An Aging In Place Design Checklist: Tips For Making Your Home Livable and Enjoyable
“My house reminds me of Brasilia! I live there, but it isn’t a home!”
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“My house reminds me of Brasilia! I live there, but it isn’t a home!”
We chose the title of this article very carefully. After all, there is a world of difference between two words: “house improvement” doesn’t have the same meaning as “home improvement.” A house is a style of domicile; it’s the mere shape of a thing. A home, though, is something else. It’s where you live. It’s where you create your memories and where you store them. It is the building in which a life is defined.
It’s one of the strange ironies of life that when you need your memory the least, you have the most of it. When you are younger, you barely have to think about things like medicine, what to eat, or how to handle a routine. You can throw anything into your body and be fine. But older adults who have a stricter medical regiment also are the most likely to suffer lapses in memory and difficulty holding onto routines.
It wasn’t that long ago that housing specifically for the LGBT community was, at best, unthinkable, and at worst, very dangerous. There might have been some instances when apartment owners turned a blind eye and rented to “spinsters” or “confirmed bachelors,” but larger groups of LGBT members living together could be turned on in an instant by authorities or by the community.
As caregivers, it’s really easy to get stuck in a tunnel of daily routines with visibility for only what’s right behind or right in front of us. While incredibly rewarding, our job is an overwhelming and busy one—and we’re giving a huge amount of focus and energy to another soul. Rest assured, there are simple ways to avoid burnout, though, and to put your caregiver journey into a greater perspective.
One of the great things about San Francisco is its history—a once rough harbor joint; an international, smoky city full of sailors and dreamers from around the world. It seemed built for mystery: between the colorful characters and smothering fog, it’s no accident that it’s the birthplace of noir. All that history, throughout San Francisco and the greater Bay Area, means there are still quite a few older houses and residences, with unique histories of their own. If walls could talk…
When my mom developed dementia, she was no longer able to live independently in the same way she had for the five years since my dad had passed away. I was faced with the option of moving her into assisted living somewhere in San Francisco, so I could visit her often, or rearranging my life so I could take care of her myself, in one of our homes. I knew that she would prefer to stay within the walls that held so many memories of my dad so, even though I felt clueless about how to manage all of her needs along with my own, I chose to make the move back to my old childhood neighborhood so I could once again live with my mom. It was hard for me; I’ve always turned to my mom for strength and perspective. And now, she needed mine.
With nourishing food at the root of our well-being, it’s vital that we all have access to healthy choices. With age, eating nutrient-dense food becomes even more important; our metabolism slows and the risk of diet-related disorders grows. But even in the San Francisco Bay Area, where the fresh and innovative restaurant culture thrives, consistent access to fresh, healthy food at home can be a challenge.
There is both beauty and tragedy in the fact that, for the most part, we tend to fall in love with people our own age. We have the same social memories, the same cultural touchstones, and often the same general values. And there is something sweet about growing old together, seeing the power of aging in each other’s eyes. The tragedy comes, though, that when one partner most needs help, the other might be suffering as well.
Growing up, there was an older woman who lived down the street from me. Her name was Jane, and she was probably the only adult I ever called by her first name when I was a child. She was older in that faded glamour sort of way, and to me, she seemed mysterious—even exotic. This feeling was heightened by the two tiny dogs that she took everywhere. In my memory they’re little toy spaniels, but that might be due to the intervention of years.
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