Joe and Arline Halper loved their house, their neighborhood and their lifestyle in Pacific Palisades, and the plan was to stay there indefinitely.
Even as Joe hit 95 and Arline approached 89, neither of them thought of themselves as old, and Arline had no appetite for moving to what she called an age-specific setting.
Such as a retirement community.
Then came the fire, which destroyed their house and much of the Palisades.
So where do they live now?
In a 175-unit retirement community.
Arline said their sons were familiar with Avocet in Playa Vista, which offers both independent and assisted living with on-site care for those who need it, and loads of amenities including a rooftop swimming pool and fitness center, a bar, a movie theater and daily meals for those who’d rather not turn on the stove.
The Halpers checked it out five months ago.
They moved in.
They’re adapting.
“Now that I’m here I feel differently,” said Arline, a former teacher. “We have a lovely apartment…and people are very warm and friendly.”
One big advantage: There’s no danger of the isolation that’s epidemic among older adults.
But communal living takes some getting used to, Joe said as we had lunch in the common dining room a few days ago with three other Palisades evacuees who relocated to Avocet.
“You could be having dinner or breakfast, whatever, and people will come over and stand over you and talk to you,” he said. “It’s total sociability here. And caring, too. But it’s just exhausting.”
And yet.
Joe, who worked in parks administration and served until recently as an L.A. recreation and parks commissioner, goes to the gym on the top floor of the building, where he works out with weights one day and swims the next.
Restaurants and shopping are within walking distance.
Arline has taken up pickleball in the nearby park.
And the bottom line is this:
Transitions can be difficult at any age, and especially so the older you get. But there’s life after the Palisades, and it’s a pretty good deal if you can afford it.
“This place is not cheap,” said Bill Klein, 94, a former UCLA law professor.
Bill and his wife, Renee, 85, were buddies with the Halpers in the Palisades (where Renee and Arline were longtime volunteers for the Library Association). They all said that having the close company of good friends at a time of loss and rebirth has been a big help, even as Joe and Bill nurse lingering bitterness about the chaotic evacuation and rapid spread of the fire that upended their lives.
Renee, a former social worker, said she’d already begun thinking that their ocean-view Palisades home of 54 years had become too much to take care of. Unlike the Halpers, their house survived the January fire, but the neighborhood was incinerated and they’re not going back.
“This was in the back of my mind, but it was not anything we were planning at the moment,” she said.
“We had a disagreement on that,” Bill said. “I was not inclined to come to a place like this.”
Bill glanced across the dining room and spoke plainly.
“Look around,” he said. “There’s a lot of old people here with their walkers and it’s not a lively place, except in a forced way, in my sense of it. I think that people here try very hard to deny that they’re living in an old folks home.”
That’s not a judgment of Avocet, or of the people. It’s more of a comment on the compromise that aging imposes. Bill said he and Renee once visited her mother’s retirement home, and he couldn’t hide what he was thinking.
“Don’t let them grab me and keep me here,” he told Renee.
But Bill knows he’s fighting the inevitable.
“I had to concede that I belonged here,” he said. “But I didn’t like it.”
He’s coming along, though. What he does like, Bill said, is “pushing weights around” in the gym and swimming in the pool.
“I’ve made a good life for myself here,” he conceded, saying that he’s devouring a stack of books, mostly nonfiction, including one he just read on Jesse James and another on artificial intelligence.
When he runs out of his own books, there’s a library off the lobby. And daily video lectures by experts on various subjects.
And although Avocet is age-specific, Bill and Arline said, the neighborhood is not. Step outside and you’re surrounded by ethnic and generational diversity, with neighbors walking to stores, restaurants and parks.
“You can go across Lincoln and you’re in the wetlands,” said Arline.
Joining us for lunch was Janet H., 85, another Palisades evacuee. The retired teacher, who asked me not to use her last name for privacy reasons, said her husband was upstairs in their apartment, recovering from an illness that landed him in the hospital for a month.
“This place saved our lives,” said Janet, who had lived in her Palisades home for 53 years.
The on-site care offers peace of mind, and in the Palisades, her home was somewhat isolated. At Avocet, Janet said, caring neighbors and staff have been a daily comfort.
And that’s not even the best part of the package.
“What I’m really happy about is I never have to cook again,” Janet said.
As we spoke, a woman of 98 strolled by and greetings were exchanged. A few minutes later, her husband followed after her with a walker.
He’d just turned 100.
“And still going,” Arline said.
“Well, the alternative is a little more bleak,” the gentleman responded.
To me, as a first-time visitor, Avocet had the feel of a grand resort or a luxury cruise ship.
But does it feel like home? I asked.
“You’re right,” Arline said. “We’re on a cruise, and we’re not landing.”
“But maybe that’s where we belong at this time,” said Janet.
They belong where they’ve chosen to be, making the best of it in a year of unfathomable loss and unscheduled reinvention.
A bumpy ride, for sure, but Joe made an observation about where they’ve ended up.
“It’s a soft landing,” he said.
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