Written by Annie Laskey, Events Director, Pasadena Senior Center

It’s been a year since the pandemic put a stranglehold on Southern California. With all the papers and magazines running articles about this momentous anniversary, I thought I should add my thoughts to the rest.

It was Sunday, March 15, 2020, when Mayor Garcetti announced the closure of businesses for two weeks starting that night at midnight. I remember the date because the Senior Center’s St. Patrick’s Day dance had been scheduled for that day. We’d cancelled it a week or two earlier out of caution for group gatherings. Bummer! I’d really been looking forward hosting the party and dancing with my ballroom friends.

With no party to host that day, I went sightseeing with a friend, ending up at the elegant Biltmore Hotel in Downtown Los Angeles for dinner. Everything seemed relatively normal. Then came the mayor’s announcement. A co-worker called to suggest I work from home for the following few weeks, to protect my 92-year old dad from the virus. And everything snowballed after that.

To pass the time at the beginning, I offered to write a blog for the Senior Center’s website. My first was posted the week of March 23, 2020. Yep, one year, one week, and 38 blogs ago. So, what advice did I give back then?

In that first blog, I cheerily shared three things I was doing to count the presumed 30 days to reopening: 1) Write the day and date on a chalkboard to keep track of the days; 2) Have 30 pairs of earrings lined up so I could wear a different pair each day; and 3) Dress for dinner so I would put on real clothes at least once a day.

Those 30 days have turned into 12 times 30, but my advice held: Dad still writes the date on the chalkboard each morning. After a few months, he’d started adding the number of weeks in lockdown to the tally. Recently, Dad’s love of puns has crept in, and the board is as likely to read “Moansday” and “Thor’s Day” as it is “Monday” and “Thursday.”

I still use earrings as a calendar of sorts, too. I have four rungs on my small jewelry rack. At the start of a three-week cycle, the top one is empty, and three remaining have seven pairs of earrings each. When a day is done, I move that day’s pair to the rod above. Every three weeks when the bottom rung has been cleared, I reorder, rearrange, and rehang another three weeks’ worth of earrings. The ancients had the abacus – I have a jewelry rack.

As for Dressing for Dinner, we’ve continued that, too. On March 22 last year, we started taking a selfie in our finery every night. We’ve breezed past photo 365 and will hit photo 400 in a few weeks. It’s become a beloved routine, and, to borrow a phrase, a year’s worth of daily photos with Dad is…priceless.

Written by Akila Gibbs

When I walked into my office that morning—Thursday, March 12, 2020—little did I know that our way of serving the community was about to change dramatically because of just-announced COVID restrictions.  By 5:00 p.m. that day, I had sent a press release to the local media announcing that we were following health mandates and shutting our physical doors.

By the next morning, Friday, March 13, 2020, the Center had transformed into something I could never have imagined.

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Written by Annie Laskey, Events Director, Pasadena Senior Center

When the southland went into lockdown back in March 2020, I offered to write a blog for the Senior Center’s website, to give us some content during the few weeks we’d be closed. Remember when we thought it would be a few weeks?

As the weeks, and months, of isolation were extended and extended, I dutifully and joyfully continued writing a 500-word weekly blog as my small way of staying connected and staying cheerful through all of this. What a lark! I got to try my hand at being a columnist! I wrote a total of thirty-four blogs in 2020, about 17,000 words.

Then came 2021. It wasn’t exactly that I’d run out of ideas; I had run out of the will to write. Frankly, I’d run out of the will to do just about anything. Tired of cooking, tired of talking, tired of walking around the neighborhood. Very tired of Zoom. What was my problem? I’d managed ten months fairly well, why hit a wall now?

The other day, I was emailing my new friend Tim Albert in England (the author who guested on one of our Zoom programs in December), and I realized that this all reminded me of waiting at the airport.

Ever been alone at the airport when your flight was delayed or cancelled, and you couldn’t just go back home? You can’t wander very far because 1) you’re already through security, and 2) you’ve probably got at least one carry-on bag you have to haul around with you. You can’t go sound asleep, because you have to keep one ear and eye open for an announcement that might not come for hours. Being on the semi-alert, it’s hard to concentrate. You flip open your laptop, tablet, or phone but get bored and close it up again. You (and all your luggage) take a stroll around the airport shops, looking at things you don’t want and buying things you don’t need. You sit back down and read a few chapters of an “airplane novel” you brought with you, something familiar that won’t take too much of your brain. Then you get up again and pull all that luggage behind you as you go get a coffee or a breakfast burrito or a donut or nachos or a sandwich or fries. And so it goes.

