that said: “ORGANIZING A NEW RESIDENT SUPPORT GROUP—Are you feeling lonely, isolated or trying to figure out where you belong here?” The staff reserved a day and room on the master calendar, and had flyers posted in the mailrooms of all the buildings.

Last Tuesday afternoon, Margie and I waited as two women arrived. One was 85 with a walker because she had fallen and broken a hip; the other was 89, used a cane and was having a hard time remembering and explaining things. Both said they had been “placed” here by their families within recent weeks. Their children had selected their units and managed everything so they moved into fully-arranged apartments. One woman liked hers, the other didn’t. They needed a much different level of support than a discussion group, but both thanked Margie and me as they left. I walked them back to their building so they wouldn’t get lost.

Margie and Jim experienced a difficult move with many complications that continue. They live in the newest building with active age peers and are able to socialize as a couple with other couples. They leave once a month for a week away, either back to NC or for a getaway in NYC. Margie told me when they returned from NYC, I was the only one who asked what museums and plays they had gone to.

She reminded me that we are the 1-5% of Ashby Ponds residents who move here from out-of-state. We have the double challenge of adjusting to this retirement community environment while adjusting to a completely new geographical area and learning to navigate it and develop a new network of service providers.

When Margie said, “I know we are very fortunate, but we may have made a big mistake in moving here,“ all I could do was ask, “But where can one go from here?”

She and I will be our own support group of two. And I felt agency from the experience of having done something to help with my own transition.

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Later last Tuesday, Betty and Bob came over to watch a PBS special program with Rick Steves about Sicily. We sipped our Sicilian red and white wines as the sommelier described them and nibbled on cheeses and fruit.

Settling happens . . . day by day, little by little.

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To be continued...

日本語訳：特別寄稿エッセイ「村での暮らし No.3」 4か月目：少しずつ、落ち着いてきています　◆ ジュルス・マークアート