There was a potluck tonight at our Village To Village Network office.

Local chapters of the VTVN are growing nationwide, and that’s good news for all of us. Here is their home page. Maybe there is one in your town. https://www.vtvnetwork.org/

The Network is for folks who wish to spend their older years aging right in place, in their own homes. They would like to postpone the transition from independent to assisted living. In some cases, all these elders need is some car rides to the doctor, some light housework help, or some friendly visits. Members pay the Network a yearly fee, and are matched with vetted screened volunteers who serve for free. That can let people stay at home for months or years longer, and be healthier and happier along the way.

How did I hear about it? Years ago, my super-hearty super-sharp enterprising Mom made a difficult decision to surrender a piece of her fierce independence. She gave up driving, and sold her car. Her scenic small mountain-foothill town had zero public transportation, no grocery store, no sidewalks mostly (and even those were uneven slabs of pre-Revolutionary puddingstone over tree roots), and massive snowfall during long winters. For years I dreamed that she would move to my building in my new town or at least spend the winters here, with our mild climate, buses everywhere, and free shuttles to the medical centers. And why didn’t I move to her town and help out? Her town doesn’t have steady employment, I don’t drive, and groceries are miles away. As a senior citizen myself, it frightened me to slip and slide around in four feet of snow on frozen puddingstone, and to walk on icy interstate roads — once falling headlong off a tall snowdrift as an 18-wheeler truck sped right past me.

But Mom, being super-sharp, knew that the VTVN had been fixing to start a chapter in her town. Mom showed up at the planning meeting with a donation check for $100, four pans of fresh hot homemade brownies, and vocal enthusiasm. When the chapter opened she signed right up, attended all meetings, networked like a champion, and gave up the car. Mom was pragmatic and upbeat about asking for help. For me, living far away, it was poignant to see her tackle this milestone in her life journey.

For her first experience with a Network volunteer — someone who was, after all, a perfect stranger — I waited anxious by the phone. What a relief to get her phone call saying that she was safe at home again. “We chatted like old friends!” she exclaimed about her new volunteer. He was an earnest distinguished gentleman in his 80s with exquisite courtly manners. He and Mom shared the confidence that both were hard of hearing — and that both were big Cole Porter fans. It happened that her new road companion had a whole library of Cole Porter CDs in the car. He cranked up the volume, and the two new friends sang their hearts out all the way to the doctor and back.

With her membership, Mom met people who were eager to drive her to the doctor and the food store. She baked her luscious desserts and shared them at Network events. She had new stories to share with us, and all the news was good. For years, her wonderful volunteer (may he rest in well-earned peace) showed up faithfully for all her appointments. At his very last excursion for Mom, he signed in at the funeral home and stood quiet vigil at her wake. I spotted his name in the guest book and charged at him with a huge hug, hollering “You brought so much sunshine and song to my mother’s life!”

After Mom’s funeral I was walking down the little Main Street, and saw a woman unloading bouquets from her car. I helped her carry them up to her church door. We got talking about the town, and I mentioned the local VTVN. “I’m a brand new member,” she said gladly. “I just joined and attended my first Network party. But what an unusual party — everyone was crying! They couldn’t stop talking about someone named N___.” I explained to her that that was my Mom. She and I had a lovely chat. The two of us exchange holiday cards to this day.

The Network eased and brightened my mother’s life so much, I had to explore it further. That’s how I joined our own chapter (to her delight) over eight years ago as a volunteer. The office interviewed me, found out my interests and skills, and conducted a criminal background check. (“How did the background check go?” I asked their administrator later. “Rap sheet a mile long,” she replied.) My first assignment was helping my neighbor Miss Rose. She was perfectly independent, and needed only help with her laundry each week. Once we placed the loads in the dryer, Miss Rose would serve me tea and a fresh-baked scone, and we would play Cribbage for an hour and then fold the laundry and put it away. That was our cozy Thursday ritual each week for the next three years. And when Mom passed away, Miss Rose and her sympathetic ear and tea were a great comfort.

Tonight our Network had a holiday singalong and potluck. I brought my bowed psaltery and a batch of dark-cocoa dessert crumble (coconut spun with dates, raisins, some 72% chocolate chips, and spices), and headed over.

As an icebreaker, the flock of us gathered and pitched in to set the table and set out the food. We talked about and admired the different dishes while I sat in the corner with the psaltery and played winter-themed songs. Then everybody settled down around the table.

At first, the conversation was a bit unsettling for me as a newcomer. The fabric of words was like a slightly scratchy loose burlap cloth, floating aimlessly overhead. Sometimes people talked over each other, or talked at once, or asked one person several questions at the same time. I caught myself retrieving people’s words for them without being asked, and calling out the ends of their sentences for the benefit of people at the table who didn’t catch all of the stuff being said at the other end of the table. Finally I realized that my nervous habit of moderating the group chat came from large family dinners in the old days, where frequently the quiet people got left out or there were misunderstandings that led to someone feeling hurt.

But at this potluck, nobody got upset at all. Clearly my worry was only an extra mind-casserole that was all in my head, not on the table. So I sat on my hands and hushed up while everybody talked past each other. And sure, sometimes they interrupted. They repeated stuff. They were asked to repeat stuff again. They left trains of thought on the side of the tracks. Then they circled around and eventually finished those trains of thought. They tried new trains of thought and set out together happily to explore them. And they all agreed on one thing: Eating together was good for us. I agreed too.

One Board member had a great idea. She started us off by suggesting that everyone share their story: How and when did we learn about and come to join the VTVN? Then, she gently made sure that the conversation got around the table so that everyone got to share. Every member had a starting point (loss of a spouse; son or daughter moving away; medical troubles), then a moment when they heard about the Network, then a moment of Hope, when they pictured that maybe now their lives could be better, and maybe this group could be just right for them, and they made that very brave phone call and found themselves a new bit of home and connection. Members talked about how much they enjoyed the Group’s social clubs. It was very touching when they all chimed in and encouraged each other to sign up for exercise outings, life-planning skills, transition support, music and drama and poetry groups, and more.

At the end, another member had a great idea too. “Let’s close with a song.” We struck up a heartfelt chorus of “White Christmas.”

At the end, a member who brought appealing paper holiday ornaments gathered them up, mentioning softly that we were welcome to take some home. I asked her “May I have a few? Our building has a giveaway table, and we have small children who will be delighted to have their own ornaments.” She beamed and handed them right over, and I made a big grateful fuss of appreciation.

Walking out the door with my psaltery and cocoa crumble jar, I stepped out into the frosty starry night. Then, it struck me. That whole conversation over dinner? That was our Scottish waulking-work. Waulking was a group handicraft for women, who would beat fabric while singing to keep the rhythm. That’s what we were doing with our conversation at the potluck. It was taking the floaty loose-knit scratchy burlap and talking the words until finally the fabric was smooth and a good fit, as a new little piece of shared history. Our conversation turned out great. Working out shared talk is good for our minds and spirits. I look forward to the next potluck, and to more events.

At home I set out the ornaments on our house donation table downstairs with a little greeting note. They looked merry and bright for that evening, but were snapped right up and gone by morning.