Things seem to be gelling lately, and, for that, I am thankful.
While I usually scramble to get volunteer gigs scheduled, people started calling me for once. One of those calls is sending me to the Older Persons' Commission in Rochester for a Hawaiian Luau (is there any other kind?) tonight. I'm going to help with whatever they need, from refreshments to clean up.
I have been to the OPC only once — and that was on assignment. I've never seen a center like this; it's larger than most high schools. Couples in matching track suits played pickleball and jammed to The Beatles. Men lounged on fun noodles in the heated pool while a water aerobics class took place in the larger adjacent pool. The OPC is the mecca of fitness centers, with gyms rivaling the best of college facilities. There are cafes, language labs, and art classes, too.
The only problem with this amazing gym: I'm too young to join. Nowhere will you see women in sports bras and spandex racing along a treadmill gasping for air, or men grunting as they lift weights the size of a car. This is for seniors only. One man told me attending the center has given him purpose. It's the new town cafe, only the patrons lift dumbbells and coffee mugs all while sporting the latest Adidas.
And of course, the center throws soirees. I'm excited to hang out with the oldsters and chat with them. I use this term affectionately — oldsters are like the classic roadster, it's had some miles on it, the styling may not be the same as newer models, but if the recent Woodward Dream Cruise is any indication, it's well worth admiring.