Getting Older

I have a friend, B.H., at Treasure Island whom I haven’t seen around for awhile. On Monday I checked on his whereabouts with the homeowner’s association secretary and was saddened to find out that he is in an assisted-care facility in Woodinville. While I’m sure the decision was made with great care, I hate to see him lose his independence.

I first got to know B.H. through my part-time job of taking the water samples for the Treasure Island water system. His home is one of the five houses used in the lead and copper testing. We have done this together a couple of times now, and this month’s test would have been the third. Each time he questioned my request closely: “Now tell me again what this is for.” But his sample was always taken correctly and on time, with the paperwork neatly completed.

B.H. might be considered by some to be a crusty old fellow. I never asked his age, but he has to be in his mid-eighties at least. One thing he liked to do was just walk around the island. I would see him while I was on my bike rides or when doing water business. I always started our conversation the same way: “Hey, what lap are you on?” “Still on my first,” he would reply. From there we would talk about any gossip, the weather, and whatever else came to mind.

Sometimes he would complain to the Treasure Island Board if he thought drivers or joggers weren’t giving him enough space. I never witnessed one of these incidents, so I don’t know who was right. Still my tendency is to give an octogenarian the benefit of the doubt.

We shared one other interest: hanging out in the reading room at the Timberland Regional Library in Belfair. Timberland has one of the best reading rooms around. Big windows that look out over a greenbelt, a cathedral ceiling, comfortable chairs with reading lamps, a good selection of local papers, plus it’s never crowded. Often when I would stop by to catch up on current events, B.H. would already be there engrossed in his favorite magazine. He would give me a quick nod and then get back to his reading.

The news about B. H. invokes a special poignancy as today marks a milestone birthday for me. Rather than spelling it out, let’s just say the number is divisible by 6—and 10.