We’re all in that airport purgatory right now. So, as we all wait for the fog to lift and the world to take off again, it isn’t surprising that enthusiasm is at a low ebb, and distraction is in full flow. Accept it. I’m trying to. So, in between wandering around my own personal waiting room (at least I’m not pulling luggage behind me) with frequent trips to the food court (i.e., kitchen) and occasional trips to (virtual) shops, I’m enjoying my airplane reading and trying not to stress out too much. If my attention span is shorter than it was, so be it. I can always just take another nap before returning to my laptop to continue with work and Zoom. And my blog.

Written by Annie Laskey, Events Director, Pasadena Senior Center

Ah, Southern California winter! Birds singing, flowers blooming, and glorious red and gold sunsets to end the day! The recent rains (which, thank goodness, didn’t trigger wide-spread mud flows) brought a delightful sparkle and freshness to the air. What a joy to breathe deep and forget about all the chaos for a while.

My daily walks around the neighborhood show increasing beauty – flowering trees, luxuriant lawns, and blooming gardens. Lately, I’ve been particularly entranced by camellias. Sure, our house has big camellia bushes; but our somewhat boring bushes have always had tons of green glossy leaves, bunches of buds, but never very many flowers. I’ve always envied the exotic camellias in the groves at the Huntington and at Descanso Gardens.

In the last few weeks, I’ve started noticing how many – and how many different kinds – of camellias there are in my little corner of West Los Angeles. It seems that every yard has its own variety, no two alike; a wonderful array of colors, shapes, and sizes. Some are tall trees, some are short bushes. Some, like ours, are out of control. Although I will say in defense of our camellia bushes, they are a great attractor of little birds, and the charming chatter of finches, bushtits, and hummingbirds keeps up all day long.

The other day, as I was admiring a neighbor’s camellia tree with wide white blossoms the size of saucers, than another one with fluffy pink flowers, I wondered why I had never noticed all the camellias before. My first thought was that this must be a particularly good year for these flowers. Our weather these past weeks – by turns cold, hot, freezing, rainy, and moderate- must have created perfect blooming conditions! Then it occurred to me: I had no reference point. How would I know if it was a good year for camellias? This time last year, I was commuting daily to Pasadena, not working from home. Most of the walking I did in my neighborhood was at night. Evening strolls are wonderful for moonlight and quiet, but not ideal for admiring flowers. It was a little startling to remind myself that daily sunlit walks in my neighborhood haven’t always been a part of my routine!

In the next few weeks, the camellia blooms will droop and fade, and a whole different set of blossoming trees and flowers will capture my attention. Wow! Nature changing with the seasons! Of course, I know that those of you who are gardeners, or who have lived where the seasons are more pronounced, will find my discovery of the fact that camellias bloom in the neighborhood in January, pretty silly. But don’t we all have things right in front of us that we don’t take the time to notice or to wonder about?

The months ahead are going to continue to be complicated, confusing, and isolating. But while we anxiously seek and plan for what-comes-next, don’t forget to notice the here-and-now. Enjoy the mundane and explore the remarkable. It might be right in your own backyard.

Written by Annie Laskey, Events Director, Pasadena Senior Center

It has been a wild and woolly few weeks. As the world swirls in uncertainty, I’m almost afraid to look at a newspaper or listen to the news. Between COVID and politics (not to mention everything else going on in the city, the country, and the world), the horrible and hopeful are chaotically jumbled and can’t be untangled. Parties and dance and travel seem like they might finally be again within reach – if only we can hang on long enough. Contemplating the future through the fog of uncertainty is exhausting, if not downright frightening.

“Mindfulness, ” the practice of staying in the moment, is more important than ever during this turbulent time. As some people get vaccinated and others can’t even get on a list, as some things open up and others don’t, as patterns we’ve reluctantly settled into over the last ten months get disrupted but not replaced, it is vital that we find ways to stay as sane as we can. The future (whether exciting or scary) shouldn’t be ignored or dismissed, but there are times when being in the present is what is called for.

Call it mindFULness or mindLESSness, allowing yourself to completely unplug for a day – or at least an afternoon - can be restorative. Unplug not only from news, but from tasks and to-do lists, from Zoom and email and smartphone. Give yourself permission to take a break from what you are doing – or not doing – every day. Try revisiting an old hobby. That’s what I did this past weekend, and it was like taking a vacation.

