Neither of my children has a landline, nor network TV. One doesn’t own a TV. If he wants to watch a streaming service, he has a projection system hooked up to his computer. He projects the image on a wall or screen opposite the projector. My other child uses her TV for gaming, watching movies and such. The notion of network TV is far-fetched, antiquated for them.

We have lived in our home for 36+ years, so of course we had phones in most rooms when we moved in. There was no alternative at the time. In fact, we installed a phone system, which ties into the doorbells. It rings through the phone. This was very modern at the time, but now would require us to tear out the whole system (embedded in our walls, so a major renovation). We even had two lines – one for outgoing FAXs and also used for business calls. We dropped that line long ago.

Our cable provider is Comcast and we have their “triple play” service, that is- we get our phone, internet and cable service from them. My husband has looked at dropping one of the services, but it is MORE expensive! We also live in a rather large stone house and there is virtually no cell service in certain parts of the basement (which is finished and has a large TV in one room), so relying just on our cellphones isn’t practical. Also, we have been in the house so long, we still have certain accounts that are tied to the landline phone number.

My husband is an early adopter of technology and we bought TiVos (for three of the TVs in the house, and they are linked, so we can watch shows recorded on one from other TVs) years ago, and have upgraded them as they wore out. TiVo is the brand name of a type of DVR. All our TV is run through the TiVo, which runs through the Internet. When the Internet goes down (which seems to happen frequently these days) we lose the program guide for the TiVo, which programs about 10 days ahead, so we can set up shows to record that far in advance. We set up a “season pass” for series that we want to record over and over again, like “Jeopardy”, which we watch every week night, whether we are home or not. We can go back any time and catch up.

We can record on multiple channels at a time, have access to various streaming services, etc, though we do have to pay for each, so we do NOT have Paramount+, for example. We subscribed to Disney+ for a while, but found we weren’t watching much on it, so unsubscribed. We do not have Peacock, so cannot see the NBC shows after they initially air. But we usually record what we wish to see. We did invest in an Apple TV+ device a few years ago. I HATE the remote control and find it very difficult to control, but do enjoy many of the shows on that service.

So we are somewhere between modern and not, streaming more and more shows, but not giving up on that landline (though I never answer it these days). The only person who still uses the landline is our Martha’s Vineyard caretaker, who still doesn’t call on our cellphones. I know if someone calls on the landline, they don’t know us and I won’t answer.

Still, we won’t cut the cord.

 

“You can’t understand someone until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes.” — American saying, author unknown

Part of aging is the physical breakdown of our bodies. I have tried to slow down the inevitable by working with a physical therapist weekly to strengthen my aching back and core (such as it is). Ironically, it was doing a new exercise (likely incorrectly) that left me with strained groin muscles and damage to the joint between my left and right pelvic bones that caused tremendous pain when I tried to initiate walking. After a visit to the pain doctor, an x-ray, and MRI, my doctor recommended lots of rest, pain management (translation, lots of pills), and using a walker. Finding a walker to borrow was easy. Most of my friends have one, as many people in my age group have had knee and/or hip replacements, broken bones from falls, or just need one to navigate the world.

In Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird, Atticus Finch tells Scout, “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view, until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.”  The walker was a real eye-opener. I was shocked to discover how hard it was to navigate my condo, let alone the outside world.

My condo itself is structurally fine. An elevator building. One floor living. Doors wide enough to accommodate a walker or wheelchair. A shower with a grab bar. So why couldn’t I get around easily? We had arranged our furniture based on aesthetics alone, not worrying if visitors, several of whom use wheelchairs, walkers, or canes, had enough space to move from one part of our home to another.

Once we moved things to clear paths wide enough room to maneuver, I made another shocking discovery. Our living room is basically open concept, but I realized I could only sit in one spot on the sofa. I couldn’t navigate the coffee table. Filled with shame about how insensitive our furniture arrangement was to our aging friends, several with with physical disabilities, we started to rethink how we could make our home truly accessible.

My first venture outside with the walker was going with my husband to the Civic Center to get a handicapped placard for the car. Armed with my doctor’s form, we found the handicapped entrance, a ramp leading into the basement. It is an old building, and all other entrances involved many stairs. Once in, I caught my walker on a series of mats placed down to catch the snow/rain. When we put down mats like these at the handicap-accessible preschool I directed, we used duct tape to hold them in place and replaced them when they started to curl. Not so at the Civic Center, where they were a huge trip hazard.

