When Uncle Sami proudly announced his plans to buy a two-story house in San Diego, citing its superior investment potential, I couldn’t help but wonder about the logistics. “So, what’s the plan for the second floor?” I asked, already envisioning him turning it into a museum of unused spaces, given his notorious knee troubles.

He just shrugged, the universal sign of ‘I haven’t thought that far ahead.’

I remembered my neighbor Jane, who’d recently found joy and companionship in shared living. She and her roommate were now the “Thelma and Louise of San Diego”, minus the cliff dive, of course. Their biggest battle? A spirited debate on the Keystone pipeline, which they recounted to me with the intensity of a presidential debate, minus the podiums.

“How did you two end up as roomies?” I inquired over lattes one sunny afternoon.

“Elder Help of San Diego,” they said, almost in harmony. Jane turned into an impromptu spokeswoman, detailing how the nonprofit played matchmaker for seniors seeking housemates.

Armed with this golden nugget of information, I pitched the idea to Uncle Sami. “Think about it, shared living could be fun,” I suggested, only to be met with a look that said, ‘Are you kidding me?’

But I wasn’t about to give up. Seeing that he saw me as his only social interaction and how he expected me to perform it as a full-time job was getting overwhelming. Also, I was by far not qualified for that job either. 

“Here is the deal, I will help you find the best two-story house that will likely appreciate the most in San Diego, and you agree to having a renter for the second floor. This way your house appreciates, and you also make a monthly income.” I said, trying to seal the deal. Thinking in my mind when the carrot works, reuse it, again and again!

He mulled over it, the gears turning. “And if I don’t like them?”

“We can do a separate entrance and you have to never see them. But let’s face it, you need company, and your knees need a break from the stairs. How wasteful would it be to have a second floor empty, when you can convert it into a money-making machine.”

The deal clenching point came with a stroke of genius or desperation. “As a bonus for agreeing to the deal, I have already spent non-refundable money on improv classes.” I continued as he looked at me like had grown a pair of horns. “You are just so amazing at creatively experiencing your opinions, I really think you will enjoy this class.”

“Young lady, this is the absolute last time you pay for a gift for me without asking me if I want it.” said Uncle Sam with a commanding voice.

“Now that defeats the purpose of a gift, don’t you think?” I said not wanting to give up that power to coax him into taking other classes. I quickly added before he could debate that further. “You are only obligated to go to 3 classes, if you don’t like them, you don’t have to go. I signed up with a deal, so classes 4-10 are included free of charge.”

With those words I wanted to end the discussion and leave for the night, so that he would not have any more chance to argue.

A text message from my daughter at that time was a life saver. I gave Uncle Sami a hug and said, “I have got to go, your grandniece needs you.”

Few months later, Uncle Sami moved into a two-story home in a beautiful San Diego neighborhood. The house had already been upgraded to have a full unit with kitchen and separate entrance. The backyard was beautiful with an ocean view. My housewarming gift to him was patio furniture that included two comfortable chairs and a dining table.

After rejecting at least 2 dozen choices of roommates, he finally ended up choosing a very nice widow. Her daughter who was battling cancer lived in the same neighborhood and she needed to live “walking distance” from her daughter’s home to help with childcare and meals. 

I convinced my uncle with “She is an amazing cook, doesn’t like to talk much and is a very good listener.” 

I schemed with her, “Please do not tell my uncle that you are a retired therapist. That confession alone will make him reject you.”

She nodded thoughtfully, her eyes reflecting a blend of humor and wisdom. “In my experience,” she began, adopting a tone of camaraderie, “leading with ‘I’m a therapist’ tends to cast a certain… let’s say, ‘intensity’ on initial encounters.” She winked and then added “Instead, I often opt for mentioning my love for seashell collecting, desire to cook and my fondness for classic cinema. Keeps the conversation light and engaging.”

This arrangement, borne of necessity, proved to be a serendipitous resolution, offering companionship and support to Uncle Sami while providing a home for someone else. A true win-win scenario that underscored the power of creative compromise and the unforeseen blessings of shared experiences.