I spent hours last Saturday stringing beads for a necklace. I have always loved jewelry, and at various times over the years have tried my hand at making it. Some people have a talent for design - but I am not one of them. Long ago I discovered my talents lie in curating objects, not creating them, but that doesn’t mean I don’t try my hand at crafting from time to time. I never got rid of the bead and beading materials from my youth, and every few years I get them out and play. This was one of those times.

I’m a big fan of ancient Egyptian art, and I have a pair of museum-reproduction earrings I bought at an Egyptian exhibit in New Orleans pre-Katrina. I decided it was finally time to make a necklace to match. I spent hours happily pairing crystal beads, acquired on a trip to Egypt in 2005, with agate and turquoise and lapis from discarded necklaces I’d unstrung over the years. It was a pleasure to enjoy the color, beauty, and texture of the beads, but also to recall the happy memories of past travel and friends that the beads carry with them. For at least a few hours, I was relieved of the strain of worrying about the future, and as a bonus I have an Egyptian-style necklace to wear the next time I watch “The Mummy.” And I call that a win-win situation.

Written by Annie Laskey, Events Director, Pasadena Senior Center

“Are we there yet?” “Are we there yet??” “Are we there yet?!!!” The classic question asked a million times over by countless kids in the back seats of station wagons on cross country trips, is now the plaintive cry of everyone, no matter what their age.

Are we there yet? I suppose the answer to the question depends where (or what) “there” is. For purposes of something (anything!) to celebrate, let’s say that “there” is 2021. Yes, we have indeed arrived at the New Year, with bells ringing and fireworks exploding all over the world to show our collective joy in bidding good riddance to 2020. Despite the nonstop drumbeat of dreadful news, turning the calendar page to January 2021 gave a little boost of brightness and hope. THIS year will be better! THIS year, we will be able to hug family and friends! But as we know, throwing 2020 calendars out the window didn’t close the door on COVID, political chaos, or world crisis. A return to life as we knew it is the “there” we can’t wait to get to.

Of course, if I wanted to be picky I could point out that we never can be “there.” We can only be “here.” Just like tomorrow is always a day away (as Little Orphan Annie sang into infinity in the 1970s and 80s), “there” is always someplace else, while “here” is always where we are. So, where are we?

If you’re reading this, you’ve come through at least ten months of isolation with enough energy to click through the link to this blog. That’s something, anyway, isn’t it? You’re still engaged with people and places, connected to the Pasadena Senior Center, and probably to many other cultural, social, and wellness organizations through the miracle of the internet. Despite – or because of – the isolation, we’re finding new ways to connect and to find hope and friendship in the “here” as well as the “there.”

My dad will turn 93 on January 6. He’s still healthy and active, and he’s unbelievably irritated that he won’t be able to celebrate at the local pub like he did last year. But he’s not letting himself get caught up in continually asking “are we there yet?” He’s working as best he can to make the here and now fun and interesting.

One of the ways that Dad and I mark the “here” is to dress for dinner every night (yes, shoes and everything!), and sit down to a nice meal. Before we start eating, we raise our glasses in a toast to the passage of another day. We mark one more day successfully navigated, and as Dad says, “one day closer to the end of the pandemic.” We don’t know how much longer we’ll be sharing these dinners for two - it may be two months or a dozen months. But no matter how far in the future normal is, each day unquestionably brings us one day closer to making “there” “here.” So raise a glass to it!

Written by Annie Laskey, Events Director, Pasadena Senior Center

Back in May (remember May?), I wrote a series of blogs reflecting on postcards of early days at the Pasadena Senior Center. The ladies in hats and gloves, the homey looking library, and the 1960s-era ballroom dance may look quaint and old-fashioned to us today, but they show a vibrant, happy, and social place that continues to be at the heart of what the Pasadena Senior Center is.

As we close out this strange, isolated, and unfathomable year - which also marks the Center’s 60th Anniversary – I thought it was appropriate to feature a photo of the Pasadena Senior Center from Christmas in the 1960s.

The photo shows the original entrance, which was a combination of welcome desk, lounge, and library. The area is festive for Christmas with a large tree decorated with white doves. Wrapped presents lie underneath the tree, and a large pine bough centerpiece with a tall candle sits on a table nearby.

