7 Oaks 92128

My life took a significant turn in 2008 when circumstance took me to a neighborhood called 7 Oaks. The place is an expanded dorm room for seniors that contains more than 1,000 homes cast onto high desert land in an arrangement that avoids the right angle…planners clearly despised the idea of laying out this development on a grid, so there are switch – backs, cut de sacs and the serpentine roads that wind.

Houses appear in a variety of colors including peach, pea green, yellow and all the earth colors from tan to sienna. Colors are subject to the approval of the, “architectural committee” – a resident group comprised of the control types and the color blind. The overall effect of the colors and the serpentine layout is the sense of a long necklace draped on a wrinkled neck. Fitting.

Streets are all sporting Latino names – Callado, Serape, San Tomas- and the street that I was destined to live on was -and is- called Horado. Horado translates to grotto, cavern or niche… and a niche it proved to be.

Although the original area was limited to a mere 7 house designs, decades of renovation and other accommodations to need and aesthetics have given the place some diversity and design interest. Nature does her part by providing a range of mountains to the East and a perfect procession of beautiful sunrises and sunsets. Doves coo and crows caw.

When I first came to 7 Oaks I had no idea about the many characters, texts and sub-texts that informed the place. My first stroll down Horado was pretty revealing. As I marched down the street, I noticed many open doors and heard a woman’s voice proclaim, “Too bad. We’re having bacon, goddammit. ” I could even smell the bacon she referenced. I could smell the world-weariness too. I realized that this community was full of stories. A couple thousand people on the dark side of age 55 would be an endless source of material.

In the ensuing years I have heard-or been a part of-many stories. I’ll tell some here. after all, I agree with George Bernard Shaw: “We don’t stop playing because we grow old. We grow old because we stop playing.” There is a lot of playing going on in the old people’s sand box that we call home.

© 2019