Charles P. Eberson
A Senior’s Observations,
Opinions and Rantings
My wife and I are Shoobies; that is to say, as our first winter as “Snowbirds” we are the unwelcome, but necessary out of towners to Florida. I have to say that after all the years and miles of our driving throughout the U.S., southern Florida has presented some new challenges due to the advanced age of many of the drivers. With limited neck mobility, delayed reaction times and macular degeneration of the locals, driving in this area has been a real puckering experience especially when you add the impatient hot rodders into the mix. We have been staying in a 55 and over community with the emphasis on “over” for the past four months. In addition to being Shoobies, we are also Newbie Shoobies and looked upon with curiosity at the pool complex. The pool is the social epicenter with people marking the very valuable territory of tables with pool umbrellas early in the day. The Olympic size swimming pool is dotted with people bobbing around like at a high school dance with gaggles of men together holding court and likewise with the women. My wife, an avid swimmer was swimming laps and one woman offended by her swimming prowess, made a move to block my wife’s way. My wife deftly swam around her, so the woman swung her hand to send a splash in her direction as a show of defiance. Me, seeing this as the equivalent of a white gloved smack across the face, proceeded to swim past the woman kicking as hard as I could and then exited the pool hearing her screams of “Dude…DUDE! Message delivered; message received. On another day, I was dozing on a lounge chair by the pool when someone yells out, HE NEEDS HELP, HE NEEDS HELP! I see a man doing a slow roll in the pool, did I mention there are no lifeguards. I instantly took my shirt/glasses off and jumped into the pool the same time another man got there who announced he was a former Army medic. He took charge and together we carried the man out of the pool and waited for the ambulance. Apparently, this garnered some points with the regulars, and we gradually were taken into their confidence. In the end, spending months with these “old” people was inspiring. We met Murry who was born in Israel, has lived in the same Brooklyn apartment for over forty years. He was in the Israeli army and played professional soccer. He invited us to watch him play pickle ball. Murry was agile, fast and played with competitive fire that belied his years. Murry is 82. Marty is from Central Jersey and spends two hours in the pool everyday doing his exercises. We also see him walking around the complex. Marty is 88 and certainly doesn’t look it nor act it. He constantly refers to my wife as my daughter. Larry, our upstairs neighbor keeps us up to date on where the best places are to eat and Johnny, two doors down call us out at night to watch him expertly fly his drone. As our return to South Jersey is imminent, it is met with mixed feelings. It will be nice to get back to our children, grandchildren, beach, boardwalk and all that is familiar but we will miss the new friends we made and hope we can reunite next winter. Especially that “splash lady” in the pool.