The decorated Christmas Tree is placed in front of a big picture window that looks out to the street. Backwards on the window is painted the word “Happy,” meant to be read from the street. There must be more to the message that we can’t see, written below, or on another window – maybe it reads “Happy New Year” or “Happy Christmas.” Or maybe “Happy” is just a statement of the season.

One notable thing about this particular photo is that there are no people in it. It is a quiet, surprisingly somber photo of an otherwise festive room. Looking at this photo from a 2020 CoronaVirus Christmas perspective, this empty lobby seems eerily appropriate. No one gathered around the tree. The sentiments of the season (“Happy”) painted to be read by people on the outside looking in. Even the fact that the print of the photo itself is a quiet gray and white instead of happy color seems to fit our 2020 perspective.

Today, like in the photo, we have a decorated Christmas tree in the Center’s lobby (but no dove decorations!). There is no one gathered around the tree, because we are still unable to welcome friends at the coffee bar. But although we haven’t painted “Happy” on the windows, we’re still trying to spread the sentiment as best we can, staying engaged with each other through online classes, programs, parties, events, and social services. “Happy” is a state of mind, and one that comes when we feel connected, supported, and cared for.

I, myself, feel happy, and lucky, to be part of the Pasadena Senior Center. It is rewarding to have a hand in creating programming that connects us. It is a joy to virtually meet so many wonderful and generous friends. And writing this blog has connected me to people in a way I couldn’t have imagined a year ago. So, to all of you – thank you for the “Happy” in my life, and I wish it back to you with all my heart.

Written by Annie Laskey, Events Director, Pasadena Senior Center

For the better part of nine months, I’ve been hunkered down at home. I’ve been in turns depressed, enthusiastic, distracted, focused, weary, hopeful, and anxious. Mostly anxious.

I’m anxious because like so many people, I’ve had to learn to work in a completely different way, trying to get my footing in this suddenly virtual world. It’s been daunting and fascinating to take on the challenge of working remotely from the confines of the 3ft x 1.5 ft vintage Art Deco desk in my room. To wrap my head around having conversations with people halfway across the world on Zoom while no longer being able to walk down the hall and pop my head into a co-workers office to ask a question.

In the physical world, changes are no less dramatic and no less anxiety-causing. I’ve had to start analyzing the risk factors of everything I do, trying to keep safe for my own health and – more importantly – for my 92-year old Dad’s health as well. Instead of visiting, dancing, going to concerts, and traveling, my main personal creative outlet is now almost completely centered around dinner: cooking the evening meal, crafting fun cocktails, setting a beautiful table, and dressing for the evening photo.

I’ve learned a lot about navigating the virtual world; heck, I can find/buy anything online now and I’ve learned enough about Zoom to actually help other people understand it! I’ve figured out ways to remain active and engaged without my usual outlets. I’ve made new, and I think lasting, friends over Zoom. It’s been uplifting and exhilarating. But it’s still nearly impossible to shed the anxiety.

I’ve been paying more attention to managing anxiety lately. I’m logging into mindfulness lectures and trying to bring that practice into my daily life. It isn’t easy. Learning to be in the moment, and not constantly worrying about the future, is a tough assignment. Especially when my job calls for me to actively be planning events two, three, or even six months away. The trick is working to cultivate a good outcome, as opposed to worrying about things I have little or no control over. That’s a tall order for someone like me who has made a career of worrying about pretty much everything (that’s what event planning is).

So, when this latest statewide directive of “don’t go anywhere, don’t do anything!” was announced, I was surprised to find it relieved some of my anxiety, despite the horrible reality of the COVID surge. Sure, I initially greeted the new stay-at-home order with dismay; I’d scheduled to do several things in the coming weeks, including going to the LA Zoo, and visiting (socially distanced) with friends. But as I started cancelling things, I experienced a sort of relief, a break in my constant anxiety. Whatever happens later, right now and at least for a few weeks, I have clarity. I can be in the moment, because there is nowhere else to be!

Written by Annie Laskey, Events Director, Pasadena Senior Center

This past Thanksgiving weekend, I had one of the most pleasant and relaxed four-day weekends I can remember. Last time I planned a “staycation,” I was wound up with so much anxiety that I had trouble decompressing. Not so this time. I think the secret was not planning anything at all.

First, I have to confess that unlike most people I know, I wasn’t worried about Thanksgiving Day itself. I didn’t have to work (moment of silence for the Senior Center’s Thanksgiving Luncheon, alas on hiatus until 2021), and Thanksgiving was never a particularly important holiday for my family anyway. I didn’t even settle on what to make for dinner until the night before (we had Butternut Squash soup, Corned Beef, and Almond Custard pie, in case you were wondering. And Champagne, of course).

