Since my move to Toronto for work some 20 years ago, the flight path between Hogtown and Cowtown has become well-worn. So well-worn, in fact, that my teenaged daughter knows that her favourite beverage, a pumpkin latte, is only available at the Starbucks outside, not inside, the security gate.
This got me thinking it was time to shake things up on the family vacation front.
My mother, at 84, had just made the courageous move from her Calgary home of 55 years to a nearby assisted-living residence. She suffers from macular degeneration and gave up her driver's licence at the same time. Widowed since my father's death nine years ago, she knew it was only a matter of time before she would have to leave her home.
So when our teenaged son lamented, "We'll never stay at Grandma's again," I hatched our next vacation plan. The road still led to Calgary, but this time we were going on the seniors' tour.
These days, many seniors' residences have a guest suite, and my mother booked us in for the August long weekend. It sounded ideal: just one floor below her apartment, modern, spacious and equipped with TV and snack kitchen. We would discover other extra touches too, such as the seat in the shower and a big red emergency button in the living room in case of, well, emergency. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Check-in went smoothly. There was no umbrella drink or fanfare upon our arrival. But there was a cooler filled with orange-scented water and a lobby full of agreeable grey-haired people who all said hello.
Staying in a seniors' residence has much to recommend it. You feel like an instant celebrity, a real standout, and I don't think it was because of my daughter's short shorts or my son's raggedy jeans or the giant green garbage bag of dirty laundry I was hauling behind me from our stay at the family cabin. "You're never too old to bring laundry home to Mom," I quipped.
We were pumped. Well I was, anyway. This was a chance to see my mother on her new turf, to get a glimpse of my own future and for my kids to see how I want to be treated in ripe old age.
It was a real eye-opener for my son and daughter. They're both great kids but are deep inside the teen tunnel - that place young people go for a few years, before becoming fully formed adults, where communication is almost non-existent, except by texting, and things can get "boring" or be a "downer" real fast.
In contrast, for the residents at Mom's place, each new day is by definition a good day, everyone takes time to chat - face-to-face even - and there's always a smile or a laugh to be had.
As we struggled to remember new names, my mother dryly noted it was not because our memories were fading, but because "We all pretty much look the same now." As we peered into the dining room that first night we saw a cloud of silvery heads framed with glasses, and the colourful uniform of many seniors - pastel blouses and pants.
There were great lessons to be learned in that dining room. There's nothing more bracing for a parent than having 100 seniors watch your kids eat. They did not disappoint, though my mind flashed back to the dinner table at home, where they might absentmindedly run a fork through their hair, or forget that salad is best eaten with utensils.
This is the ideal place for a refresher course in manners. Everyone is polite, waits for the whole table to be served and waits for everyone to be finished before rising from the table.
Turns out teens and seniors have lots in common. Time at the residence seemed to move slower and at a pace oddly in sync with my kids, who never got up before noon and then ideally just wanted to watch TV. Seniors like to stay in shape too, though here fitness classes were called "sitness classes."
Then there was the rather startling notice in the elevator about an upcoming "drug sweep." Turned out to be the semi-annual round-up of outdated prescription drugs. And the one computer available? It appeared to be locked with parental controls, so my daughter couldn't access Facebook. She has more access to the Internet at home than people who are old enough to have no parents.
As the weekend drew to a close, we agreed it may not be the same as Grandma's old house, but this was a place where we could create new memories. Scampering up to Mom's room for a visit and a nightcap after dinner each evening, I started knitting dishcloths and thinking I really should take up bridge. My kids pored over dozens of photo albums of themselves and their cousins through the years, raided the candy dishes and showed a gentleness and compassion for others that made me hopeful about my own old age.
As we waved good-bye to the staff and seniors and headed for the airport, we knew we'd be back. I began to visualize what a Christmas tree might look like in the corner of the guest suite next to the emergency button. As a travel destination, I'd highly recommend the seniors' tour. It's a great way to visit, though I wouldn't want to live there - not yet anyway.
Deborah Lamb lives in Toronto.