Never a Stranger

The Waymo has barely stopped moving before 97-year-old Loma is bounding out the door. She and fellow resident Mary hired the driverless car to visit Crissy Field, a scenic recreational park just a few miles north of Coterie Cathedral Hill. It’s an unusually beautiful day—one that, Loma reasons, shouldn’t be squandered inside.

She strides along the promenade pointing out landmarks—the Golden Gate Bridge ahead, the Bay waters lapping at the sandy shoreline, the playground bustling with young families.

Before long, she spots an older man sitting on a bench. He is playing a repertoire of nursery songs and Beatles tunes on an erhu, a traditional stringed instrument from China. Loma and Mary stop to listen. When he finishes, Loma claps enthusiastically and high-fives the man. He beams.

This is Loma, on a Tuesday morning.

A San Francisco Original

To understand Loma, it helps to know where she came from. She was born in San Francisco in 1929. She married Jack, a handsome track-and-field athlete and Korean War veteran who turned out to be her ideal match. They raised four children together—three boys and a girl—in the Forest Hill home they bought in the 1960s.

Jack was an avid golfer while Loma played tennis competitively. “I never played for fun,” she says. “I’d never just go out and hit balls and laugh and have a good time.”

She spent her professional years as a bridal consultant at the I. Magnin department store, where the salesladies wore white gloves and modeled gowns for well-heeled clients. Twice weekly she played Pedro, an old San Francisco card game, with the same circle of friends she’d had for decades.

Jack passed away in 2013 after 63 years together. “I love him more than ever,” she says. “I loved having him around.” Eleven years later, Loma was still living in the same home, keeping her same routines. She had good neighbors, a garden she’d just replanted, and absolutely no intention of going anywhere.

Her children, however, had other ideas. They worried about their then-95-year-old mother living alone and navigating the house’s steep staircases. Her son picked her up one afternoon and drove her to Coterie to tour a few apartments. Loma politely humored him. Later that night, he called her with news. “Mom,” he said. “You’re in, at Coterie.” She told him he had lost his mind. Her life was exactly as she wanted it.

That evening, as she climbed the stairs after dinner, Loma mulled over the facts. Jack was gone and the kids were nearby, but not exactly next door. “I got into bed and thought, ‘I’m all by myself up here,’” she says. “And if I fall—” She doesn’t finish the sentence.

“So, to Coterie I came.”

Getting Acclimated

Loma moved to Coterie early last year and will tell you the adjustment took a little time. “The kids were so great about helping me get my furniture in, but it kind of hurt. I thought, oh my God. I’m bringing my pillows and all my personal things into a place I don’t know.”

There was also the matter of what she was walking into, and Loma is nothing if not candid about her initial perception of senior living. “The word ‘assisted living’ scares the hell out of a lot of us,” she says. “Oh no, I’ll never go in one of those places.” She pauses. “Well, this place is not like that at all.”

Within days, the pillows were arranged, the furniture fit perfectly, and Loma was learning people’s names. Within weeks, she was everywhere.

She visits the fitness center every morning. She joins opera outings and museum excursions and attends Kentucky Derby watch parties and rooftop soirées. She took up mahjong, which she says is more complicated than it sounds because there are two kinds and the club room has both.

Not long after moving in, the servers in Coterie’s Monarch Room restaurant encouraged her to try octopus for the first time. She thought it was wonderful. “I eat like a horse here and I don’t gain a pound,” she reports gleefully. “It just took a couple of months for me to realize that I am much better here. I feel better. I smile more. I’m happier.”

The Welcome Committee of One

Before long, she had decided that nobody at Coterie should feel like a stranger. She spots newer residents and approaches them cheerfully. “A lot of people don’t know what to say in the very beginning,” Loma says. “But I do.”

“I work out on a bicycle for an hour every day, and the woman next to me, she stares straight ahead and doesn’t talk to anyone,” Loma says. “I’ve been working on her for about a month, and she’s starting to look at me now and smile, so that’s good. It takes people a while to know you and to be nice to you.”

At the Halloween soirée, Loma decided things needed livening up. “I got out there and tried dancing with this man,” she says. “I got him up, but he couldn’t stand on his own, so I went and found another one. They’re pretty old, but it’s fun to make people happy.”

She does not appear to consider any of this unusual. “I’ve always wanted to be better within myself, to help somebody else,” she says. “Maybe that’s just the way my mother was.”

Still at It

Back at Crissy Field, the erhu player has moved on, and the conversation turns to the lunch menu at Coterie. Another Waymo is called and Mary settles gratefully onto a bench while they wait. Loma remains on her feet, holding her cane loosely at her side.

On the ride home, Loma and Mary narrate the city like seasoned tour guides, calling out points of interest along the way—Dolores Park, Chestnut Street, Pacific Heights, the Fillmore, and Nancy Pelosi’s house.

Loma also points out the CPMC hospital building just a block from Coterie on Van Ness Avenue. “I look at it from my bed at night, and I think, all those people are going to get better. Makes me feel good to look at it.”

Loma will be back in the piano lounge before dinner. There will be someone new at the doorway, not quite sure where to go.

Not to worry; Loma will notice.