My main nod to Thanksgiving was to make the delightfully silly Oreo cookie turkeys that Girl Scout Julia demonstrated for us at the Center’s Virtual Halloween Party. You use candy corn for the tail feathers, and mini-marshmallows for the eyes. The sugar rush from eating one of those babies will last you until next Thanksgiving!

As for the rest of the weekend, I miraculously had no Zoom commitments from 2pm Thursday to 9am Monday. I think that is the longest stretch I’ve gone without logging into a Zoom call since May. I love how Zoom connects our world; that I can just as easily chat with someone in London as I can with my next-door neighbor, but to take time off was rejuvenating.

And it wasn’t just Zoom. Pretty much the whole country was on vacation too, so there was remarkably little conversation going on. After a flurry of emails and texts on Thursday morning from well-wishers who read Steve Lopez’ nice column in the LA Times about the Senior Center, my mobile phone fell silent: almost no dinging for text alerts, ringtone for calls, chimes for emails. I had never noticed before how communication goes quiet over Thanksgiving weekend. Of course, in past years I’ve been busy like everyone else – visiting, shopping, exploring.

With no meetings, classes, or lectures on the calendar, I didn’t have to worry about what I needed to do or what I was going to miss. What a luxury to just sit outside in the sun and read a book! To stroll in the evening under the nearly-full Autumn moon! And even to spend a bunch of hours going through boxes of dusty old papers in the garage with Dad.

Sorting (and throwing out!) miscellaneous stuff is soul-warming. By the end of a few hours, we had discarded a full barrel of assorted school papers, travel brochures, theatre programs, and whatnot. It was a blast. We shared memories of events and travels, enjoyed old postcards, and laughed at photos of short shorts from the 70s and big hair from the 80s. Yes, I totally recommend cleaning the garage as a great holiday weekend activity. In fact, I think I’ll make it my new annual Thanksgiving tradition.

Written by Annie Laskey, Events Director, Pasadena Senior Center

It’s been a rough few weeks. Between election turmoil, COVID numbers surging, weather challenges, and an isolated holiday season, where can we turn for comfort and joy? I turn to pumpkins.

There is something delightfully warm and silly about pumpkins; even the name is hard to say without a smile. They can be comic (or comically scary) at Halloween or be the stately centerpiece of a fall cornucopia. They make yummy eating too; from pumpkin soup to pumpkin pie, cooking with pumpkin fills the house with comfortable warmth and enticing smells (Pumpkin Spice, anyone?).

I am now discovering that pumpkins can also bring sense of hope and joy. Bear with me here while I explain.

A year or two ago, we had a “volunteer” pumpkin vine start in an empty planter in the backyard. My best guess is that an ambitious squirrel had buried a half-eaten small pumpkin (the kind that local real estate agents leave on doorsteps). It produced one flower and a small, hard, inedible pumpkin.

As I was chopping up a pumpkin for soup a bunch of weeks ago, I remembered how the rogue pumpkin grew without any help from me, so I decided to experiment with planting pumpkin seeds of my own. We have a narrow stretch of flower bed along the side of the house by the driveway. In the 50+ years we’ve lived in this house I never remember anything growing there except weeds. After I watered it well and pulled up the weeds, I dumped the fresh pumpkin innards there and loosely covered them over with dirt. There was nothing scientific – or even realistic – about this approach to vegetable gardening.

Imagine my surprise, when almost immediately sprouts began to show. And more sprouts, and more, and more. It was as if every single seed had taken hold. Yikes! So I spent about a week, going out each morning and thinning the seedlings to what looked like a reasonable amount. And they kept growing. Very fast. Within a few weeks, they had grown exponentially in size, putting out leaves and forming buds. It was pure joy to come out one morning last week and see the first of the yellow flowers had opened.

Every morning I go out and check on my pumpkin vines. I spend a few minutes weeding, watering, and clipping off old leaves. It is a hopeful thing, watching the vines grow and flower. It doesn’t matter if pumpkins actually materialize, and even if they do, I don’t really expect they will be edible. What really matters, is I have something to look forward to at the start of every day. I’m eager to see what changes have happened in 24 hours, and how it looks different each day. I’ve turned a barren and forgotten spot of dirt into a place of joy. What fun! There may be hope for me as a gardener yet.