When I explained what we needed to the man stationed down a long hallway at the information desk, he pointed to the staircase to the second floor and informed us we needed to go to the City Clerk or City Collector. I guess he didn’t look up at me to see the walker. Luckily, we were near the one small elevator in the building. The City Clerk sent us across the hall to the City Collector. There was a line of people waiting, but no one offered to let me go ahead of them or even to sit on a chair. When I finally reached the head of the line, the Collector told me, “We don’t do that here,” and gave me some extension numbers for other departments I could call from the house phone down the hall. Of course, no one answered. Luckily for me, the woman at the closest desk, whose job was to issue building permits, redirected me to the City Clerk and advised me to make him read my paperwork and ask for a placard, not a sticker. Finally, we were on our way.

We thought we could go into Walgreens on our way home for one item, but the only handicapped spot was already taken so I waited in the car. Just another time I was left out. At a different Walgreens the next day, we snagged a handicapped space for our COVID boosters. When we finally emerged, here’s what we found:

Yes, someone had parked in the zone next to handicapped spots that supposedly affords someone who is disabled enough room to enter their car. Luckily, I was not alone and my husband could back the car out so I could get in.

I have also discovered that many “accessible” buildings do not have automatic door openers, or if they do, it’s only on the outer door. A trip to the audiologist’s office on the first floor of a newish building is a perfect example. Getting into the office was doable as the outer door had a button for handicapped access and the inner door pushed inward. Exiting was another matter. I could not pull the office door inward and was lucky a man in the waiting room saw my plight and helped me.

I have a friend with MS who has described the many times an Uber driver saw she was an older woman in a wheel chair and just kept going. Before she was using the wheel chair, when she came to our old house with her walker, she had to enter though the backyard alley and have people assist her up several stairs to enter the house. I had a small, first-floor powder room, which must have been challenging for her to use. I also had a few steps to go from the front hall to the rest of the first floor. Of course, all of the bedrooms and bathrooms were up a full flight of stairs. One of the reasons we moved was contemplating a future in which aging made it harder to manage all of those stairs. I don’t know how I would have handled this injury if we hadn’t moved, and I am racked with guilt over not seeing how hard it was for my friend to come over as her illness progressed.

As I wrap this up with my hands cramping from arthritis, I needs to share a final thought. No matter how empathic you think you are to others who are aging and/or have disabilities, it takes actually putting yourself in the same position as someone who has a handicapping condition to understand fully how challenging life can be. For those of us lucky enough to be temporarily restricted or not suffering from a permanent disability, incidents like mine are a preview of coming attractions.

“I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person.” ― Walt Whitman

 

Good Neighbors – for David K 

Writing once about the passage of time, I urged you to seize the day.   (See Time and the Taxi Man)

I thought of those words recently at the funeral of our neighbor David K who had died suddenly the week before.  For decades my husband Danny and I shared the same East End Avenue address with David in a building that was small by Manhattan standards with only 16 floors and less than 200 apartments.   (See  (The Lion, The Witch, and) The Wardrobe ,  Moving Day Blues , A Sign on the Doorpost ,  Kente Cloth and The Elevator)

A happy consequence of living in a smaller building is that we’ve come to know a great many of our neighbors,  some of whom have become close friends.   We and David however,  had been relative strangers who nodded at each other in the elevator or in the lobby.

But hearing of his death we decided to go to the funeral.  There we learned much about David from friends and family who eulogized him.

He had been a physician as we knew,   but we learned he’d also been an internationally known medical researcher and teacher enormously respected by fellow scientists around the world.  Several came from abroad for the funeral and many others sent moving tributes.

David’s niece and nephew spoke of their uncle as the glue that held the family together,  and friends spoke about the memorable meals he cooked and dinner parties he hosted, trips they made together,  his keen intellect and wit,  and his love of art and music.

Leaving the funeral home,  Danny and i remembered the last time each of us had seen David.  I met him in the lobby one morning about a week earlier and we had stopped to chat.  By chance the conversation turned to politics,  our travel plans,  and movies we’d seen,  and as we parted I told him I had enjoyed our talk.  “Let’s not be strangers,”  I said,  “let’s make that dinner date!” 

David had been on his way to get his car,  and by chance in the garage he met Danny.  David said he’d just seen me in the lobby and we’d promised to make a dinner date.  “Yes, let’s do it soon.”  Danny told him as they parted.

But David died a week later and we never had that dinner date.  And regrettably,  we lost the chance for three strangers to become three friends.

RIP David.

– Dana Susan Lehrman