4953 Aldrich Avenue South
Minneapolis, Minnesota 55409

I see a face at the front door and the woman comes to the fence, greeting me and asking if I am a family member that she hasnít met yet.  I tell her Iím here for a tour and she nods and brings me into the house.  We walk into the living room ñ the feel of the room strikes me.  Pretty sofas, a piano and bookcases filled with games, books and photo albums fill the room with intimacy, comfort and a feeling that this is the heart of the house.  People are scattered in the chairs, a couple sharing the newspaper trade headlines, a woman getting her nails painted as a few others look on and choose their nail polish.  One woman sleeps in the lazy boy, not listening to the chatter around her.  We walk through the dining room, one long table for all to eat together.  My guide and nose draws me into the kitchen where the noon meal is being made, the smell of dessert in the oven makes my stomach grumble.  A young woman is cutting vegetables for what looks to be a salad as she asks woman named Gunvor to pass the tomato.  She passes the tomato, looks at the pepper and cucumber and decides to move those closer as well.

The person I am here to talk to is in a residentís room, talking with a family member.   I am content to wait, taking in the bedroom; it is not like in a nursing home room.  Instead it is light, cheery and proudly displays pictures of the occupantís travels, family and times gone by.  The woman who sleeps has an antique dresser and nightstand in her room.  I look at the worn chair in the corner and a bookshelf filled with a teacup collection and pictures of what much be grandchildren and several homemade crafts.

5126 Mayview Road
Minnetonka, Minnesota 55345

Ringing the doorbell, I wait.  I donít know what I thought I would see inside, but I am relieved to see a woman smiling, inviting me into the home, an older woman behind her with long, gray hair wrapped up high on her head, her sparkly clips draw my attention.  The first woman tells me her name is Siri, and chats easily about the weather, tucking the older woman, Inell, beside her while they walk me past a couple bedrooms and the living room where another woman is sleeping in the lazy boy.  She has a blanket wrapped around her, her head pops up as I walk by.  She smiles and her eyes close as she listens to the sounds Patsy Cline on the stereo. 

I begin to hear laughter and voices from the center of the home.  My eyes scan the kitchen and dining room, 3 women are in the kitchen, giggling about some childhood stories.  Two older ladies are drying the dishes as a younger woman is by the sink.  The aroma is one of rich brownies, and I see the remnants of the baking pans.  I find the source of the laughter is revealed as several people are watching excitedly out the back picture window at the squirrelís attempts to rob a backyard birdfeeder.  There is a younger woman among them, laughing just as hard.  In this moment, I realize that these people are a family.  Their laughter and their familiarity make it obvious.  As I draw closer, I am surprised at their reaction to me.  I am nervous, not knowing what to say to them, a stranger in their house.  They, however, do not see me as a stranger, instead, itís as if they sense my unease and want to draw me closer.  ìCome, look at what heís doingî, a shaky-voiced woman tells me.  Her name is Polly and she wants me to look at the squirrelís antics.  Victor shares with the group, ìyep, I used to see a lot of themî, speaking about his decades of being a postman.  His deep chuckle is warm and genuine.  I begin to relax, realizing that what is special about this home is not the pretty wallpaper or the gardens, but the feelings of safety, friends and home.

123 South Wheeler Street
St. Paul, Minnesota 55105

From inside a young woman comes out to greet me, opens the gate and brings me into the house.  We walk into a warm living room.  It is obvious that this room is well loved.  A piano, pretty sofas, various vases of flowers, magazines and old records fill the space.  Beautiful piano is playing and the bookshelf is filled with photo albums, joke books and inspirational books.  Next to the piano, a lady named Marion smiles up at me over her crossword puzzle that she is near completing, and asks what brings me here.  I tell her that I am looking for a place for my dad, and she gives me an empathetic look.  She listens to my words, then shares a gentle smile and tells me, ìItís nice here, and I like it.î  I am surprised at her empathy and feel strangely comforted by someone who has lost more than her father.

Beyond Marion, I see several women at the dining table, which adjoins the living room.  They are drinking coffee and nibbling on cookies.  Another staff person is with them, telling them about her bad luck at burning her last batch of peanut butter cookies and the women nod sympathetically and give advice from their experience.  Bernice quietly teases, ìyou just have to keep your eye on itî and the women giggle.