By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©
Life, Sirens, and a 55+ Sense of Humor
As I write this, I am still in recovery—at least, I hope I am. Truthfully, this post was written before my surgery, so I can’t yet say how it all turned out. By the time you read this, several weeks will have passed since the procedure took place. It was scheduled to publish automatically, so here we are. If the doctors didn’t nick a major artery, I’ll be fine. If they didn’t accidentally close me up with a coffee lid inside, I’ll be okay. I will eventually get back to writing these posts daily. Until then, I’ve got a few stories lined up and ready to go.
The other day, I heard a siren blaring in my right ear. That startled me, since my left ear—damaged years ago in a police shooting—usually just rings nonstop. But this sound was sharp, insistent, and real. It kept getting louder, and I was sure it was headed into our neighborhood. I turned to my better half and said:
He replied:
And we laughed—and I mean, really laughed. That’s the kind of exchange you’ll hear often in a 55+ community. Especially among those of us in the 55–65 age range, and certainly from our older friends beyond that. Because when sirens echo through the streets here, the conversation usually shifts to:
And yes, sadly, “was” is often the operative word. Sirens and flashing lights tend to signal more than just a medical emergency. They also draw a small parade of concerned neighbors. Curious drive-by observers and the always-early realtor, already imagining the next listing, gather quickly.
Now, don’t mistake this for a lack of respect for the sick or the departed. It’s really about staying informed. In a 55+ community, if you miss a couple of days, you could easily fall behind on who passed away. You might not know when the services are. This could affect your pickleball schedule. You could be waiting to play a doubles match that will never happen. The other team has quite literally checked out.
Even the golf course has its quirks. The back nine may suddenly open up if someone didn’t quite finish the front five. It’s the kind of morbid practicality that comes with age—and a bit of wit.
Social gatherings here often revolve around food, especially the cherished potluck lunch. And trust me, in a 55+ community, when they say potluck, they mean luck. You just hope enough actual pots show up to make it a meal by the time noon rolls around.
But all joking aside, living here has been one of the best choices we’ve ever made. Will Rogers once said, “If you don’t like the weather in Oklahoma, just wait a minute.” Well, in a 55+ community, the same could be said about neighbors.
We love this place. In the twelve years we’ve lived here, we’ve only lost three neighbors. This is a testament to the spirit and vitality of this community. Funny enough, when we first moved in, we were technically too young to qualify. But we were here to care for my then 83-year-old mother. After she moved in with my sister and never came back, we decided to stay. Eventually, we aged into the group ourselves and bought a home right here in the neighborhood.
It’s clean, quiet, and secure. There’s 24-hour security. Many of our needs are covered through a very affordable HOA. Less than $100 a month covers trash service, gym access, swimming and tennis. It also includes pickleball courts, a dog park, clubhouse use, and even a monthly newspaper.
So, if you’re nearing that point in life—my advice? Raise the kids and get them out of the house. Then consider moving to a 55+ community as soon as you can. The sooner you arrive, the more life you’ll have to enjoy it. You don’t have to work yourself into the grave. You can laugh your way there instead—one siren, one potluck, one sunrise at a time.
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